fuzzy drug deals and lots of these [...]

I live a strange life. Not overtly exciting, daring, or captivating, just strange. Strange enough that people probably look at me at times and think, ‘who the fuck are you?’ Less than thirty minutes ago, after many phone calls, arranging different meeting places, and trying to find matching times, I meet a man off of I-25, in the dark of a closed gas station, transported a couple crates out of my car and into his thirty-foot trailer, got in my car and drove home, a little relieved and a little melancholy. I have had them for nearly three years. I feel like I abandoned them, but I think they are going to a better life. I gave Pumpkin and Nutmeg, my two sister, Holland Lop Bunnies, away. The husband picked them up for his wife on his way across half the country. She is so excited. They will get more attention there than they do with me, as Dunkyn and Dolan occupy all the love space in my heart. Now I just need to find a good home for my three birds…
I went to TC’s housewarming tonight, and everyone was going to Tracks afterwards. I got a call around 10:30 from the Bunnyman telling me he was on his way, so I had to leave. When people asked where I was going, I told them I had to go drop my bunnies off to a guy off the highway. A couple of them thought I was making a sexual reference. When they realized I actually meant bunnies, they then asked if I was going to Tracks after the delivery. I had to say no to this as well. I had three of my toenails removed this past week, so dancing and the possibility of getting stepped on sounds less than appealing. However, this reason was nearly as obscure as dropping off rabbits. Those that didn’t know me very well didn’t quite know what to do with me. My friends simply hugged me and told me they loved me. All the while shaking their inner heads and muttering about ‘that Brandon…’
While at this party, I was talking to my friend AC, who is in from Washington. I was standing with my arms folded over my chest. She looked at me and mentioned that I had been standing like that all night and wanted to know what was wrong, that I wasn’t the normal Brandon. (Is there a normal Brandon?) Part of the deal was that I was sweaty (as per normal) and my t-shirt was not being forgiving of that fact, so the folding of arms was serving that purpose as well as making my biceps and chest look in better shape than they are in reality (there was a cute [way out of my league cute] boy there tonight). However, the main reason was that I was just more comfortable like that. However, her question made me do a few seconds of introspection. In some ways, the past year has given me more courage and determination that I have ever had before. In others, it has made me less giddy, quieter, and less likely to meet others outside of my little circle of beloved boys and select girls (who are also beloved)…
Part of that, I think, is that the rejection has truly made me feel fairly undesirable, at least to those that I might desire in return. Why set myself up to get told I’m not what they want? Yet again. Also, the past year has made me more introspective than before, which shouldn’t have been possible, and for some reason has created the need to not say more than absolutely necessary to anyone (unless my fingers are moving on this keyboard). It’s not that I don’t love being around people, I do. I would just rather listen and observe and bask in the presence of others, and only occasionally have the attention or story time turned to me. Does this mean I am still as sad as I was? I don’t think I am. Is this something that is going to stay, part of who I am now? Will it change when I am in a relationship again? If so what the fuck does that say about me? Even this post sounds very depressing. I’m not depressed right now. In fact, it has been weeks since I cried. There are so many wonderful things happening, or at least potential wonderful things happening. Will I continue to get quieter and more reserved as I get older? I’ll be invisible by forty! Oh, that could be good. Then I could eat all the Sonic and Fried Chicken I want and it wouldn’t matter…

Is this really 2007?

I am sick. Completely. I spent the day with my sixth grade class watching a movie about Martin Luther King, Jr. and how he changed the world. Growing up, I knew his name, I knew roughly what he did, probably even read his speech, but it wasn’t until I began teaching about him a year or so ago, that I really began to understand what an amazing man he was, how Christ-like his teachings were, and how one man can motivate, inspire, and propel a nation towards movement, towards betterment. Every time I read about him, I learn more, am humbled more by the greatness of this imperfect human. I realize how soft I am and how soft we are as a gay community. Not that one of us needs to be a martyr like him, hopefully, but we have no such voice for our equality. I long to be that voice or help that voice. I don’t feel worthy to be that or have any idea how to even have my voice be heard outside of my own narcissistic blogging. But if not me, who? If not each of us, who?
I was reading a commentary over Tim Hardaway’s anti-gay comments over the past couple days. It was written by Kevin Hench on FoxSports.com. I was expecting some lame pc drivel. His writing reminded me of me, which of course appealed to me, being the narcissist I am. I was so impressed and my heart was lifted, making me feel that progress toward equality is really being made. In a sports article, no less. I was excited to read some of the more than 2,000 comments posted by people having read his article. Stupid me.
The first couple were statements that I agreed with in most aspects, then the majority showed up. Literally, around 80% of the sixty some comments I read (in the midst of tears, true, I cry easy, but not these type of tears normally) were applauding Hardaways comments and views. So many people even made reference to gays needing to be gotten rid of, going gay bashing, killing gays, telling of our sickness, perversion, unnaturalness, how we are freaks, disease-infested, not worthy of living—because of our ‘choice.’ They went off about absurdity of gays being compared to African-American causes.
What about when Black men were hung for kissing white women? When they couldn’t get married? When people were taught Blacks didn’t have souls? That they came from evil? There were people I grew up with still believing that. Not many, mind you, but some. Some being too many.
No, I have no idea the terror that the African-American community suffered under slavery and the time before MLK, and after. I can go to any school I want, drink from any fountain I want, sit on any bus, marry anyone I want (well, not that one). But I do understand to some degree. To see in black and white spelled out proudly for the entire world to see that people want to kill me, want to bash me until I am dead, calling upon the fires of Hell to give my reward, for me to not exist. Me and many that I love. Yeah, I get the fear, the hurt, the shame (though not at who and what I am, just shame of being reviled).
As I sat and watched video of African-American’s being shot, hung, beat in the streets, sprayed with water-hoses, carted off to jail, I had to ask myself, ‘could I do this for our equal right?’ ‘Could I do it out of love and peace and not fight back, as MLK said?’ ‘Am I willing to leave my comfortable, though unequal life, so that other lives now and in the future will be better?’ ‘Would I march?’ ‘Would I protest?’ ‘Would I look my attacker in the face, and still demand equality while showing him/her love?’
I want to say that I would.
I hope I would.
I don’t know though.
Maybe that scares me the most.
My picture and profile take up an entire page in this month’s Metromode magazine (local Denver fag rag). It was fun, but seeing it also brought back home that there is no going back. Not that I want to. But, it can never be denied. If someone is looking for a gay-bashing target, I gave them one. Of course, they would have to be reading a gay magazine, but hey, what better place to find beatable faggots?
To be honest, there were a few comments stating how God loves everyone. Hate the sin, love the sinner, etc. Nice, but I am sick of those as well. I was taught, with Bible verses, how it is a sin for different nationalities to marry. You can find whatever you want to support in the Bible. You can twist it however you need to. Yeah, it’s better than saying they want to see my blood flow, but it is still one more way to say I am a lesser human then they are.
Should gays be proud that they are gay? No.
Should blacks be proud they are black? No.
Should Latinos be proud of being Latino? No.
Should straights be proud of being straight? No.
Should tall people be proud of being tall? No.
Should short people be proud of being short? No.
Of all stupid things to be proud of. Why should be we proud of things we did nothing to become? I am not proud I have ten fingers and ten toes. All that came natural and I did nothing to earn or not earn it.
Let’s be proud of our humanity, of our love, of our passion, of our hard work, our kindness, our talents, our craftsmanship, our accomplishment, our determination, our overcoming adversity, even of our bravery to simply be who we are: gay, black, Latino, straight, tall, short, whatever—regardless of consequences. Let us (not just gays, everyone) be judged by our characters, our actions, acts of love and integrity, not applauded or condemned for something that took no effort or choice on our behalf.
I am gay. I am only proud of the fact that I do not hide, not proud of part of my make-up. I am gay. I am a man. I am short. I have red hair. I am white. I have blue eyes. None of which I earned.
I am teacher. I am a good friend. I am funny (at least I think so). I am artistic. I am compassionate. I am a giver. I can be selfish. I can be obsessive. I can be small-minded and judgmental. I can be irresponsible. I can be hurtful. I can be wrong. I am all those things, and more. These things I have worked on and chosen, even the bad.
There’s the list. Take your pick, one or all. Whichever you love the most or hate the greatest. You can choose what to do with me.
Love me…
Bash away…

Murder without Result

The wind chilled him and snow melted in his ever-less red hair as he drew his black corduroy jacket around him. His shoulders felt heavy with the workout they had just endured. It was his favorite workout. No matter how overweight he might be at the moment, whenever he had his shoulder day at the gym he felt more masculine, even sexier, than at any other time. The feeling quickly shifted as he neared the outdoor elevator that went to the parking garage. Standing in the doorway stood a tall, model-perfect specimen of the male species. At the moment, his ever-pouty lips were pressed passionately over the mouth of an adorably petite blond. Whirls of snow streamed around them as his hands made their way down her back and found their home cupping her tight ass.
Giving a tug on his jacket yet again, he changed directions. He had no desire to see some beautiful couple make out in his elevator; he doubted they would have been too thrilled over the intrusions either. He made his way to the stairs, walked down the two flights, got into his car, paid the parking fee, and left the two nearly procreating beauties far behind.
He was heading to his favorite coffee shop. He knew he should head home, the snow was starting to stick, his car could barely make it in a stiff breeze, let alone in this mess. Still, there was not a chance in Hell he was willing to go home and turn in for the evening. It was only four! Fates be damned!
As he rounded the corner of his coffee shop, his eyes narrowed as he spotted something in the street. A low growl escaped his gritted teeth as he recognized the figure. He shoved his foot on the gas and the car charged forward. The car only jumped slightly at the impact; still the thud sent a thrill of satisfaction through him. After parking, he experienced a moment hesitation. What if it had been someone’s little toddler out lost in the snow? Couldn’t have been. He was certain he had caught the shimmering glimpse of wings and a little bow and arrow set hung from the diapers. Well, pretty certain. Either way, if there was even a chance, that little fucker deserved to die.
His reservations over his choice continued to grow as he sat down with his Mayan Mocha and his laptop and realized it was still Valentine’s Day. If the Grinch couldn’t stop Christmas, it may have been a bit of a stretch to think he would have the power to end this holiday, lame as it may be.
As he began to write, his mind floated to unwanted places. To be honest, this day wasn’t as hard as he had expected it to be. Teaching all day had been a welcome distraction. He hadn’t even cried, didn’t even feel like he was going to. Still, he wondered. Sure, they had been broken up for eight months, but did the boy think about him today? Had he wondered what it might have been like if they had stayed together? Did he send any good thoughts towards him? Did he smile at a fond memory? Did he at least know he was loved and take some peace in that? Did he even cross his mind?
He was nearly done writing and began to ponder what to do that evening. He quickly checked the horoscope: “Someone is only thinking about you tonight. Be with them, enjoy your Valentine’s Day.” Great! Yeah, that was helpful, thanks! Ok, need to plan so that chipperness remains… Leave the coffee shop. Ok, brainiac, that was difficult! Try harder…. Go by the dirty bakery on the way home and order a homoerotic cake for his friend’s birthday. Shit, maybe even pick up a little dirty cake of his own. He may not be making love with the man he adored, but he could still eat the symbol of all masculinity—covered in chocolate icing at that, might even be better than the real thing.
Then, go home, order in Chinese, Pizza Hut, or Sonic. Snuggle on the couch with his Corgis, and watch five or six hours of Charmed.
As Faith Hill’s song ‘Paris’ came on his Ipod as he typed the word Charmed, pain shot through him. This was the song he had planned to play when he and the boy went to Paris one day. He was going to rent out a rooftop café, have diner there, and then dance to this song with the Eifel Tower lit up through the misty night.
His eyes misty, he smiled. No, he would not spend the night with the man he wished he could, but he had the memory of a love that he not experienced the year before. He had two warm fuzzy bodies waiting to lavish love all over him when he walked through the door.
He smiled once more, prayed a quick prayer of happiness for the boy. As Faith sang the last few lines, he spell checked, and posted his latest blog.

Sex, Chocolate, and Apparent Lobotomies

I often suffer from extreme insecurity, self-doubt, inadequacy. It’s a disease. I am on medication for it: Sonic double cheeseburgers. God, I love being sick!!! In spite of this affliction, it is rare that someone can make me feel insignificant. I can do it to myself in record time, but it takes quite a bit for it to come from another entity. Tonight such an event occurred. I was on my way home from teaching, and my tape player ate tape number four of Dean Koontz’s Taken. An event worthy of a great deal of depression and tears all on its own merit. Forlorn, I turned my radio on to talk radio to hear the new political commentary. I really am growing up. It is truly impressive. Apparently, there were no murders, slutty politicians, or global warming issues to discuss as the topic was the Snicker’s commercial from the Superbowl (previously mentioned in my last blog, you know, the one with the two guys kissing—see how cutting edge I am…). According to these hosts (who I often very much agree with and respect) some leaders of the gay community are urging homosexuals to unite and boycott Snickers (see, told you a lot of Southern Baptists are gay). This may or may not be factual. The electronic messager/identifier that was imbedded in my forehead when I took my gay vows did not alert me to this new stance of my people. Maybe there is a short somewhere. I should go be to the factory and get that checked out, before I miss any bulletins alerting me to new gay porn. If this piece of random information is true, I truly hope the leader of this insanity chokes on the bullshit as it falls from his or her queer lips. I thought the commercial was brilliant, hysterical, and progressive. Sure, the guys reacted in complete mortification after the kiss and had to do something ‘manly’ by ripping out chest hair (or getting hit with a wrench, or drinking motor oil) to prove their virility. How many of us can say after our first gay kiss we didn’t freak out for a bit? Two big, hairy, masculine men accidentally sucked face on national TV during football fest. Talk about huge steps forward. All my faggotty-ass friends thought it was great too. Now, I realize there are those who have opposing opinions to my own, and they have a right to those. They have to right to be wrong, who am I to stop them? They should just shut their mouth and fantasize about their first kiss, which judging form the ginormous sticks up their assses, was probably pretty boring and lame. Bad, gay leaders. Bad!!!! No bone for you! (sigh, no bone. Bone. They’re gay, and they don’t get their bone…. Priceless! I love me!)
As disgustingly narrow minded at this view was, it was how the host and their callers responded to it that was sickening. Even if part of me felt their frustration at the ridiculous politically correct bullshit being shoved down their throat. They went off about the ‘Gay Agenda,’ and how they keep giving the gays what they want and we just keep pushing for more. How our views are corrupting kids and making them gay, and how they used the commercial to tell their kids they should only kiss girls. How they don’t want their kids to be gay because it is harder. Fuck yeah, its harder! Because of assholes like them! I’m sure it makes it a lot easier for their gay little kid to have their daddy use a commercial about chocolate and peanuts to tell them they are corrupted. And easier means the only right? Isn’t it easier to be white? Isn’t it easier to be male? Isn’t it easier to be born independently wealthy? Wouldn’t it have been easier for Martin Luther King Jr. to keep his big mouth shut, deal with being a sub-class citizen, paint his face white, and not get shot to death? Sorry Mr. King, you and your views were wrong, because they weren’t easy? Seriously? Wouldn’t it have been easier for the Puritans to stay in religious oppression in England instead of bringing it here? Well, it would have for the Native Americans, I am sure. But then we wouldn’t have a holiday about turkey, and that would be sad. And AGENDA? And giving us what we want? Oh, that’s right! I can’t be fired from being a teacher because I am a fag. Oh, wait, yes I can. That’s right, I can get married and have EQUAL FUCKING RIGHTS to the all the beautiful straight, rich, white men out there. Oh, wait, no I can’t!
I can handle people telling me they think I suck, they think I am ugly, they don’t love me. Hurts, but I can deal. What I can’t deal with? People treating me like a mindless, spoiled, self-deceived little boy.
Thank God I am white and male. Two out of four ain’t bad. Maybe they will still let me play golf at their country club. Oh shit! I forgot, I’m gay. Can’t play sports. Maybe I can just bleach and starch their white hoods for them so they will be crisply pointy and bright by the time they finish the 18th hole.

Fuzzy Romance

I have had the most romantic morning I have had had in eight months. As I have mentioned before, ever since I was young, I dreamed of someday a man being moved enough to spontaneously dance with me in the kitchen. I never spoke of it to anyone. Well, my last relationship saw the fruition of that dream. It was every bit as wonderful as I imagined. More so, actually. Well, this morning, there was part two of that. Though never fantasized over, still, it was sweet. I have recently got back in touch with my love of country music and obsessively uploaded all my favorite country stuff on my Ipod. Well, one of those choice romantic songs came on today while I was in the kitchen. Wistfulness and touch of melancholy took hold for the man I lost. Instead of becoming a mess of tears, I took advantage of the two men that are still in my life. I bent down and scooped Dunkyn into my arms and we waltzed for a bit. Dolan then had his turn. It was a little more graceful with Dolan as he does not weigh forty pounds. While there was significantly less French kissing, it was nevertheless sweet and nice to be loved.
My two boys could not be more different from each other. I love them both, but am partial to Dunkyn, of course. He was my first, and slept with me faithfully for the worst six months of my life. We also have similar temperaments. I too, often feel the need to run in abject terror when in a room full of people, even those I know and love, I just hide it better. There are also times when he will look in my eyes and I can tell he is depressed or having a sad day, and others when he is purely content. You might say projection. You might. However, if you did, you would be wrong. My little one is constantly happy; abundantly full of joy and charisma. Dolan is the projection of who I would like to be, Dunkyn is my reality.
Sunday saw my favorite day of the year pass, the Superbowl. Oh, wait, that’s not true. I detest that day. However, this year was great. With only a few absent, my house was full of all the people I love the most in my life. It was wonderful. One more of those moments when I am reminded how amazing my life is and how immensely full of love. To watch JS and TB snuggle on my couch, completely at ease with the other and so obviously in love. To watch SM and TH flirt and tease and share cigarettes. Thank God for my pups. :) One of the best moments in TV history happened during this year’s Superbowl. The snickers kiss between the two male auto shop workers. I watched in shock. Complete. Gay marriage and equal rights can’t be too far away if two men can kiss during the most masculine day of the year. Although, be real, football is gay foreplay with cleats and spandex. Always has been.
While I was at the fish store today, I realized that it is the one area of my life that I willing let all my morals and integrity disappear. I openly, blatantly lied to the clerk. I was buying fish that you are not supposed to put together in a fish tank. He asked how many tanks I had, fishing to find out if I knew what I was doing. I looked him in the eye and said four. I really do have four, but only two that actually have water and fish in them. I know my freshwater fish and I know how to take care of them. I have been doing so all my life and know which ones they tell you can not cohabitate, but really can. I know I should feel ashamed and remorseful, but I don’t. I know such lies will send me to the pit, but I must be true to what I know. After all, they say two men can’t really love each other, but they wrong. They same is true for certain species of fish. In reality, I guess I am running my own underwater railroad. Glad to know that I have the courage that would have been required to hide those persecuted during Hitler’s reign.

update (xs)

I have been writing a lot on my book. It is going slow, only on page thirty (that would be a little over fifty in book size), but I truly am in love with my characters. I hope that it shows through. That is always why I love a book, you can always tell if the author cared about the characters, or if they were just a way to tell a story. In fact, I worry that I rely too much on my characters and not enough on the story itself. Either way, I am enjoying, although it is hard for me to spend time writing papers for school. I have a lot of fear around it as well. Every time I start to sit down to write, I nearly put the computer away and do something else. It seems overwhelming, impossible. Then, I get a line or two out and it starts to flow. Like molasses, but still.
The tattoos are on hold. I check out the glow-in-the dark ones, and they suck. So much for technical advances. However, I did get the designs I want for my other tattoos. I even had an appointment to get the one on my right arm/chest started, and then chickened out. I know I want the tattoo, but I am afraid of what a future potential mate might think. I have seen perfectly good people who I would never date, just because of a tattoo. I don’t want to spend my life making love with someone with a skull, claws, or demon staring at me from his skin. No thanks. So, I am doing the thing I am the worst at: exercising my patience.
I have had a thought over the past two days. I know, it is shameful how long it take me to form a single thought at times. I used to pray about everything. EVERYTHING. I actually think it was a little excessive. However, I realized I have not been praying for one of the aspects of my life that I long for the most. A husband. (Wow, I sound desperate. Quack like a duck, look like a duck, waddle like a. . .) Despite my self-proclaimed: I’m Gay, and God still loves me and considers me one of His own, I am afraid to pray for this. I have fear that God will sabotage it and mess things up. You know, because I have done oh so well so far. I never even prayed for my last boyfriend to come back. Afraid he might end up struck by lightning or something. Anyway, I am going to start. Not today, but soon. Surely, God will have better success than I have had…

. . . tears for me.

One day you will come
You will wrap me in your arms
Kiss me on the lips
Whisper in my ear
‘I have found him,
The perfect one I can love.’
Glad for you, sad for me.

You’ll look in my eyes
Reminding me of days gone by
‘I wouldn’t be ready’
You will say
‘Had it not been
For my time with you.’
Content for you, heartache for me.

You’ll take me by the hand
Lead me to this lucky man
‘With him, I will share
My ring
My life
My name.’
Rejoice for you, mourn for me.

Your smile will radiate pure joy
And I will remember
The promise I made to you
‘My happiness is yours
I wish only for your peace, your smile’
And I will be
Happy for you. . .

Validation of a Man

As I am increasingly becoming aware of the variety of people who choose to read my blog (although a testament to the morality of our society going down the shitter; however, making me feel very cared about at times), I am intentionally making this entry fairly vague, out of respect for those who may not have the desire to slice open their stomach and display their guts. However, as this has become a function allowing me to process moments of my life, I press onward.
Today, in what could have been a huge setback to my road to regaining (or finally attaining) sanity, saw the cementation of the view of a man that is so immensely important to me. There have been people I have loved, both as friends and as lovers, who have proven themselves to be lesser human beings and not worthy of as much of myself as I put into them. That sounds arrogant, doesn’t it? I don’t mean it to be. However, it is. I am arrogant, pompous, and an asshole. If you haven’t figured that out yet, maybe you should attend one of my special education literacy classes. Got of track, didn’t I? As I was saying, I had a visit today from the only person I have ever completely loved (both as friend and lover combined) [don’t freak out, those of you that are friends, I love you completely too, just not the friend/lover Sonic super value meal kind of way]. In today’s encounter, he proved once again how much of a great man he is, that his love for me (albeit now only friendship) is genuine, tried, and true, and that he is as amazing as I believed and made him out to be. There is such validation to know that the hurt I have been through has not been over someone that didn’t really exist in reality or whose loss didn’t deserve to be wept over. While the opportunity of sharing my life with him as a lover and companion has passed, I still get to walk through this life with a friend by my side who, in many ways, makes a part of me feel safer than anyone ever has. As I have been blessed by tasting love I never thought I could experience, so am I now blessed with journeying along side a magnificent human being. My world is so much better with his existence.
I was so nervous before and so happy afterwards that I forgot to eat for nearly ten hours! I know! I was shocked too! However, I have now remembered. Pigged out on two Philadelphia Sushi Rolls. Nearly threw up. Ate a bowl of cereal. Yes, I feel much better now. You are so sweet to ask! Thank You!

Mathematics

One:
I have been gradually changing my garage (which is unusable for a car) into a garden party room/sunroom kind of thing. Well, it has been so cold lately, that I have only gone out there to put food in the dogs’ dishes and then head back in. I just noticed that my youngest, Dolan, has chewed every single chair of my new table set. Some pieces are almost chewed threw. So, off to PetSmart I went. I got this spray that tastes gross to dogs, and I sprayed it all over everything in the garage. Everything. Including, so it seems, my tongue. Apparently, the taste is not only aversive to canines. That was fun. Still is, even as I write this. Even after mouthwash. Even after eating lunch.
Two:
I have come to new heights in my okayness with being gay. I have reached new harrowing depths to the level of shallowness of which I can descend. I have made Paris Hilton and Donald Trump seem the least shallow people on the face of this earth. I have spent twenty-two years of my life attending school, for nothing. I am beginning the process of getting my third tattoo. However, this one will be invisible. Unless under a black light. Yes, a tattoo for the soul purpose of being shiny in a dance club. Fun stuff. I am making sure to stay away from any number-like figures as I design it, it would suck to inadvertently label myself with the Mark of the Beast. I have wanted a sleeve on my right arm for the longest time, but due to teaching and a variety of other social situations, that has not seemed the most prudent of ideas. This very well may be the solution. We shall see!
Three:
I have given SOME people the misconception (I have no idea how) that I am one of those uber-masculine gay men. I am not sure how they have come under this assumption considering the detail of my scrapbooks, the complete lack of knowledge of sports involving balls [insert your own inappropriate comment here], and my home decorating prowess. . . anywho, the other day, I got a late Christmas present in front of several other gay boys. Inside this package were two extra large My Little Ponies (I had hundreds of the normal sized ones when I was a kid). I squealed in complete happiness, tore open the boxes, and proceeded to braid their mains and tails with a vengeance. Unbeknownst to me, the rest of the men were staring awestruck as the Brandon they thought they knew morphed into a six year old girl, minus the pigtails—not a good look for me.

1+2+3= realization of why I am single

Gonna take a special man to deal with me. :)

Seven Divided by Two

The one thing I have had my entire life is now gone. The one thing I have been able to depend on and pride myself in is gone. It has been gone for awhile now, but it is clearer tonight than ever. I have never been able to claim looks, high intelligence, overt humor, coolness, sophistication, or originality. At least, none on a consistent basis. But, I have always been brave. Always. Maybe I have been afraid of a millions things, many of which are silly and stupid, but on the big things, I have always been brave, and adaptable. Always. Maybe this is the last thing for God to strip away from me, or maybe it is just of my own making and to the disappointment of God. Who knows? But I am no longer brave, I am no longer adaptable. Not like I was. I get stuck. The tears that should be over still live. In and of itself, not a problem, but I heel to them. I let them master me. I do not flow and become other than what I was. I simply stay. I simply hurt. I simply long for what is not. I simply shrink and run away.

The Faggot's Guide to Politics and Other Things Not Dealing with Fashion or Food

I have been in-between books on tape to listen to while I drive for about two weeks now. I love music, but realize when I listen to it on the radio, it all sounds the same and lame (same and lame rhyme, fyi), so I have been listening to Talk Radio. Lots of politics and Dr. Laura. I grew up listening to Dr. Laura, so it is still fun, even when I don’t agree with her, but most the time, she is right on. However, I have intentionally done my best over the past seven years or so to not watch news or listen to all the political bullshit that goes on. Now I remember why. There is never any good news, and you never know who to believe. Plus, there is really nothing I can do about much if any of it anyway. I even listened to George Bush’s speech last night. First time for everything. Must be getting really, really old. I don’t want to like George Bush, I think he has done horrible things for our education system, child, and healthcare services. However, I thought his plan made sense yesterday. It seemed fairly straight forward and real. If we are going to set up a new government for a country, the least we should do is hang around until it is stable. If that is possible, I have no idea, and I don’t really want any more of us to die to find out, but whatever…
While at school yesterday, I read a book about the Hitler Youth. I have never read about them before. This book had interviews with them and some of their victims. It struck me how history is dependent on the retelling. There is no question that the Holocaust was one of the worst things to ever transpire. However, looking from the Hitler Youth’s perspective, I was horrified to realize that I could understand their position. I don’t agree with their position, but I understood it. If I had been raised in that environment, I would have bought into it completely and been willing to be a martyr for cause. Most of these youth did not see the devastation of the concentration camps until after the war when American soldiers took them there to force them to face what they had been a part of. Even then, some of them felt it has been staged by America to brainwash them. What scares me, is that I have a zealot personality. I grew up a zealot for God and the church, and never questioned things until I was older. I was quick to let those people who were sinning know they were going to Hell. I knew I was going to Hell for who and what I am. I don’t feel that way now, obviously, but still. . . the things we are capable of believing, doing, and defending when we are trained is overwhelming.
I also read a part of book that several of my female students are reading, It (shockingly) was very Christian, and taught the girls how to pray for God to send them trials and hardships to make them stronger, have more faith, and be better people. It is true that we should be careful what we pray for. This very prayer was the one I prayed for constantly during high school, along with the prayer for wisdom. I wanted to prove myself worthy for God, to stand under any situation, and never question Him. Well, God answered those prayers, of course. The trials, temptations, tribulations, and pain have been a very consistent part of my life (as are joys, beauty, and wonderfulness). I am sure that teenage Brandon would look at the man I am now and see a failure who turned his back on all that was true and was not strong enough to follow God. Obviously, I don’t see it that way, and am still thankful for those hurts and trials. They have made me stronger, they have made me more loving, accepting, generous, and devoted. They have also given me wisdom, in some areas. At least, I realize I know so much less about the definites about life, love, and God than I ever realized. Surely being aware of your lack of wisdom is in and of itself wisdom. My favorite verse (martyr complex coming up) was always Job 13:15: “Though You slay me, I will praise You” [varies on the translation of course]. I still love that verse, it may even work its way into a tattoo one day, we will see. I am not sure if I have lived up to that verse. I have not praised God through every trial and hurt. Much of the time I have been kicking, screaming, cursing. In some ways, my love for God may be more conditional than before. If God is truly as judgmental and condemning as I believed Him to be, then I want nothing more to do with Him. However, I feel I have a better sense of who God is than I did before, even though I have more questions and doubts than ever before.
And on questioning things and being somewhat controversial, may I point out one more thing? This whole Sadam Husein thing I find completely ridiculous. And, of course, I am coming at this from a hick point of view still I suppose and one that is unaware of all the consequences, and such, but still… What is the big fucking deal? We have been trying to capture this fucker since I was in the early stages of Jr. High. I remember him being presented as the antichrist. We have done how much fighting and war because of this one man? He was captured, put on trial, and convicted to die. Since I could never personally sentence anyone to death myself, as I feel I do not have such a right, I am opposed to the death penalty. However, I have no problem with someone else doing it, so in that sense I am fickle. But, no matter how you cut it, the boy was gonna die. They allowed cameras there to tape part of it (I watched to where they put the black cloth around his neck and realized I had no desire to see anyone die—no matter what they had done, and quickly turned off MSN), who really thought that someone was not going to tape the whole thing and let others see it? This has happened too many times for anyone with half a brain to expect that. Those that say they felt it would not happen or are shocked are either fucking brain dead or complete liars. And still, why are we so concerned about what they were saying when he was hung, how much respect they showed his body and what they did afterwards. This is the man responsible for thousands of murders, for wars, for so much death and pain. This is a man the US has been trying to kill for well over a decade. Finally, after an embarrassingly long time, that goal was accomplished. I don’t wish him to hell, I don’t wish him further pain, nothing; however, I am not going to waste one once of sympathy for his death and what transpired around it. The only sadness for him are the things that must have happened in his life to cause him to be the man he became. Are we going to say these same things in forty years when we finally catch Osama and someone ends his miserable life? Will we be shocked that people were not respectful enough of his body? Probably. We have a tendency to be stupid, repeatedly.
Wow, went off a little there didn’t I? Especially for a topic that I have no real knowledge or qualification of which to comment. But, I am American. Since when do I need to be informed or accurate to have an option or viewpoint?
On that note. I really do feel Brittney Spears is going to make a comeback. She is going to do a whole much more dumb stuff, but she is gonna have killer body back, and a rocking CD. Why couldn’t Sadam and Ossama been a little more like Brittney? Or Ricky Martin for that matter. That would be a fun bunker to be held up in for weeks at a time. Sigh… I am going to dream of being a soldier tonight!!!

Make Sure Your Rubber Fits

The day before New Years Eve, New Years Eve Eve if you will, I decided I was going to go out and met a boy, no matter what it took. Well, on the way to my first stop, which was Diedrich, I drove over a pile of snow. Well, what I thought was a pile of snow. It turned out to be a curb. A curb that ate a half dollars sized circle in the side of my tire. I pulled over out of traffic and quickly got stuck on ice. After much cursing and slamming of doors, I retrieved my tire changing things (no idea what they are called) and proceeded to change my tire. Yes, I do know how to change a tire! Fuck off! Well, the good news of this story is that not only did I met a boy, I meet two! Yep, as I was in the middle of changing the tire, in my fancy shirt, tight jeans, and good boots, these two faggots (and I use the word in the hateful way) walk by, glance my way, and say, “Huh.” Then they kept on walking. The least they could have done was sat and watched and requested for me to work without my shirt on. Assholes.
Anyway, that was not really the point of the story. Today, twelve days later, I finally went to the tire store. I hate going there, it takes forever, costs way too much money for rubber, and is greasy—and not in the good way. Well, I decided I was going to find a new tire store. My old one was is nearly forty minutes away. So, out came the yellow pages and I discovered one less than a mile away. I hop in my car and embark on my latest adventure. Well, I drove past it the first time, and nearly drove past it for a second time due to my fear. But then remembered that I am lazy and don’t want to have to find another one. The place is scary. I might have confused it for the city dump, but it wasn’t that nice. As a true testament to my courage and non-judgmental personality (quit your scoffing), I walk through the front door. Typically, at this point I tell the tire guy what happened and he shakes his head at me and then looks at my tire, then returns to his computer, puts in the data, which tells him which tire best suits my car, proceeds to take an hour to pump, buff, adjust, and romance the damned thing until it is perfect (let’s not talk about how a tire gets more play than I do). After all this he will ask for my credit card and charge nearly a hundred dollars (do you know how many Sonic burgers you can get for that!?!) Needless to say, none of the above happened today. There was no computer, not even a cash register I could see. He looked at my tire and said, “I got two we could use, you want new or used?” To which I eloquently said, “huh?” Is it even legal to use used tires? He wandered into his shop which had a couple hundred tires of varying health and cleanness, and pulled out two. “Which one you want?” he asks. It was a hard choice. The tires did not look the same size to me, so I simply went with the one with the deepest treads; it is the year of the blizzard after all. He swiftly put the tire on my car, held his hand out and said, “Twenty Dollars.” I handed him a twenty, got in my car and drove off. Upon arriving home, and doing a more thorough inspection, I am fairly certain my tires are of different sizes—the new one being a little more robust than my other three. However, for a process taking all of five minutes and costing only twenty dollars, I am thrilled. I will heretofore only buy tires at questionable establishments. I wonder if I can go to jail for having stolen or hijacked tires on my vehicle. . . Of course my large tire will probably cause the alignment (whatever that is) of my car to be altered, resulting in my other three tires imploding and sending me into oncoming traffic and to my impending death. But, hey, for twenty bucks, I can’t complain!
Who knew trying to get a boy could be so complicated? Oh, wait… I guess I did; that’s all I talk about, isn’t it?

BitternessSweet

Beauty Found

There is a beauty in lost love
In the drool on a lap from dog’s latest dreaming
From the memory of a true kiss
The glow of wax as flames flicker
Prayers for happiness for the one who left
In the scent of clove, cinnamon, nutmeg
Recollection of promises never kept
The sound of music from another time
Hope of loves to come or love found again
In death that is proof of living

year of the pig (NOT A WORD!)

So, I figure I should take advantage of the moment. I am not pissed, hurt, lonely, or anything negative. Well, I am very fat currently—even my fat jeans are tight, but give me about three weeks, and I will be slim again. I am sitting on my sofa downstairs, my ‘writing’ playlist singing to me from my IPod machine, Dunkyn and Dolan next to me—ripping apart their adorable stuffed animals. Maybe senseless massacres make me happy. Let’s not look too deeply into that, shall we?
I just returned from four days in Vail with my family. It was a lot of fun. Although, I have had to face a side of myself that less than thrills me. One of the few sports that I have ever been good enough to brag about is skiing. Now, consider the source: Me. I have never been able to spin in circles on my skis, like a certain GG (hate him), but I have always been able to fly down the mountain and never fall. This is especially true when I am with my little brother (he snowboards), we have gotten yelled at by the ski patrol for our ‘reckless’ speeds on frequent occasions. Whatever! Well, this trip was different. I must have fallen a gazillion times. Maybe it was because I was in a new place, that my feet hurt in those damnable ski boots, that it was four below. Or, maybe it was because I am becoming more of an old woman than ever before. The thought of paying so much money just to freeze to death on a ski lift, and slide down cold white stuff, and get wind/sun burned cheeks simply leaves me longing for my scrap booking table, color coordinated ribbons, and textured papers. What am I becoming? Well, at least I will be able to make the skiing pages festive for all those to following in the upcoming generations. That’s another thing… who is going to get this countless hours of investments when I am dead and gone? I will have no children who will want to see themselves in their father’s face when he was but a ‘youngster.’ Dunkyn and Dolan will hardly enjoy them, except to chew on. Oh, duh. They will go to museum of some sort to celebrate the life of this world-celebrate author. How could I forget? It is my gift to the world. Being a humanitarian is exhausting!
Last night in Vail, we went to a ridiculously expensive French restaurant. Good, but completely ridiculous. Our waiter, auburn hair, tall, thin (the exact opposite of my type—I need a Brahma Bull kind of man), but with an ADORABLE face, came up to us, all proper and fancy and began to welcome us to the restaurant. He did this by stuttering nearly incoherently. Turning completely scarlet. Utterly and totally humiliated. Naturally, I fell in love instantaneously. Naturally, by the time the main course made its appearance, our kids were named (Dalton, Donavon, and Savannah), our honeymoon was planned (week in Paris with a quick lay-over at Disney World to visit Ariel), and my last name became hyphenated. Naturally, he didn’t look at me the entire diner, had no idea I existed, and was under the delusion of being straight (the boy worked in a French restaurant, for Pete’s sake, get a clue!).
Upon arriving home, I was able to check my email and Connexion information via internet (that’s right, four whole days absent my computer, no wonder I ate so much). I had some emails from some wonderfully beautiful (or beautifully wonderful, for that matter) friends. One of these electronic correspondences from these efflorescent men mentioned that he is looking forward to seeing the good things that are going to happen in my life this year, that he just ‘has a feeling.’ Well, I don’t care if he is only trying to be nice or make me happy for a minute, I am going to choose to believe it. After all, if so many people are going to put stock in the plethora of Pat Robertson’s predictions of the up-coming year, I can put my faith in a man who is great and only has my best intentions at heart! So, there you have it. 2007: the year Brandon wrote a book, got published, made three million (ok, ok, five million) dollars, met, fell in love with, and married the most wonderful man in the world, grew seven and a half inches, and learned what efflorescent meant! Rock the house, Yo! This year is gonna fuckin’ shake the shack, man! Giddy-up!

smoked gouda and limburger [explicit lyrics enclosed] with a side of belly button lint

Let’s see, today I cried twelve times, wrote sixteen pages in my journal about how miserable and lonely I am, ate six Sonic Cheeseburger, and purged thirty-four times. Hold on a second. That’s not true. Oh, I remember now, I got up early, worked out, ate some bad sushi, gave a massage, played with my dogs, and began writing my book. I even shook my ass to “Man-eater” (just in case you might have forgotten I was a faggot). No tears, no angst, no waiting for the phone to ring. Has a corner been turned? I think so! Course I guess corners are capable of turning back around, but let’s not think of that. Be positive people. Positive!!! Goodness, your negativity is exhausting! I get on here and blog and blog about happy things and joy and butterflies and all I hear is people whining about how the boy they love doesn’t give a shit about them. Sigh, get over it! He don’t care, he ain’t gonna, and neither is that other boy you like, so move on. There you go, that was your pep talk. Feel better? Or are you just confused? Well, get ready…
Speaking of cheese, I really did start my book today. I have been in the planning stages for a few weeks, so today was the big day. I wrote for over three hours. Guess how much I got done. Here is a hint, on my last writing project, about my life, I could have written about fifteen pages in less than that amount of time. Today, I wrote a whopping one and a half pages. Apparently, it is much more time consuming to write into existence fictional characters and give them spunk than it is to vomit all there is to know about me onto a page. The pages are fucking good though. I may stop there, call that a book, and call publishers tomorrow. Who needs plots, story lines, conflict? Just a great introduction is all we really need. Seriously, wouldn’t you have loved War and Peace much more if all it was was the introduction instead of going on for ten zillion pages (because I have read War and Peace—you know, somewhere between Garfield, Archie, and some gay erotic novel).
Did someone erotic? Well, have I got a story for you… Dolan (my youngest) is now four months old. Evidently, this equates to sexual maturity. (And I thought I was early at eight years old, guess not) Let’s just say, you notice a lot more when the dog’s hair is short. I will never complain about having to brush Dunkyn every day again. We have to wait two more months before things can be snipped. Hurry up February 27th!!! For the love of Pete—I had a massage client/friend over and he was scratching Dolan’s tummy and then BAM! Is this what parents feel when they realize that their offspring are becoming sexually mature? I don’t want kids. Of course, I guess I could have them spaded or neutered. Can’t miss what you ain’t got. Plus, I would get bonus points from Bob Barker. Maybe then I can get him to publish my nearly two page manuscript.
I have tried to keep this very low profile, both in my blog and in my life, but {quiet voice} ‘I like boys’, well, not boys, men, at least twenty-five years old (under thirty six [I like long walks on the beach, tattoos—non-skeletal, home cooked meals, diamond rings, constant adoration and sacrifices made in my name, looks and body must be quaffed to perfection and there should be NO body hair, including eyebrows and lashes, if you meet this criteria call me: 555.boy.crzy]. I have decided to come out of the closet, much to everyone’s shock. I will have to send back all the gifts I received for my up-coming wedding to Mandy Moore—well, all but the My Little Pony Dream Castle. How have I come out of the closet you ask? (trust me, you asked) Well, I bought five, count ‘em, five Paris Hilton songs for my IPod today. I can’t stand that girl, nothing about her. Nothing. However, because I am gay (aka, faggot, queer, Hell-bait. . . well, you get the idea), I can put aside all my moral and inner feelings because of a good beat. So, not only did I shake my ever-expanding ass to “Man-eater,” but also to three different versions of “Stars are Blind.” I’d be ashamed if I had morals, but luckily, that option was not available when I chose the super-gay deluxe life model form “Choices Magazine Unlimited—best prices of sin anywhere.” Well, it was an option, honestly, but it was back-ordered, and I didn’t wanna wait the extra five minutes.
So, you see, that is why cats are evil. Well, maybe not evil. However, many of them did kill lots of my chickens when I was growing up, and being close to them makes me stop breathing, my eyes swell shut, and brings on fits of coughing—proving, once and for all, that just because someone can cough does not mean they can breathe. They also tempted the Egyptians into crowning them with the title of gods. Therefore, they lead an entire civilization into breaking the commandment of worshiping false gods. Yes, yes that is sin, just like you praying to your Brittney Spears poster. Oh, wait, that’s me… sorry. So see, just like being gay, cats will lead you to hell. Of course, worshiping cats seems like a much more clear cut case of choosing a life structure. However, there may be a DNA code for Cat Deityization in our blood somewhere. Who am I to judge? Cats also present as this adorable bundle of fur that purrs and craves your affection, then grows into a creature that treats you with distain and claws your furniture—just like what happens to Gremlins—only less water copulation. (which is fun, if you don’t have fur—so I hear) So, you’re right, the verdict is truly that cats are evil.
Glad that is settled.

winds of change are a-blowin

First blog of 2007…
Here is my list of 632 resolutions for the New Year. Oh, wait. I don’t do that. Resolutions are for people who have things to change, imperfections. So not me. However, I am looking forward to this year. As I mentioned previously, one of the few superstitious things I am holding onto (of my own making) is however you bring in the New Year is the theme of how that year will go. Last year was the worst New Year’s Eve of my life, and 2006 ended up being the hardest, most painful, year of my life. Well, good news. Last night was the best New Year’s Eve I have ever had. Ever! TB, JS, SM, TH, and I went to dinner (Mexican food [grease and cheese]), went to JR’s for a bit (first time in six months) and then TH and I went off to a party hosted by his straight Montana friends. I had a blast. Getting to have dinner with four of my beautiful most dearest (yes, yes, improper grammar, you know you love it) friends in the world—we were rather quiet and reserved, but still, just the simple fact of being together (quiet and reserved went out the window as TH and I taught the straight people to dance gay ;) ). Maybe this year will be the best year yet. We will see…
Today, I have been able to label an ache of something specific I have been missing, that I wasn’t really aware of. Sleeping next to someone I love, having their arm laid over my chest, hearing them breathing/snoring, simply having their leg resting against mine. What is that? What is so wonderful about that? I mean most of the time, you are just sleeping and not even aware of anything and are unconscious and drooling. Yeah, because that’s hot. And, it can’t be with just anyone. It has to be with someone you love and trust, otherwise, it is more a nuisance. With the right person, however, it is near magical, instilling a sense of safety and peace. Maybe I will get this experience again this year…
So, as I said, I am very excited about this year, I have a crap load of hope about it and feel that life may do one of those never-ending revolutions that flip everything upside down and allow life to begin anew, emerging yet again from the chrysalis that leads to beauty.
Randomness…
On the way to Diedrich to blog a bit ago, I was listening to one of my Christian music radio stations and the ever glorious and efflorescent James Dobson’s countenance flooded into my car and begin to speak his words of enlightened, progressive message to the wives of the world, of which I have yet to become. He was speaking to them of the chemical reaction that hinders men un-responsible for their natural attraction to a beautiful woman and explains why they are not physically capable of not turning their eyes to the observing of her. He does say that the man is responsible for what he chooses to do with what he sees and keep his heart from lust, etc. I couldn’t help but chuckle (and then curse him a little in my head). I know the Bible speaks of no such chemical, and yet that seems not to bother Brother Dobson. He was throwing around the chemical excuse freely with abandon. Aren’t their scientists who are proving the existence of chemical, DNA, and other such things of which I know nothing of, supporting the homosexual attraction on a very primary basic level? Stupid Faggots! Quit lusting after Ricky Martin’s lips, and wives rest assured that your husband is fully and chemically functional whenever he ogles over the next set of size D breasts the bounce into the room. Just the way God designed those magical chemicals to have him respond.
Oh, and Happy New Year! May it be a year of experiencing the large and small joys of life and love in each of our lives, deepening the connection of our hearts to God, and holding each other close during the times of hurt, pain, and loneliness. Again, I am blown away by all the blessing and examples of mercy and love God provides in the forms of outstanding people (and dogs) in my life.

Waiting for my Christmas elf......

Christmas day and I cried. Now, this is nothing new. It has been the theme of 2006. However, these tears were different. They were shed over the love shared between a pig and a spider. Yeah, my family and I went to see “Charlotte’s Web,” and yeah, I cried. Death is sad, even a spider’s, well, at least this one’s death was sad. I spent all day with my family and all four of our dogs. Truly a great day. Wonderful, actually. Diet starts tomorrow. Woop woop! Shit, I really did just say, woop, woop, didn’t I? The end is coming soon.
One of the things I have looked forward to all year was getting to make love in front of the fire place, by the Christmas tree. Probably a strange, irreverent desire, but still… Obviously, that didn’t happen. Maybe next year, or the next decade. Somewhere in there.
I just found out about ten minutes ago, that the plans I have for New Year’s Eve in Telluride fell through. A bunch of us where going up there and stay for a few days. It was going to be a blast. Unfortunately, I just discovered that there will be four cats in attendance as well. As they tend to make my eyes and throat swell up, and breathing cease, I decided it may not be the best way to bring in the New Year. I believe I have mentioned my birthday curse. Well, there is also one on New Year’s Eve. Not as bad, but still, not good. I thought this year was going to be a change. I knew it would be hard as I would not be kissing the boy I love (who, I realized this week is never coming back—I thought I already had experienced that revelation, apparently not), but I would be surrounded by several of my boys. So, now I am not sure what the plan will be. Maybe there will be other enjoyable plans, maybe not. Either way, I am fairly certain 2007 will enter into existence and begin the ongoing rush towards the next Christmas… with all the joys and hurts in between.
I do have to say, though, I am fully aware at the moment how charmed my life truly is. I have a Mother, Father, and Brother that I not only love, but enjoy being with. I have two phenomenal dogs who I fall deeper in love with every day. I have amazing friends. A lovely house. I have experienced love I never dreamed possible. Laughter and food still exists. And, re-mastered “The Little Mermaid” DVD is still on my DVD shelf waiting for me to pop it in and worship at any time. Damn! Life is good! Praise Jesus!!! (and, no, I don’t mean that sarcastically, so fuck off! ;) )

random tid-bits

This weekend saw the passing of one of my very favorite days of the year. My annual ‘gay boys’ Christmas dinner. It started nearly five years ago with me, TB, JS, and TC. This year, there were thirteen people in attendance. Every one I invited is someone I trust to the highest degree and has greatly affected my life and increased the wonderfulness of said life. There was a moment at the very beginning of dinner, right when I first sat down, I simply sat, breathed for a second, and took in all the love around me, all these equally amazing men (each in their own individual way), and was truly thankful for how my life has progressed. Sure, this year has been harder than any before, a fact that still shocks me, and in some ways continues to increase in difficulty even to today. However, I would not go back, there is very little I would change, and I am humbled by the beauty that is so clearly defined in my life. Would that everyone could be so blessed and surrounded by such a vast and diverse expression of love.
The house felt extremely empty the day after my boys left, but full of good memories of the night before. I am slowly able to enjoy my home again, as the pleasant times occur, allowing me to overlap the ghosts of relationship past that still seem to linger in every seeable space. The blizzard outside is keeping me captive in my home today. A fact that would normally drive me insane, but is kind of welcome today. I got out just enough to run to the store and get food for tacos, and now my car is stuck in my driveway—at a very strange angle. I have read the latest novella of Kelley Armstrong, played with the puppies—they are so cute in the snow, cleaned fish bowls, done ever more contemplating of the why’s and how’s of ‘the relationship’ and of what the future may hold, and I may even begin working on a novel idea that has been rolling around in my mind for the past month or so.
The other day, I got a call from my mom letting me know that she and dad are going to go to a Christian counselor to talk about my issues around gayness. I am proud of them for taking the step to talk to someone, as they would not have done so years ago. However, I was under the mistaken impression that they were gradually becoming more accepting of how my life is. Well, I guess no news is not always good news. I hate that it hurts them. Who can blame them? By all that we know and were taught, their child is going to Hell, and is doing nothing but rush towards that destination. I would be distraught too. Any parent who did not feel these things would be dead inside. Still, I really was hoping that they were beginning to believe that maybe that subject was not so black and white. As has been demonstrated to me oh so clearly over the past several days, I am perpetually caught in wishful thinking that has no basis in reality and can cause others to misconstrue my intentions and sincerity.
The year is drawing to a close, as you may have heard. This year was 100% different than what I expected or anticipated. I have no clue what to expect for 2007. Maybe that is a good thing. Maybe not. Regardless of what is to come, I have learned this: life will continue (until it doesn’t, anyway), strength will be broken and cemented again, loves will deepen, though some may get lost, there will always be something to cry, ache, and mourn over, and there will always be something to laugh at, rejoice for, and embrace in love.

the moment after pause

Well, I did it. Last night (Friday) after I had my girls over for Christmas dinner, I slept in my bed. If I could have afforded it, I would have bought a new bed, new mattresses, new everything. I couldn’t. However, I did buy sheets, the nicest sheets I have ever had. Very comfortable. Turns out, I am glad I could not afford a new bed. I experienced the greatest love of my life in that bed (no, not talking sex). Why would I want to trash that?
I didn’t cry. I guess I did enough of that the night before taking our old sheets off. It was unreal sleeping there again. It felt as if I was stepping back into a life I had left behind. I have felt different all day—not to mention that my back already feels tons better. I missed the dogs terribly, and I could tell they missed me when I let them out this morning. There were moments, like when I would end up sleeping on my side, that I expected to feel his arms encircle me as they always did. Of course, they did not, and I simply hugged my pillow tighter. Bitter-sweet. But, as stated before, I would not trade a moment of our time together. I would do it all again. I never believed I would experience a love so great.
In what was hopefully a good omen, I had one of the most sensual (non-sexual) dreams I have ever had. Hopefully, that bodes well…
I feel stronger today. Love him no less, miss him no less, but know that I will survive in a way that I have not really felt sure of. I am sure this will come and go, but it is a feeling I have missed. No, life is not how I want it right now, the man I love will not crawl into bed with me tonight. I will not get lost in his kiss. I will not wake up to his face. However, I will wake up. I will go see my glorious dogs. I will see my new wonderful roommate, AV. I will work out, scrapbook, sing, and see friends. I will know, that though not with me, he is still out in the world, he exists, and I will be happier than I was a year ago just on that fact alone. I pray that he will be happy, even if it is not me that helps provide that. I pray that he will know how truly amazing and what a phenomenal man he is. I pray that he knows that he is completely and unconditionally loved—and not just by me.
While I may or may not cry at some point in the morrow, I will be alive, I will be purposeful, and I will rejoice in the love that I had and lost, and in the life that I have before me.

moments

I am not sure if I should be proud of myself or disappointed. Actually, who cares? What is, is what is. Why label it good or bad. It just is. I cleaned my bedroom about an hour ago. I took all the crap I had piled on top of my bed. I took off the sheets, while crying, of course. They are in the wash machine now. Although I doubt I will use them again. I had not taken them off since the break-up. That would be more gross had I slept in it. There was something about leaving them the way there were, as if by some strange logic they would be there waiting when he came back. You know, because that is what he would want, dirty sheets…
I wish I could say that I had did this because I have completely moved on and healed. That would be lying. What start now? The futon has begun to hurt my back. Don’t know why it has waited six months to start this, but it has. The pain is nearly becoming constant. Therefore, I have to do something. I thought about moving my mattress downstairs, but I have to snap out of it. I have to face the fact that my bed is empty, that it is no longer ‘our’ bed, and that he doesn’t want it to be ever again. I thought maybe I would get on here and talk about getting ready to sleep in it tonight, but I can’t. Not yet. Maybe tomorrow, maybe not. It has to be soon, or I am going to end up doing permanent damage to my back. The other part is that I have been sleeping with Dunkyn the past six months, and Dolan by the futon for the past month. Dunkyn can’t sleep with me in my bed. He is too clumsy and if he fell, he would break something or die. I have fallen asleep and woken up every day for the past six months with him, now, I have to go back to the bedroom where I spent so much time with the man I ultimately wanted to spend my life with, alone. With my dogs back in the garage; the other side of the bed as empty as my arms. TB offered to come sleep with me for a couple nights so that I wouldn’t have to face it alone (my friends amaze me, how they put up with my patheticness, and love me in spite of my brokenness). For some reason, though, it would hurt more to have someone there, even someone I love dearly, simply as a replacement for who I long to be there. So, not tonight. The bed is ready for some new sheets, and then ready for me… Sometime this week. It has to be. I am afraid of being in there. I have not spent more than five minutes in there, and only then to pick out clothes. I don’t want to have to face his absence there. My mind has warped it into some strange time/space continuum, and in there, we are still together. He is still whispering soul-mates to me, and holding me close. His lips still meet mine in there. That reality will be burst when I lie there when he is not. It is the moment I have dreaded for months. Well, for awhile looked forward to, because he would reenter it with me. How can one room hold so much power, so many memories, so many hopes, and safety? The safest I have ever felt on this Earth was in that room, in his arms, his gentle snoring in my ear, the feel of his breathing on my neck, and the tang of morning breath on my nose. I have spent so much time analyzing this and trying to tear it apart, and I still can’t comprehend it entirely, but there it is.
I was so angry the last time I wrote. Angrier than I have been in months. Not at him, just life. I am not angry now, just sad. However, I am more resigned and accepting of the fact that he will never be in my life in the same way again. I have to put the pieces of my life back together, keep the treasures he gave me close to my heart, and truly live again, and I have to do it soon. Both for my back and so that there may be some hope of at least a friendship with him.
Therapy ended yesterday, btw. Can we feel the mountains tremble?

common lies/uncommon truth

Crying over nothing. Hurting for no good reason. Mourning a loss when I should be rejoicing. Things happen for a reason. Things turn out the way they were meant to. One day, I will look back and see how miserable I would be if things turned out as I dreamed. Sometimes the worst thing for us is what we want the most. Take a deep breath, clear my head, smile/laugh, get out there and do it again. This is supposed to make me feel better? This is supposed to make me realize that I am not really in love and that I am wishing for something that will hurt me worse in the end?
Maybe that is all true. Maybe every word of it is exactly how life works. But, maybe, just maybe, that is only what we tell ourselves, or others tell us and we choose to believe. Maybe my cousin Gabe died in the car crash because God wanted to be with him sooner, or maybe because life sucks and is unfair and heinously cruel. Maybe your wife left you so that you could find the real love of your life, or maybe it is because she is just a bitch or that your dick is too small. Maybe you lost your round on American Idol because you weren’t skinny enough, or maybe because you sound like Kevin Federline and Rosanne Barr. Maybe my relationship ended because he would have broken my heart worse years from now, or maybe it is because I fucked things up or that is just the way the song was played, homie.
We tell ourselves a millions things to make life more bearable, to blame it on fate, God, or the other person. Sometimes, though, the blame is with us, and sometimes on no one, but life itself. Sure, there are things that I used to want that I am so glad never came to be. I am glad I am gay. I don’t want to be straight any longer, and am so thankful that those prayers were never answered. So, sure, those times truly do exist, and I am glad for them. Still, why do we struggle so much with just shrugging and saying, ‘Yep, life sucks, fucker. Sorry, Mr. Fucker, I mean.’ As I rediscovered during the Bible study on I Peter, life just does that a lot. I learned other things too, but I am choosing to focus only on that aspect at the moment. Go ahead judge, condemn, pity, scorn. Come back and re-read these words at a less peachy time in your existence.
So, there it is. Many hurtful things happen for no reason, for no greater good. Simply because they can, and they do. However, growth still happens, as does happiness and love. Beauty still exists in the pain, in the devastation, the crumbling existence, and in the tears. I love freer, deeper, and with more utter devotion than I could have previously thought possible. Yes, I wish he were here to benefit from the lessons I have learned and the life that is blooming. But, I know, that’s life. I had thought I was on my way out of this ‘self-made’ prison. I thought a new chapter was dawning. I guess it was, just a different chapter than I anticipated. The hurt is more dull now, but even more to the core of me. No longer does the scalpel slice into me, but the sandpaper is now inserted and wrapped around. Maybe more love and more maturity will come from this. Maybe this is lie too. I choose not to believe so.

cheerful

Love Lingering

Tired of the ache
Tired of the pain
Tired of the tears, drowning me in rain

Suffocating in anticipation
Suffocating in desire
Suffocating in limbo, heart constantly on fire

Reliving the kisses
Reliving the touch
Reliving the happiness, he bestowed so much

Waiting upon the promises
Waiting upon arms to hold
Waiting upon words, their fulfillment to unfold

Still I yearn
Still I remain
Still I love him, in unending refrain

No more can I want
No more should I ask why
No more doth love find me, yet still I try

Never say never
Never though I could
Never knew love before, despair: termites through wood

Happiness Revisited

I have written over forty pages in final projects for grad school this weekend. So, what do I choose to do with my time at the moment? Well, write some more, of course. What the fuck else is there to do? Oh, did I drop the F-Bomb too early in this entry? Well then, F you! :)
I must have sabotaged myself with my last blog. Imagine that! No sooner did I hit submit than I went to bed and woke up in a state of depression, that increased as the week went on and cumulated this weekend to have a caporal state of its own, along with its own personality, bad habits, and irritating mannerisms. Hopefully, it will have made plans to visit another of its favorite people over the upcoming week, so that the following days will not be a sob fest, as was this perfectly painful frozen Sunday.
I suppose the happiness that I described is still intact. At least enough for me to realize that I shall survive. God, I sound like a singing diva. R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Fuck that. I will settle for less tears and promises kept. Oh, and the moon on a lasso that I can pull behind me so that my face is always backlit.
At least the dogs are still in my world. As I sat in my bathroom floor, crying and gagging, Dunkyn sidled up by my leg and Dolan (having yet to see his daddy in such a state—a true testament on how things have improved) crawled onto my lap, whimpering and licking my face. My normally fiercely independent little pup let me wrap my arms around him and weep into his fur. If only I had a wand to transform those perfect little angels into a real live men. Of course, that man would shed, pee on my carpet, and have an abundance of diarrhea. Not to mention having a little fetish of eat rabbit poop. You know, that sounds completely acceptable. Real love entails accepting flaws and drawbacks. They only increase the love.
Just in time, my therapy sessions end on Wednesday. My therapist is ending the semester and moving on to bigger and better things. Sure sounds like I am ready to move on and face life anew, doesn’t it? I am considering alternative forms of therapy that may have quicker results. Sex therapy, Sonic gorging therapy, and shopping therapy. Should be helpful. In all honesty, the sessions have been very helpful. All but one thing. I was fully expecting to go into the sessions and have her tell me that grieving for six months over the death of a two month relationship was unhealthy, unnatural, and an indicator of other issues. I feared that, but I wanted that. Something to work on. Something to face. Something to fight. Something to change. She didn’t. She said I was feeling things that are completely normal, especially for someone with my emotional make up and sensitivity, and capability for love. Maybe that was her way of saying I was psychotic and I took it as a complement. She never judged or belittled my feelings and emotions. She only tried to confront the negative things I feel about myself and my worth as a result. I miss the churches’ answers. At least guilt and accusations allow you give names to the reasons you are miserable and hurting, not simply state the fact that I am grieving a loss of the like I have never before experienced, and that it is good to celebrate the wonderful things I experienced in my time with him and cherish the ‘gifts’ he gave me.
Really, it all just makes me feel weak, rather pathetic, and lost. If that is what I am putting out to the universe, no wonder he has kept his distance. Geesh.

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.