The Company We Choose to Keep

Upon arriving home a few minutes ago, I begin to make the turn into my drive and notice two old women on my porch. I pause briefly, speed up and drive on. The last thing I need is two old biddies in rayon sweaters inviting the tattooed faggot to church. They were probably very sweet, and when I didn’t have blogging to do, I might even invite them in for tea. We could converse about the types of men we find attractive. Today, however—wasn’t gonna happen. I circled around the block and came to my house again. They were still on the porch, knocking. At least their love for Jesus is persistent. I circled a third time. This time the women were standing at the end of my walk motioning for two old men to hurry up. They were at the opposing corner. At this point I am not sure if it is persistent devotion or just slowness due to oldness. The fourth time around, the four of them were gathered at my neighbor’s house trying to open her rod-iron gate. Persistent slowness. They will have about as much luck with her and they would have had with me. I quickly zoomed in, jumped out of my car, and rushed through my front door. I am now in the back yard, far away from where the pounding on the door could reach my ears…
Last night, at Jrs, my dear friend TH (happy bday TH) came up and asked me a question to make sure he had not accidentally fallen through some vortex and landed in a alternate universe. He asked if I knew the movie ‘Pollyanna.’ I was like, “The one with Halley Mills?” Relief flooded his face as he uttered a reassured, ‘Yes!’ Apparently, there were only a total of three and a half people in the entirety of Jrs who even knew who Pollyanna was. The half is due to a middle aged woman who kinda remembered but not really, partly because she thought it would make her old to admit to knowing that. Hello! Do I look fifty? I grew up on that movie. There have been several things that make me nervous about the direction our world is taking: shootings, grand theft, low fat chocolate, but none have induced terror into my soul as the realization that we are a society who has forgotten Pollyanna. Maybe that is why everyone is so erratically screwed up. There has been no infusion of cheer, optimism, and unfettered love from an obnoxiously proper little girl. [All praise, honor, and devotion to Halley Mills. She is truly the MOST perfect girl in the world. Really.]
I found myself in the middle of a literacy meeting the other day at school (where I teach, not were I am ‘taught’). All the teachers were discussing their plans and strategies of how to increase their middle school classes’ literacy scores and comprehension. These are all, nearly, professional, qualified teachers. The are many different assessments the students are forced to endure under the glorious ‘no child left behind’ act and a billion other reasons concocted by people who have no plausible educational background or experience. Most of these tests were created by individuals with tragic last names. My deepest sympathy and consolation is extended to them. Anyway, in the middle of said meeting, the leader of the group, a pregnant lesbian (can’t make this shit up) was speaking of a certain student [who’s name has been change to protect the innocent] and she casually stated, “In order to progress off this status Jenny needs to get off her Woodcock Johnson and her Flint Kooter [have no idea how that is spelled, but that is how you say it].” I almost burst out laughing and realized everyone was moving on as per normal. I looked around the room, no reaction. Did they not just hear the lesbian said one of the kids needs to get off her woodcock johnson and flint kooter? Let’s see, little Jenny needs to get off her hardcock dick and [insert dirty word for vagina, my fingers refuse to type that]…. Both of those are everyday assessments that we give our students. And we think that they get an overdose over sexual stimuli from the TV? No, my friends, no, it’s from school. Their teachers. Lesbian and otherwise. And, really, do you really think the people that made those assessments weren’t ridiculed horrifically their entire lives? Did they really want that to be their legacy? Didn’t they have first names or something? At any rate, somehing that wouldn’t qualify as an acting out behavior for those in a twelve step sex addiction group. Perverts….

April showers bring May flowers bring allergies

I have my huge grad school project due in a very short amount of time, I have about fifteen pounds to loose, and my garage needs cleaned. Instead of doing any of these productive and needful things, I am sitting in front of my computer and my fingers are moving as if there is some greater purpose in my words than procrastination. I don’t feel too distraught over it all though, since I have not written in over a month, I feel that this is due me.
The past month has been a whirlwind, internship, job interview, etc. Internship is over. Got the job for fall. Clap. Clap. Let’s move on. And let’s work backwards. Starting with an hour ago. Now, for all intensive purposes, I have been celibate for most of the past year, since the break up that I may have mentioned before. Therefore, there was little to no worry that a HIV test would provide anything other than an excuse to get poked by a needle. Nevertheless, I managed to work myself up into a tizzy, thinking about telling certain people that my white blood cell count would never meet theirs. Three years ago, my doctor told me that she was fairly certain I had HIV. I lived the next two months in agonized terror, telling no one, except my asshole boyfriend who refused to get tested because he was scared. Poor baby. Well, today’s test came back negative, yet again. Praise God (not said in a sarcastic way in the slightest)! Here’s to being able to worry about nothing another day!
So, remember the boy I mentioned that I was VERY casually dating a bit ago? Well, as of three days ago, we are officially exclusively dating. Shockingly enough, I have not freaked out yet. Don’t worry. If I still am who I am, I will. I am proud of myself in this though, I must say. At this point, I have managed to live in the moment, and not over think things to a ridiculous degree. I simply enjoy being with him. He is a very good, kind, sweet, genuine man. I am not thinking marriage or baby carriages, so that helps the blood pressure remain at its normal monsoon rushing pulse instead of the hurricane that normally comes with matters of love. Love. I love him. It is strange to say that to someone after all the time spent anguishing over my past relationship. Not that any of that is negated in any way. It is also amazing to see how different love can feel with different people. The love I have with each of them is not even comparable to the other, but both are love. I am sure if I spent much time on this vain of thought the hurricane would arrive and my head would explode. Therefore, on to other things….
I am still in the process of the tattoo pondery, but I do think the process will begin some time before my birthday next month. Oh, did you forget that next month is my birthday? That’s ok. You can get me the new Mustang in that horrible sixties green. It is FABULOUS!!! Or a burnt orange mini-Cooper. You know, whatever. I have drawn so many tattoos that I could cover the worlds fattest man (which I must say, seems to be a competition that is gaining more and more applicants—they say the rich are getting richer, but really, the fat are just getting fatter; having been in the relationship realm the past three months seems to have made me begin the application process myself; sooooo NOT ok). Maybe if I get enough tattoos on my shoulders and arms, they will distract from my expanding waist and ass.
There have been so many things that I have wanted to blog about over the past month, but getting up at five and going to bed before ten has hindered the rapid firing of my synapses, so this will be all for today. Besides, I have dogs to walk, and pizza to eat and a paper to avoid.

Skip this one. Really. Pathetically juvenile.

I didn’t really want to use this blog space as a place to vent, unless that venting has a higher purpose of some sort. However, that is all I am going to do right now, vent. I’ll start out by bitching at myself. I am fully aware of why I am in the mood and place that I am in. I know what the causes are, I know when the causes will be eliminated, and I know that I will soon feel better. I would hope after all the years of therapy, the amount of writing and introspection I participate in, and my years of maturity would allow the afore mentioned to matter to me. It doesn’t. All the matters is right now. And right now, I feel pissed, frustrated, depressed, on edge, and ready to rip anyone’s fucking head off at a moment’s notice. All of this comes from me feeling belittled and weak. I have knowingly let powers outside of myself determine how I feel, how I see myself, and take control of my emotions.
One aspect is being sick, not such a huge deal in and of itself, except for the working out factor. I have been physically too weak and exhausted to work out (lift weights or do any cardio). I typically do this between and hour and an hour and a half everyday. It has been a week since I have worked out. I not only workout to look better and be stronger, but to regulate my mood. When I work out, I am happier, less depressed, have more energy, work harder, and simply feel more masculine, healthy, and in control. So, it is a given that I am in an emotionally weaker place.
Another aspect (again delving into an area I did not want to go [I feel it is unwise to make current occupational issues public knowledge]) is my cooperating teacher at my internship school. Throughout my life, I have been overtly blessed by the majority of adults and power leaders in my life. I have always been told I can do anything I want because I’m smart and talented (neither of these come naturally, but hard work has made them mostly true), and these people have reinforced areas of my personality that I am most proud of in regards to work and profession: I am dependable, trustworthy, hard-working, professional, and typically one of the more desired worker/employees/team-members/etc. Given that these words have been fostered in me to such a great degree, I guess it makes sense that I am rather thin-skinned when it comes to this area. Anyway, two weeks ago, due to a poor choice of calling off work on my part (however one that my teacher said at the beginning of the year would be completely fine), my cooperating teacher went off on me, telling me how I am undependable, unprofessional, immature, and generally not up to snuff (a complete 180 from her normal bragging about me). In one sense I knew she was reacting to me because of other things going on in the school at the moment—a very stressful time right now, and I also knew that I needed to be ready for her to lash out at some point, as she does this with a vengeance to the students and is never willing to forgive or forget. I apologized for the part my decisions played but was not willing to continue to grovel. We have gone from relatively easy working relationship to one that is tension filled. Today, she very clearly (without saying it) set up a situation in order for me to fail and be ‘punished.’ Kinda felt like Anne Hathaway in Devil Wears Prada when Meryl sets up a situation where Anne will fail and she could then have a justified attack. Well, I didn’t fail, but it wasn’t the point.
I have learned how to manage being called names for my appearance, sexual orientation, and even for my lack of affection for alcohol. I am not used to dealing with attacks on my character or work ethic.
On one hand, she could have done nothing that would make me more determined to succeed (or more sickly sweet and helpful, for that matter). I have no delusions that she will acknowledge any such achievement on my part or wrongful accusations on her part, but I will know and she will know, and that is enough.
In the mean time, I need to figure a way to get my head out of my ass, out of this funk that is making me irritable and reclusive. I really am acting like a baby! I hate that I am weak enough to allow one person’s tirade effect me to such a degree, even after the supervisor took me aside and said none of it was warranted or true and that it was not even about me. Must I have accolades from every person who draws breath in order to keep my fragile self-worth intact?
My deepest apologies for this blog. I will begin working out again tomorrow, eating better, and getting back in shape, and my humor will swiftly follow suit. I will be back to mumbling nonsense and ranting about my various political and religious causes. Who knows, maybe I will even write an erotic exposé from the view point of an SOS pad. Now if that ain’t a reason to switch over to Rush’s commentary/blog, then I don’t know what is…

Speaking of...

I’m a-settin’ just a-jivin’ to Joss Stone’s new CD. Never really liked this kind of music before, but I have not be able to stop listening to her today. Doesn’t hurt that she is nearly as beautiful as a girl I had a crush on in high school. One might think that such a girl would have to be fairly masculine to capture the attention of such a die hard faggot, but no, she was (still is) one of the most femininely beautiful women on the planet. Of course she married a complete fucking ass-hole, but I guess that is better than marrying a gay guy. Of course, I would rather marry a gay boy than an asshole, but, whatever—to each his own. Lauryn Hill sings (raps) on one of the songs with Joss. I love her. I wish she would quit rapping and sing, since she has one of the best voices ever. Have you not seen Sister Act: Back in the Habit? If not, you’re probably not gay. If you have every song and dance move memorizes, you probably are gay. No equal rights for you. Better go off to your corner and sing about the theme to the Love Boat. Yep, it is going to be one of those blogs. The kind where you have no clue what I am talking about. You a get a pretty good look into how my brain functions. Lucky you. And, don’t even try; I’m able to burst out of those straight jackets.
Speaking of bursting, I am down to two pairs of jeans that I can fit into. Sure glad I ate an entire pizza by myself tonight. Just in time for my trip to Vegas in a few days. Don’t matter anyway, nothin’ in Vegas besides female strippers and midgets. Really, the one time I went to Vegas, there was a little midget (not that there are big midgets) dancing on a box in this club. The things they do in straight clubs… And they call gaydom an alternative lifestyle. I believe the correct term is ‘small person,’ for all you midgets out there who faithfully read my blogings, I apologize for my un-PC-ness. Feel free to call me a god-damned-faggot (Jerry Farwell does, as well as that Ann Coulter chick).
Speaking of faggots, there seems to something caught in my throat. (Even I can’t claim I don’t deserve Hell for that one.) I finally broke down and went to doctor today after five days of coughing, fever, chills, and body aches. It shows my progressive development that I was not convinced that I was going in to receive the word that I have AIDs and that I will die next week. Used to, it wouldn’t have mattered that I haven’t had sex in nine months and my last HIV test was more recent than that. Cheers (with green beer, of which I had none) to personal growth! The doctor said I had the flu and it is morphing into Bronchitis. I was relieved; after all, I was running out of things to be dramatic about. Let’s cross our fingers and hope for further progression to pneumonia or scurvy.
Speaking of scurvy, I have grown more solid in my assertion that humanity is a plague upon civilization. I first became disheartened of this state in the workings of the Church. Later, I came to see the same thing in the world of counseling. I most recently have been swamped by the sickness in graduate school. Now, I am facing the facts that it is everywhere in the teaching population as well. I must cancel my support of the “Save the Human” campaign, and transfer those funds to “Save the Ferrets in Botswana” movement. In all these places, I came to face the bitter facts that the majority of the humanoids are full of deceit, speaking kindly to one-another, smiling, and acting of sweetest intentions and not even waiting for the scent of the other person to evaporate before slitting their throat through their words, slander, and gossip (in all fairness, I guess I will admit if your odor is so saturating that it lingers much time after your presence, your throat is better off slit). People seem to simply want to hear the sounds of their own gurgling and piss over any small grains of purity or wisdom that may accidentally make an appearance from time to time. I don’t feel like I am above these things (there mere act of writing them is proof that I am not), but I can not grasp why we as educated, ‘sophisticated,’ cultured adults have less gentility than a gaggle of hyenas. I think this, more than any altruistic motivation, is the cause of my desire to work with children, and those that are deemed socially unacceptable and hostile. They are simply who they appear to be (most of the time) and when they are being manipulative little bitches, it is obvious they are being nothing other than what they are. In their blatant, self-centered, arrogance there is a measure of pure, undiluted honesty and even compassion, that is rare to come by in ‘polite’ society.
Speaking of the serine beauty of God’s children, through my sickness, I have had many heartfelt gestures from loved ones who embrace their bitchiness. Many offering to come by, some watching movies with me, calling to check in, even one offer to supply a dildo. Still waiting on that one… Well, I guess no one can be perfect… Through it all, those who have chosen to walk their lives along side me continue to show me the splendor of the light of who God is through their consistent passion, love, and genuine tenderness. Maybe I won’t give the ferrets all my money. Maybe…

Curious, Curiouser, and Curiousest

I’m in one of my moods at the moment. No, not the kind where I write soft porn from the vantage point of a squirrel. I wish. Those moods are fun. I am in a semi-depressed/melancholy state. As surprising as that is… The wonderful thing is that I am on my front porch swing with Dunkyn and Dolan. The first of the year. Makes me happy! Winter will soon be dead. Dolan will jump down from the swing any second in deceleration of his independence. Dunkyn, my soul in a dog, will remain ever enmeshed by my side, occasionally nudging my hand impatiently for attention. I could ramble on about my mood, how I am more confused by the quasi-romance happening, how it is making me very happy in one sense and lonely in another, or how I have to spend the rest of the semester getting up at 5:45 AM to teach in a classroom where they teacher wants to be on her own and resents my presence and is making it known more all the time, or how I seem to be stuck in the state of binge eating, and my jeans and self-worth are paying the price. I could tell you about those things, but I won’t. Glad I didn’t bring it up.
I think, instead, I will focus on three strange happenings in my life, ending with the most recent. None particularly interesting or valuable, so it makes perfect sense that I would spend precious time documenting their existence.
Over the past two weeks, I have been struggling to see: eyes burning, hardly able to have my eyes open in daylight, the surrounding word haphazardly fading in and out of focus. After nearly fourteen days and a variety of eyes drops, I decided to go into the eye doctor, convinced that they would tell me that I was being a dramatic and that I simply needed to bathe or some such nonsense. Well, upon sitting in the chair, and the first optometrist aid calling in another optometrist aid to see if they noticed anything strange in my left eye, the real doctor was called in. His first comment was, “You must be tough as nails, most people wouldn’t last five minutes with this in their eyes.” I smiled and nodded, and opted to not mention the six months of the previous year spent in tears. He took a pair of tweezers (after applying numbing drops) and pulled out a piece of plastic that he said was working its way into my eyeball, resulting in a delightful infection. Who else would have plastic stuck in their eyeball, have no recollection of its origin, and walk around ignorantly for two weeks with it protruding out of its new sheath? There is reason I don’t do drugs or drink to excess. This is me sober!
The second thing is not strange, it just is what it is. I love my neighborhood. Love, love, love it. Now that the weather is nice, the boys and I have been going on two hour walks (one hour at a time because their little feet and legs get tired). We roam all around the area, enjoying the sun, older houses, and the spring flowers beginning to bloom. The boys are so different, Dunkyn being petrified of every person in existence and nothing else, and Dolan being terrified of everything but any person who ever existed. Whenever we come across someone, Dunkyn tears off behind me to get away from the evil monstrosity that is humanity, and Dolan charges forward to embrace (by leaping upon) each mortal flaw and virtue. It is amazing both of my arms have not been permanently removed from their sockets. We made the mistake of taking a walk around six in the evening, not thinking about the rest of the world just arriving home from work. Throughout the entire walk there were never fewer than four other dogs and their owners in sight (not exaggerating), accompanied with a host of wives, husbands, same-sex lovers, friends, children, strollers, cigarettes, walkmans, poop-bags, tricycles, and cell-phones. Most of the time I consider myself to be one of the most of loving of humanity kind-of-person I know. I have now decided that human-kind is a plague akin to the mosquito population and should promptly be exterminated.
Finally, today, ending my bi-annual beard growing extravaganza, I decided to shave. There are two good things about beard growing, during that time, my blue eyes look gorgeous (not sure why, but they only look like that when the rest of me is covered in hair), and when I shave I look fifteen years old for about thirty minutes. Very fun. Today, I decided to splurge (again, complete shock, I know…) and got a hair cut and a shave from Floyds Barber. This is always where I get my hair cut, every two weeks, but have never got a shave. It was an hour and a half process. Thirty minutes for the hair, and an hour for my face (it takes me about three minutes to shave it myself). For those of you that know me, you are most likely aware that I have a bit of an exhibitionist streak in me (lucky you, if you are dating me, or just happen to catch a show). However, having my face shaved by someone else and in public was near scandalous. I felt more than naked. It felt very pampering and S&M all at the same time. I have never had a blade held to my throat before. In different circumstances, it might be a good thing; nevertheless, I will here on out be shaving myself, where people can’t see me. On a good note, with the exception of a few missed hairs (how there is skin left, let alone hair, after an hour of shaving, I have no idea) my face was as smooth as it has ever been—for about two hours. Kinda like trying menudo, glad I can say I did it—might puke in my lap if I had to repeat the process. And now that I have turned the conversation over to involuntary regurgitation, it is time to go iron and watch Lost…

Erotica?

He looked through the window as he had so many times before. The first time he dared to take such a risk, he promised himself it would be a solitary experience. One peak would surely quench his curiosity. Instead, what he saw had inspired fascination. His enthrallment quickly gave way to obsession. There were promises that must be kept, things that must be done. He had responsibility. Others’ lives depended on him. There should be nothing that would cause him pause in his duties. There should be nothing so alluring that he would be willing to risk the survival of his wife, of his children. If he were capable of guilt, he was sure he would be filled to overflowing. As it was, the probability of the starvation of his offspring gave him only the minutest pause; he turned his eyes back to the warm glow through the pane.
He took in the sparks flickering in clustered groupings around the room. Each spark represented potential death, potential torment. It seemed, in this place they were tamed, controlled. At least for the moment. The thrill of danger, of complete consummation by flame whirled in his stomach and sent shots of pleasure through his groin. His breath shortened to a pant. The glass hazed briefly as his nose made contact. He pulled away and shook himself. He wanted the moment to last. It must last. At times, he could witness this display many times between the rising and the setting of the sun. However, it had been so long that he had nearly forgotten some of the sensations that this observation would ensue within him. He thought he had seen these same sparks the previous evening as he glanced out his home and into this bewitching universe. His wife, sensing something unfamiliar in her mate, blocked his way and offered her the distraction only she could provide. He thrust with thoughts of flame, steam, and heat filling his head.
More than hearing, he sensed the vibrations making their way to the window sill. It was if all the birds in the trees were singing at the same time, the breeze blowing an accompanying harmony, and locust chanting deafeningly overhead. His eyelids widened as the creatures inside began to move with the rhythm of the vibrations. He had seen others of these beings many times, but none in the way the two in front of him displayed themselves habitually. The movements reminded of the disappointing distraction of the night previous, only instead of inspiring visions of escape they drew him in, bringing with them sensations he was incapable of expressing.
The tan skins of the bodies glistened in the presence of the captivating fires. As they moved to the rhythms, the lights shimmered across their naked bodies, bringing to his mind the sun playing over the ripples across the pond. The pond. He should be there now. He should be ensuring the survival of his family, not watching these bodies entering each other.
Bodies. His attention captured yet again by the swaying, twisting, and plunging in front of him. This time, vibrations were accompanied by sound. It sounded like pain, like desperation, like trying to stay alive. Indeed the mouths making the sounds looked as if death were upon them. His eyes traced the faint red lines left behind as they clawed each others’ backs, arms, and chests.
Lust reached his nostrils. It was a scent he knew, but this was distorted somehow. Its tang more musk and spice than those of his experience.
As they cried out and fell against each other trembling, he felt his body tighten. Release. Nearly causing him to loose his balance at the window.
The mouths only moments before calling out in agony now found each other and explored depths unseen.
He shook himself off and tore his gaze away from the scene. Maybe he could relive the moment the following day. He rubbed his face into his grey tail, trying to clear his mind. He plunged down from the window ledge, scampered across the lawn and picked up an acorn in his teeth before he reached his tree. He slowly made his way up the bark, trying to return his breathing to normal. Outside the hole’s entrance, he glance back at the amber glow still beckoning him. With one final shrug he entered, hoping the singular acorn would be enough to tide over the incessant chattering of his wife. If only he could experience the subdued fire, the glistening making its way down smoothness, the near death that brought pain and trembling. If only. . .

Through the Dirt

Matted black and Grey
Death pulled and stripped Away
Sticks and thorns pierce my Skin
Sacrifice made to reveal life Within

Tender shoots of vibrant Green
Tiniest buds form under fuzzy Velveteen
Colors proclaim winter’s Death
Suggestion of renewal for all the Rest

Four seasons ago, kneeling at this Bed
You, standing at my side, stroking my Head
Our love, new as the Spring
Hosts of questions of what our futures may Bring

You spoke words that shot my heart with Fear
Ushered in our first fight, the first Tear
Clarification made in Haste
In your arms, I found assurance’s Taste

Though our love would not see summer’s Sun
Conception you planted in my heart only Begun
Buds into blooms, shoots in to Leaves
Months passed weighing me to my Knees

The same flora I bend to Reveal
Only a year added to this life I Steal
You in my heart though not by my Side
A new me begins to bloom, eyes open Wide

Tale of Two Testicles

Yesterday was an emotional day for the Witt family. At least for the gay portion of the Witt family. Dolan, my youngest, having reached the ripe old age of six months, entered the realm of manhood, and was quickly removed from it. That’s right, he got neutered. I know this is very un-masculine for me to say, but I am glad. It completely grosses me out to see ball’s (de perro) flopping around. I know, go figure. When I was a kid, we had a dog die while under anesthesia, so I was a little nervous. Even got a little teary while dropping him off at the veterinary office. I then went off to get even more teary, but that is in the next paragraph. Well, my little guy pulled through and I went to pick him up eight hours later. They told me that he would most likely be sore and lethargic most of the evening, so not to be concerned with such behavior. They went back to get him and he trotted right out to me (I am not so sure I would be as welcoming to the one who paid to have my balls removed—nearly $400, btw, crazy!), rolled on his back and waited for me to scratch his tummy. As I obliged this request, Dolan glanced over his left shoulder and saw the huge, 150 lb. Great Dane waiting quietly for her turn into the office. Dolan began to growl and bark a challenge immediately. Apparently, he now has something to prove. When, we arrived home, I told Dunkyn to give Dolan his space. Dolan flew through the front doors, leapt skyward, and landed on Dunkyn’s head, his teeth sinking into Dunkyn’s fur for a better grip. Though we now have one less pair of balls, it seems things are caring on as per normal in the Witt household.
As previously mentioned in the afore paragraph, in the midst of Dolan’s doggy drama (I love alliteration), I went off to create some drama of my own. I have been dating a boy for the past couple weeks. Not dating as in relationship, marriage, or even sex, but dating. However, the dates have been getting more and more frequent and the kissing better by the second. Cuddling ain’t bad either. However, Brandon likes to freak out if everything is not exactly spelled out and in order. While I already deeply care about this person (it has been a long time since someone has made me laugh so much), I am not ready for a relationship, nor do I want to be in one. Date around, fine. Stay single, fine. Date steady and feel like I am entering into a relationship, not fine. Thus, I went to have this conversation with the boy. He handled it well. I got teary. We decided to walk away with things as they are, before either gets hurt as it seems it most surely will lead in this case (due to my choices, not his). After this decision, he spent the night at my place yet again. So much for clarity.
I am staying fairly vague intentionally, and not giving much detail (although it seems I have to clarify the word vague for some reason), as this is not 100% mine to share. Even so, I wish I could simply turn off my mind, let things happen, enjoy them—even when I know they are only for the moment—and continue loving life. This, it seems is something I may have to return to the halls of ‘higher education’ for after I complete this masters degree. Won’t that be fun?

the Dent

Barely visible, only seen if truly looking
A concave, lowering worth, to most
Proof of love lost, to me
Lingering glance rushes it all back
Each moment, each breath

The feel of my back thrust into steel
Fingers clinched in hair
Arms crushing skin
Breathing caught, the world frozen
Eyes wide, gazes penetrate

Lips clash together
Tongues ravenous in hunger
Teeth collide in a gnash
Kisses of tainted red
Blood answering lusts’ call

Burn as stubble grates stubble
Gasps when earlobes are bit
Sounds drowned, hearts pound
Emotions enflamed
Bodies on fire

No one sees it but me, only me
But I look nearly everyday
Returns me back to loss
To passion
To love

the luncheon

this time, when i see you
i won’t long to hold your hand
my lips won’t remember yours
your eyes won’t call out to mine
pounding won’t overtake my heart

this time, when i see you
i’ll realize you’re not the man i thought
clarity will show that i am better off
your flaws will dim your shine
my tears will cease their flow

this time, when i see you
i’ll wish i were with someone else
you won’t be the man of my dreams
my reminiscence of you will prove faulty
normalcy will be your crest, nothing more

this time, when i saw you
you proved to be the man i knew you to be
my soul once again felt safe, at peace
your eyes looked into mine, didn’t want to leave
you walked away, my heart cracked, again

maybe next time…

Gemini

I wish for the sun
Wait for its warming touch
Long for the clarity it brings
Then it arrives

I fantasize about moon
Of glitter of the stars
The romance it may bring
It shows its pearly face

I miss the sun

I dream of owning a home
Painting the colors that cheer
Creating my own little universe
I sign on the dotted line

I want to see the world
Leave everything behind
See things I never dreamed
Arriving on a foreign land

I ache for the safety of home

I envision his arms enfolding me at night
Feel his lips upon mine
Practice vows and promises
His eyes looking into mine

I am desperate for freedom
To live my life for me
Have my cake and eat it to
I am strong, capable, independent

I beseech for the man with to share my life

Idiotic Perspicacity

I shouldn’t be writing right now. I shouldn’t. I should grab the dogs, get downstairs as fast as I can to the futon, turn on some show and fall asleep. I should. I shouldn’t go on and on about every single damned thought, feeling, fear that floods my mind. I shouldn’t. I should know better by now. I should know that things are better if I just keep my mouth shut and let things play out. I should. Since when do I do what I know I should do? Maybe tonight will be the night where I change my way. Maybe. It won’t be. Plus, when I started this blog, I swore I would be nothing but honest. There, that is it. I have to write to maintain integrity. I am in no miniscule way overanalyzing, setting things up to fail, or being neurotic. I owe it to my blog, to the process, to the credibility of the craft. See, I must, it is my duty. Well, if I must, then I must…
I will be the first to say that I unintentionally sabotaged my last relationship. You may have heard of it. I think I might have mentioned it a time or two over the past eight months. I did, I sabotaged parts of it, still, he said he thought we were soul mates and didn’t survive my sabotaging—either soul-mates doesn’t mean what I think it means or I am even more powerful at my sabotagation that I thought. Through that process, I learned that I truly do want a relationship. One that will lead to marriage and all those white-picket fence ideals (although I would prefer rod-iron and river rock, white-picket, I don’t think so). So, I know what I want now, truly. One would think that would make things easier. It probably would for most people. It would. However, it appears that it does no such thing for me. After all, I make bunny drug deals in the dead of night, why would normalcy and common sense have any affect upon my reality?
Here is something else I want with a relationship. I want it to go at a slow pace. Not crawling, but not on fast-forward. Stages of romance and courtship. I want to be the one pursued. The one asked out. But not pursued to the point of scaring me off (easy to do). I want to be romanced. But not brought flowers. I’m not a girl. Flowers later on when it is officially a relationship? Fuck yeah, I am all kinds of girl then! I want to date several people. Not in that way. Don’t want to sleep around. Don’t want to lead anyone on or hide things. I simply want to go on dates and truly get to know several people and have the romance progress from there. I don’t want to feel like we have to get married after the first date, but I do want to feel there is a potential for marriage after the first date. I want to feel surrounded, protected, safe. I want to feel masculine, powerful, capable. I want to have hours of unending conversation and endless kissing. I want to have hours of comfortable, blissful silence—but still with the endless kissing. I want the butterflies, sweaty palms, shortness of breath. I want the easy peacefulness, contentment. I want him to be sweet, gentle, kind. I want him to have an edge, a bad boy in there somewhere that behaves himself. I obviously want stars, candlelight, and moon glow at lunchtime. I long for the safety of featherbed while skydiving. I want the mother-fucking cheeseburger to make me loose weight and make my six-pack more defined (I am sure there is a six-pack under there somewhere).
I want it to be deep, meaningful, complicated. I want it to be simple, pure, obvious.
I guess it makes sense in someway that all the things I want contradict. After all, the prospect of possibly dating someone or going on dates with a few someones thrills me, excites me, and makes me all a-twitter. It also terrifies the shit out of me. Completely. The saving grace in all of this? There has never been one thing that has been worth doing (My counseling job, grad school, teaching, blogging, my book, being a better friend and brother) that has not terrified me, some still do. I have learned that if I am not terrified, probably ain’t worth my time.

It is quiet right now, and I can hear Dunkyn dreaming

I’m in one of those moods right now. Contented melancholy. I think that is a beautiful word, just the way it looks. Melancholy. It just flows. Can’t you just see it in old English lettering, tattooed down a tricep? Yum. Either way, that is the mood I am in right now. The kind of mood that if I was with the man I love right now, we would be curled up in bed, maybe with a candle burning, maybe not. His arms would be around me and I would be stroking the hair on his forearm. One of those nights where we would simply talk quietly, about nothing, about our plans for the summer, our dreams, the next fifty years, what kind of mix-in’s we would try the next time we went to Cold Stone. It wouldn’t get all hot and steamy, although there would be kisses. There should always be kisses. He would drift off to sleep first, and I would soon follow, serenaded by the lullaby of his gently snoring.
Tim McGraw is singing to me now about being angry all the time as I write these words. Wouldn’t really mind falling asleep in his arms either, now that you bring it up. I feel fragile at the moment. Not mentally, just in general. There are so many things I want to do with my life still, to accomplish, experience, give. Yet, there are, of course, no guarantees. How many hundreds of people’s lives ending were reported on the news this evening? I could easily have been one of those today, or any day for that matter. I think about my gorgeous, amazing cousin Gabe who died over three or four years ago now at the age of 26. I have often wondered over his death. We were very similar in many ways, but between the two of us, he had so much more to readily give. So much more natural grace and confidence. He would walk into a room and people would fall in love with him. The kind of man that was beautiful on the outside and twice as attractive on the inside. Why him? Why is he gone and I am still here? There are many experiences that I have had over the past couple years that I think of Gabe when I am going through them. Even attempting to write this new book, it is partially inspired by Gabe. From my point of view, Gabe lived every moment with passion and gusto, all the while never ceasing to sacrifice of himself for those around him. I have often wondered what he would have said, how he would have looked if I could have told him about me being gay. I wasn’t out when he died. However, if I only have an hour to spend with him, that would be one of the last things of importance to speak of to him. I really believe, though, he would have looked shocked and then simply smiled at me in his way and assured me of my worth.
People drive me absolutely fucking crazy with all their drama, pettiness, and selfish cruelty. Even more so, I am astounded at the vast number of truly beautiful phenomenal people we walk this journey with everyday. I know I should probably look at humanity and be overwhelmed with all the disgusting vileness of our species, and at times I am, but most of the time, I really think I can see people the way God must. They are wonderful, their depth, their complexity, their ability to give everything for what they are most passionate about. Even in the simple ability to create music, compose art, weave written words to form universes, astounding. I am sure God weeps for us daily with our questionable choices and daft hard-headedness, but He also weeps out of pure pleasure of His creations.
I am still wanting to say words. Not sure which ones, but there is some solace for me as I write tonight, whatever that means. However, the thoughts and feelings that are coming are not flowing in such a way that my fingers are able to capture them. Therefore, it is time for them to concede to their limited ability. Thanks for allowing me to use you as a stand-in for the arms that are not here to hold me as I fall asleep, for the ears that are not here to be carried to dreams by my rambling, for the heart that as of yet does not beat in synchronization with mine. For continuing to journey this path with me. Take a moment to be melancholy today, close your eyes, hear rain on the window, feel a fleece blanket around you, smell spiced tea at your side, smile quietly, and sigh.

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.