By now you've probably seen the subject of fury and debate over at another bloggers site over a made-up ending to a scenario involving he and a rather effeminate teen with an attitude. I'll save everyone the naming of names - but it serves as interesting reading if nothing else for how heated - a "made-up" scenario made his readers. Buttons were pushed, lines were crossed. So in lieu of commenting on who said what and whose right and whose wrong (let's be honest there is validity to both sides of the story the problem is are we talking about the bigger picture subject "Violence Against Gays by Gays" or the more specific instance of writing a misunderstood joke on your own blog).

The bigger subject is compelling and is something we all (I think) wrestle with.

I don't understand why guys choose to be screaming queers, running around "Sister this, Sister that", throwing wrists around, quoting 'Steel Magnolias' - but I don't have to "understand" - I DO have to accept, though - that it is their right to behave and "express" their homosexuality as they see fit. Sure I'll chuckle to myself and hope they grow out of it - but if someone dared to lay a hand on the bleach blond coif (sp?) I would kick there ass.

"What we stand for" is not represented by what we wear and even what we quote or sing along to (in our out of drag) - it has to do with principles, morals and how we treat each other. I stand for tolerance - until it crosses lines. When some bitchy queen or princess sits at a bar and rakes every average joe or chubby boy over the coals - loudly - wanting to exact some subconcious revenge for junior high school locker room beatings and humiliations - she's crossed the line. What genius to exchange hatred for hatred. I will get right in this little faggots face and explain to them in the shortest of terms - they are out of line - work out your demons somewhere else. I have met some vicious, catty, cruel queens who I wished would be jumped in the parking lot on there way outside of the bar, I have shoved some of them down and threatened to crack their skull - this doesn't make me a better person - but a person with no tolerance for mean, heartless people.

Bravery comes in one form - the ability to meet-head-to-head with knowing conflict out of pure faith and conviction.
Shame comes in many insidious forms. Lies, Self-loathing, Betrayal, Hatred and Violence.
If we endorse "shame" - an emotion that we have let shape our everyday actions as gay men and women (read my previous pre-Thanksgiving posts about "Negotiation as Character Assasination"), then we are endorsing that people lie about who they are, betray family, friends, lovers and themselves with these lies, learn to hate themselves and others through this negotiation of character and finally lash out in violence at those around them to justify the way they have been made to feel inside.

I choose bravery.

I didn't wear dresses. But coming out at 12 and being openly gay in high school I did realize the need to look as different as I felt inside. I chose a mohawk, white hair, blue hair, Dead Kennedys and Depeche Mode, Virgin Prunes and Bronski Beat, Bauhaus and Dream Academy. I wore eyeliner and used ALOT of Aqua Net. Small children cowered and adults looked at me and shook there head - what a horrible young man I was. A juvenille delinquient. My father knocked me around, even my mother smacked me repeatedly screaming the first time she saw the mohawk. But I know now all I was attempting to do was force them to accept me for what I was on the outside - DIFFERENT - so they might learn to accept me for who I was on the inside - DIFFERENT. How funny it is to be standing at a bar and have a guy cruise me who I went to junior high and high school with - the ones who called me fag. Remind me someday to tell you the story about my asshole 9th grade gym coach hitting on me one night at a bar in my 20's. Hmmm - I'll show you a faggot. Then there were those strange girly boys with their Pete Burns or Souixsie-Souix looks who were kind to me - somehow, though our approach was different, we were fighting the same fight.

Question:
If you saw two boys standing on the corner - one cute, muscular, buzz cut, big smile wearing a t-shirt that says "FAGGOT" and one wearing a rabbit fur jacket, capri pants and high-lighted hair - are they fighting for two "different" things ?

Answer:
Simply, NO.

Footnote to the previous post:

A read the post in it's entirety to my boyfriend - it was a wonderful moment between us both - clarifying, authetic and bonding. We will be sharing Thanksgiving together. He actually asked if he could have his mother read this post - uh NO. But it set the wheels in motion for both of us that this life belongs to us - this relationship belongs to us - and these holidays belong to US. Just thought I would follow up. And if your completely lost - I know it's the weekend , so catch up by reading the two preceding posts.

...ok, ok, if you read my last post - let's be up front I was carving out a k-hole (it's amazing I had the will to write), but I was soo caught up in this vision I had that I wanted to squeeze out the juices of it and see if it was drinkable. Overall the idea wasn't bad, but was still inadaquately conveyed in relation to the jumble of words and phrases trapped in my head to describe and relate it. (Tyler and Chad - man, my run on sentences must make your heads spins!)

...anyway - now I have a big steaming cup of black joe and have wolfed down a delicious PB&J, so let me begin again.

Somewhere between bumps and rewatching Laz Burman's retelling of Shakespeares 'Romeo & Juliet' and Oprah (the 1am airing) and 'Longtime Companion' I felt caught up in the emotional action of "suppression".

Watching the modern retelling of the Bard's classic tale of lovers woe you can't help but think that as our parent's children we feel so "duty-bound" to follow some set script they have for our words and our actions. When we so suddenly attempt to force open those doors and live our lives - rebelliously so - as ours, but still subconciously carry such a deepseated need for their approval - we fall into tragic or unfortunate circumstances. No we don't drink lye - or whatever - or hey was it 'G' that Romeo sucked down upon the vision of fair Juliet laying in her mock death bed, but we attempt to negotiate ourselves, our loved ones and our behavior, and as I recall - isn't negotiation primarily used as a tactic in hostage scenarios ?? So are we the 'hostage' or the hostage negotiator ? But it's this sense of negotiation that is tragic, we take so long to accept ourselves as we are - gay men (and women - I really need to start realizing and respecting that I have lesbian readers - sorry 'bout that), that we have grown used to daily negotiations and inconvienences to who we really are to meet the standards of others (family, co-workers, neighbors, strangers).

I mean - do you really think that your straight brother or sister ponders what they wear to Thanksgiving ?? I would wear a tie - but is that totally gay of me, I would wear my favorite tight beaten up well worn green t-shirt - but is that totally gay of me - or hell should I wear the Manhole t-shirt from last Friday night - now really that would be really gay of me - wouldn't it ?? Of course I know the suggestions for clothing are far reaching - but the fact is I HAVE to think about it first. I mean more importantly it's what I'm not bringing to Thanksgiving Dinner - my boyfriend. Somehow - with his family coming in town and my family already here - we just accepted that for all basic purposes - that we would celebrate the holiday seperately. On the day when I most have to ask what I am to be thankful for - one of the most important things is him.

So Oprah was about 'stepping out of your box', overcoming fears, and I kept thinking how can I translate this to these thoughts - well that and come on now honey WHITE WOMEN can come out of their box toooo gurl! -(ok - like I said it was 1am and I was high - I was going along for the ride). So now it's after 1am and my mind is still seeking and I thumbed through my DVD's and decided to rewatch 'Longtime Companion' - well actually first I thought about watching 'The War of the Roses' again to snap out of the funk - but I really, really wanted to ride the K out.

So I'm rewatching Campbell Scott (who really makes a lousy gay man) and Dermot Mulroney (who REALLY makes a great gay man) and the Mary Louise Parker (so baby-faced and young and even then a scene stealer and a potential sub-tier goddess) and I placed my friends faces and names on these people - and as the tragedy of the AIDS epidemic unfolded I thought about being twelve and gay and sexual active and first hearing the strains of "the gay cancer" wafting over a bright yellow school bus radio - I remember the tightening of my chest. I suspect with all honesty I was the only 8th grader on the bus that day thinking he was about to truly die for his sins - well maybe. I had just started sucking dick and it was already going to kill me. I had a FAMILY at the time to go to. BUT NOT A GAY FAMILY - not the family that we create for OURSELVES - those cherished friends and lovers who become friends and friends who become lovers and so on and so on. I didn't have a family I could confess my fears to, tell my dreams to, be honest with about who I really was. I had to ride out this terror that every man I touched was a death sentence alone. What I had then was The Montagues and the Capulets - a family that wanted to only know me and see me as they saw me.

So here I am and movie night has become some greater sense of something that I intended to blog about and put into words - but I kept writing and rewriting and couldn't find this statement.

There is only one true family to share the holidays with ...and it is the family that we created for ourselves.

Personal negotiation is character assasination. Justified inconviences that we take at the holidays - taking down the pictures from the White Party, the one of you and your boyfriend shirtless on a beach - or in a wig, putting away questionable books and movies, wearing this tie over that t-shirt. We box up some of our most treasured and beloved experiences for what - to not make our parents or siblings uncomfortable with who we are ??? It's wrong - it's just plain wrong that we feel a need to do that. And not spending a day intended for giving thanks with the person and the people we love is just plain cruel.


I think I got my thought out, I think I see it right here on my computer screen.

Thanks for letting me share.

Fag
Cocksucker
Butt Pirate
Pervert
Sodomite
Pansy
Faggot
Queer
Sissy

At moments in my life - both grandiose and insignificant, self-effacing and self-involved - I become so enthralled with who it is I'm trying/growing/hoping/pretending/focusing myself to be - that being succcessful, being "straight-acting", carrying on as if I was "normal" - actually seem attainable and pertinent attributes. Through it all perhaps somehow I forget one simple fact - to others - I'm still the 'gay guy' no matter what I say or do. As the holidays crush down upon us - the seperation between gay and straight becomes more evident or for some - more hidden.. We negotiate ourselves, our actions, our being. We become part of that larger family unit created through forced cohesion brought on by the holidays...but we arrive alone to the dinners, or more discreetly with a partner - a friend - in tow...and attempt to not push buttons and boundaries. We play our part as Sons and Uncles, Brothers and Cousins. We smile at our siblings children, applauding their efforts, patting their backs as we schedule bar time after Turkey to make it all bearable. We attempt to feel, even just a little - not out of place. So we forget - or we downplay - who we are - we are gay. We suspend kissing in public, and take down 'certain' pictures, we drop the endearments and push something intangible to who we are to the back of our minds til after coffee and cake. We give a back seat to the men that will be holding our hand when we die - to give the upper hand to a hetero sibling who managed to remember to bring pumpkin pie.

I am a Gay Man.

And somehow through the holidays I manage to be so much more....

I have "family" beyond my bloodline
And I have that to truly be thankful for.

....I feel like I'm at a loss for what I want to blog about lately. A great idea will surge in to my head about my "Top Ten Most Embarrassing Moments Ever" and then it will fade away, I'll write some clever one act play about absolutely nothing - and then decide it'll only humor me, I decide to share a poignant remembrance from the past and then think - eh, it's to whiny. So then I ended up not blogging at all - bloggus interruptus. There's stress all around these days: crushing work pressures, the IN-LAWS coming to town for Turkey Day, the coming together of my own terribly dysfunctional family, all that the holidays bring on and then just the everyday pressures of trying to be a better friend, boyfriend, son, employee, boss. So instead I find myself worrying about why I watch a movie called "Thirteen Conversations About One Thing" and it ends and I have no fucking clue what the "one thing" was ! I sit back in horror that 100 people have died in riots over something as trivial as the 'Miss World' pageant. I read Business Week and feel conflicted that Fox is making headway in his fight to recapture Mexico from the lawless ways of the drug cartel - I mean I don't want kids on crack or poverty or violence at the borders - but honestly I like most drugs. I watch "Bowling For Columbine" (with HER nonetheless) and I laugh and I clap and get choked up at all the write places - but then think - even Mike Moore can "spin doctor" a controversial subject - so where is the answer? I jerk off and think - if I watch "barebacking" porn am I endorsing poor safe-sex practices through my consumer dollar ? My head spins - my though pattern bobs, then weaves, then bobs again...and then I'm wondering if Traci Gold had stayed chubby if she would be still acting today ??

When I grow up I want to be:
A Star Fucker
A Fireman
A Sodomite
An English Professor
A Good Husband
A Bad Boy
A Chef
A Revolutionary
A Spin Doctor
A Porn Star
A Hustler
A Runaway
An Indie Movie Star
A Humanitarian

as always - you - crack me up...and DAMN why a pairing ?? all 4 look good.

i love my husband
i love my husband
i love my husband
i love my husband
i love my husband
oooo' fuck there is still temptation out there....yum,yum,yum........
i wanted to be very very very naughty but i love my husband - though the HOT ITALIAN rubbing up against my crotch made my vision blurry

Ok - when I don't smile in pictures I just end up looking mean or confused....going out to the leather bars with my buddy Mike - picture proof.

.....Breathe.
.....giggle.
.....breathe.
.....giggle
.....BREATHE.

Snuck out of work 45 minutes early today and purchased some sexy lil BR sweaters (why I'm wearing one right now!)
Going to have dinner with my boy and then taking him and another couple to go see 'Cirque Du Soleil' under the big tent, maybe a few beers afterwards.

b-r-e-a-t-h-e.

The work stress has moved from bad to vicious. Overtime just makes room for more work and more mountainous projects. I have to appear in court next month in a nasty lawsuit that has nothing to do with my company but involves an ex-employee of the company (whom I have never even met to boot), I just spent 4 days arguing with the phone company when suddenly and for no explanation we lost long distance service to - only - our fax machine (unfortunately my industry still thinks email is "high tech"). I have 3 quarters of results and papertrail to get to the CPA's, but no time to do it and the owner is leaving for 3 weeks in Europe in just 4 business days. I am stressed. I hung up on the owner of the company in a brief fit of rage yesterday. I sat up with my paperwork and a few beers til 11pm last night - my boy looked on concerned - I'm developing permanent hand marks on my face from constantly burying my face in my hands in digust at all the work to be done. I know, I know....

Breathe.
breathe.
BREATHE.

....uh not only is he back. he's recounting some of the wildest stories I've heard happen to a person since the time I was mistaken for an armed bank robber.

A StarFucks Epiphany

Me (devoid of my morning cup O’Joe) : mumbles incomprehensibly “Moooooooorning”

StarFucks Clerk: perky as all shit (what do they mainline this shit?): “Good Morning to YOU!”

Me: “Yeah can I get an enormous cup of classic irony with steaming hot neurosis and a splash of unresolved guilt?”

SFC: “Ok a Venti Slap of Reality with low-fat humiliation and a splash of deep ceded shame!”

Me: “NOOOO…. I asked for an enormous cup of classic irony with steaming hot neurosis and a splash of unresolved guilt.”

SFC: “OK then…..a Grande sense of no direction, half self-doubt, half poor self esteem!”

Me: “UH….can I just have a cup of black coffee”

SFC: “Sure – your soul please”

Me: "Can you make change ?"

....this sucks. 8pm still at work. Buried, buried, buried.

Miles to go before I blog,
Miles to go before I sleep.

Oh ALB....pretending I asked you those questions - really now. When will this mad crush end ?? Next you'll surface with mocked up love notes from me, a copy of a restraining order, a rabbit in a crock pot...

What is the method to your madness ?

E..verything
I...ssssssssssssssssssssss
S...ooooooo
H...ectic, lately.

I'm going pretty crazy - considering moving to at least a 6 day work week for the next couple of months...boss is leaving for Europe for 3 weeks on the 20th and after just coming off our highest revenue generating month in 13 months (90% increase in revenue and 109% increase in GP over one year ago) things are a blur. I'm feeling exhausted 90% of the time...contract negotiations, losing clients, lawsuits, behind on quarterly tax preperations - always something to keep you harried. Somehow still managing to squeak out a love life and the gym 5 days a week - but feeling frazzled. Voted..hope you did to! Can't believe I actually was cold enough to wear a sweater tonight - maybe fall has come to AZ.

The Big Three Year anniversary with Lucky went well. Very simple - though of course my heart was racing as tried to make the letter a masterpiece - and loving. I entitled my letter "My Promise to You" and blah, blah, blah (I'm not going in to the details) and wrote some really sweet shit about us then and now and for the future. I "photoshop-ed" it and added pictures of us and made it all frame worthy...he was very taken a back and very genuinely moved by the words and *glowing* told me it was the most beautiful thing anyone had ever given him.

So I guess maybe I'm "a keeper" after all.

...finally heaven....beautiful, beautiful, beautiful...

Boyfriends turn to pick the movie last night - he picked "Ghost Ship"....I have completely rethought our relationship.

Actually... I have tappered off on my rushing into a proposal - I'm a dork - maybe as gay men we take the concept to litely. We are discussing rings - something that would give some public semblance that we are "together". He feels economically uncomfortable with the purchase of expensive "promise" rings right now and even more uncomfortable with me forking out the cash for both. This whole process must seem simpler in hetero relationships where the norms of society dictate the man handle the proposal process. We agree we would like to have a commitment ceremony "sometime" next year - just no exact dates.

So in lieu of all that I'm planning to go the other direction and concentrate on my feelings and how to share them - I know this is sounding sappy - but gimme a break it's not the first time my site has taken a turn down that road. I think people would be surprised at my demeanor in the real world and how hard I find it to share my thoughts and feelings. I've written him a letter - explaining all he's been to me in the last three years - all I want to be for him in the coming 70 years and that after 3 years - all flirtations aside - he is the only man I want to wake up to and good to bed with everyday.

No expensive gifts or lavish dinners - just me standing there in front of him laying it on the line.

..so, um yeah....the 'Gil Gerard' thing was uh - made up....

...not quite sure I understand the "How's & Do's" of this one, but in a scant 3 days - I will have known my boyfriend for 3 years...in celebration I would like to - well propose.

(um - it got really quiet in here or is it just me ??)

So - I'm blurry on how to go about this. We haven't talked much about our anniversary - but a month ago he made it clear he wanted to "see a ring on his finger"...so I accept that. I want only him (well I mean in the Real World) - I'm keeping all my cyber boyfriends. But what the fuck do I do? How do I say it ? Where? When?

If I buy the rings without him I'm concerned I'm emasculating him - If I buy the rings with him - I'm worried it just seems like a trip to the mall.

I have two venues set for the ceremony (Royal Palms or Elements at sunset) which we have agreed would be on our 4th anniversary....ugh, it should seem more romantic and spontaneous than this shouldn't it ??

Oh what a night last night was - sigh. Good times, good times.



For the 14th consecutive year I went as Gil Gerard of 'Buck Rogers' fame, not as Buck Rogers though, no that would understate his genius...no just as good old Gil Gerard.
Oh man - o - man how the crowds eyed me. I could hear the cat calls and the hungry whispers. That's just the effect that 'Gil Gerard' had on people - like being inches from a star. I beamed radiantly - confidant in my sansabelt slacks and velour shirt (just enough of the old chest hair showing to drive the girls and hey guys too - crazy). If I could of had a dime for ever passer-by who marveled at the arch of my perfectly feathered hair - I would chuckle - "Here touch it - it's made of glass - no really!"

Oh what a night, what a night....

a little music shopping was added to tonight's agenda:

• Tracy Chapman: "Let It Rain"
  
• Alison Moyet: "Hometime"
  
• Dusty Springfield: "Dusty In Memphis"
  
• Cafe Roma: "An Italian Chill Out Experience"
  

Today's blog is brought to you by the letter "W" and the wonderful people at 'National Geographic' *
(* The editor would like to note that no coorelation has been drawn between said magazine and said letter of the alphabet - all similarities to those living and or dead is just plain freaky)

The "Would You Still Love Me If You Knew" List

• I snore. Like a trooper. Never consistently - out of nowhere. Sometimes it doesn't happen for weeks - but when it does - for Gods Sakes tricks leap from the bed.
  
• I leave the lid up. Not to be confused with leaving the seat up (that's for pagans!), but the lid - it's my mental cue to always flush.
  
• I leave things in the refrigerator. I like to think of myself as an amatuer biologist - breeding new life forms fascinates me - I don a white tunic and pretend I'm Marlon Brando in "The Island of Dr. Moreau"
  
• I'm a "wiper". After sex I want the cum off of me. Treat me as your sneeze guard all you want during a hot wrestle in the hay - but if you want cuddling - I need to wipe off.
  
• My balls are shaved. All else is "au naturale" but unshaved balls are just unattractive and harder to chew (kidding).
  
• I swear. Not a little alot. I actually have 45 different uses and inflections for the word "Fuck" to express a myriad of moods, behaviors, objects and actions. I'm trying to work on this one to make myself a little more lovable to a boyfriend who HATES it.
  
• I'm a poet, but I don't write poetry.
  
• I'm an artist, but I no longer paint or draw.
  
• I squashed my artistic side to be a businessman. I sold my artistic soul to drive a BMW.
  
• I pout. Not always. But it happens. The bottom lip even protrudes for 100% true pouting effect. This normally occurs when I'm denied sex, told I can't have another drink or have to see any movie directed by "the AntiChrist" : Jerry Bruckheimer.
  
• I'm easily distracted. I'm a lot - A LOT - like my dog.........whoops - what was I saying I was just trying to figure out where I buried that last bone.
• I roll my eyes. Secretly I must want to be a pouty, easily distracted, teenage girl - who swears, snores and leaves the lid up - and doesn't write or draw and shaves her -uh never mind.
  

Do you still love me ?

1 Misconception about My Body

I weigh less then people think. At 180lbs, people seem surprised when I weigh more then the 6ft tall guy standing next to me.
2 Lies about My Body

Smooth as a babies butt (well, unless that baby was the actor Andy Garcia)

Three Words: Twelve Inch Penis
3 Truths about My Body

I'm not sure that I will ever have 100% body confidence without the aid of booze or drugs.

Booze and drugs haven't actually had the best effect on my overall body.

"Land O'Scars" - criss-crossing my skull (surgery/baseball bat to the head), one on each ankle (C-section IV to major vein), between my eyebrows (German Shepard bite), on my right shoulder (Road Burn from Motorcycle accident) and on my right knee (Doberman bite)
4 Wishes about My Body

That - as I have to date - never break a bone in my body.

That the cartilidge between my CV Joint and Clavicle increases to diminish the pain after working out.

18.5 " biceps - no more - no less.

To get my ass back to being as tight and high as it was when I was 23.

Please no skin cancer - got a bad feeling about this one and the Scandanavian blood that runs through my viens

1 Misconception about My Mind

I'm stupid. In the real world I can't tell you how many people assume I'm stupid just by looking at me.
2 Lies about My Mind

100% "stream-of-conciousness" (my mind demands structure, feels comfortable with "black-and-white" and always finds method - to madness)

I'm incredibly smart. (I'm really not - I'm just not stupid)
3 Truths about My Mind

It works better under pressure.

It filters and processes things even when I wish it would stop - always just cranking away.

It lacks inspiration. I'm a creative "re-envisionist", but I have few brilliant original ideas.
4 Wishes about My Mind

To solve the 'obvious' problems faster - without bogging myself down in the minutae of details.

To regain just half of the intellectual capacity I had in college.

To become thirsty for knowledge and informational attainment on my own (and not from morning show news or USA today)

To comprehend the incomprehensable.


1 Misconception about My Soul

That I am a bad person.
2 Lies about My Soul

There's not enough left to love another person.

I sold it to the devil for a vial of 'G' and a handjob.
3 Truths about My Soul

With every painful entry I right and memory I shed - it grows stronger.

I've opened it up to fewer people in the real world then I have to strangers on the web.

I may not believe in God or organized religion, but I believe in Soul - which seems hard to substantiate given the previous statement.
4 Wishes about My Soul

That one day it be as beautiful as Aarons.

That it teaches me to stop hating.

That it helps me to start loving more freely.

That one day you'll see it coming before I even enter the room.

...wiped out.

I have been up since 230am with Baby. At first I thought her cuddling was because she was cold - pushing in to me as close as she could get - pressing, cuddling against me...then the puking started....this went on til 5am...carpets trashed - you can't get a dog to hold it's head over the toilet. She nailed the bedroom 3 times, the hallway twice and once outside. The rest of the time it was just this horrendous dry-heaving...nothing left to come up. I drove over to my vet at 7am and they can't get me in so I have to come in at 9am and just sit and wait. My flight leaves at 145pm, I don't know if I should cancel or what - I'm wrecked. The spontaneous-out-of-town trip was supposed to break me out of all the work stress I've been under since the end of last quarter...course San Diego on no sleep is gonna be a treat. My Baby is sleeping now - tired from a long night of redecorating the house in Beige (and well some other colors). I was gonna go into work for a while before my flight but I just can't until I know what made her so sick. It may sound strange to a non-dog person - but it was terrifying - I started to cry - I didn't know what to do to help her, she just laid there shaking - looking miserable.

oh well...wish me well at the vet.

taking off tomorrow for San Diego for a night away. Hang with the San Diego boys for "Friday Night Friends Night", boyfriend says his ok with it, but asked me if he should be worried - but he must be because he left the house and turned down sex. Leaving me a little grumpy - I very much dislike not being trusted. Anyway I'm only going for the night - breakfast with my best friend Victoria in the morning and then an afternoon flight back to PHX in time to take him to closing night of 'Angels in America II" at the Herberger. Fealing a little "under" if not "un" - appreciated.

The Top Eleven Things That I Adore About the People Who Read My Site

1. You immediately appreciate the fact that "11" items are far superior to the sissy "10" items you may find on another site.
   
2. You secretly refer to me as a "bi-polar, manic depressive, tortured love puppy" when huddled together in secret ceremonies celebrating the genius of Traci Lords.
   
3. If I smile - you smile with me, if I laugh - you laugh with me, if I cry - you cry with me...now why the hell can't I get you to fall in step with the "When I strip naked - you strip naked" ???
   
4. Emails, lots of loving, touching, sharing, adoring, kind emails.
   
5. Obscene email, dirty, naughty, perverted, twisted emails (this is speaking directly to you and you and you )
   
6. Your the only one I can honestly tell that I watched more of Tuesday nights 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' (a show only meant for gay men and teenage girls) then Game 3 of the World Series (also called "California's Civil War")
   
7. You don't expect half-naked pics of me on my site - but you seem to "appreciate" half naked pics of me on my site.
   
8. Your more fun than Torrets in an open air mall.
   
9. 3 words: Kathi Lee Gifford (hey it doesn't need to make sense - I'm praising YOU - enjoy it silly)
   
10. I don't have to wear clothes to chat with you.
    
11. ...and finally 3 more words: NO RESTRAINING ORDERS

You can now return to your regularly scheduled viewing.

Ok - I'm becoming a "big" boy, which is all good - but kinda embarrassing how some of my dress shirts fit me. The worst part is how chubby my cheeks get when I put on weight/muscle. I look like a Gerber baby on roids. Just so as not to confuse people into thinking I walk around suffering from inner turmoil on a daily basis, I am finally ready to unleash my Indian Summer Inspiration Musical Theme for Holden Caulfields Lover - "On a High" by Mr. Duncan "Admit You Sleep With Me and Talk Me for a Cup of Coffee in the Morning if You Had a Chance" Sheik :

I'm on a high, I'm on a high
there's nothing more to it
we are the sea and sky
and the blue that runs through it, yeah.

and then there are some who say there are so many things I need
so I run or I fight and I crawl or I scream and I bleed
I bleed, I bleed

well it's a lie, it's a lie - don't you believe it
if you're fine then you're fine - it's all how you see it
oh, there never will be no conspiracy of happiness

I'm on a high, I'm on a high
and there's nothing more to it
I have the sun, it's a star
why should I refuse it

and there are so many reasons - I could give you - why I should be down
there's not enough money or time and my love you're not around
around, around

well it's a lie, it's a lie - don't you believe it
if you're fine then you're fine - it's all how you see it
oh, there never will be no conspiracy of happiness

you're alive, you're alive - how else could you hear me?
you are fine, you are fine - there's nothing worth fearing
oh, there never will be no conspiracy of happiness

I'm on a high, on a high
we are the sea and the sky
I'm on a high, on a high
I'm on a high...

It's a lie, it's a lie - don't you believe it
Cause I've tried and I've tried, and can't really see it
Yeah I'm trapped inside my conspiracy of hapiness
said I was yours, you were mine but I didn't really mean it
and I lied and I lied
and I wish you hadn't seen it
'cause I'm trapped inside my conspiracy of happiness

....how do you wear your "chips" - one on each shoulder for glamour and balance ?

As I learn to let go and grow up - and force myself to be rid as of as much dysfunction as seems possible in the wee early hours of my thirties - I often find I have to write things that seem even hard for me to read. Is a thought more pure for being cheerful, or angelic for being well spoken, or right for being "good" ? I'm not sure. Sometimes the most geniune things we utter, seem the cruelest to those around us. So the following will be hard for some to read, but catharitic for me to write. If you've never had these thoughts I envy you, if you have had them and never spoke them - speak along with me and maybe we can both get them off our chests and move on:

To My Mother and Father,

A Letter to Exhume my Hatred of You.

When did you decide that you were ready for the task of children ? Was it over a drink - maybe several, or after a winning home run that made you feel virile. Did you ever imagine the consequences of having a child you didn't want to have - and how often and how frequently this feeling would emenate from your being. My early years were confused by a seperation I was aware of, a divorce I was never told of and a reconcilliation that was lorded over me for any insignificant thing I did wrong. What is it to stay together for the sake of the kids - when your constant screaming, hitting and fighting is really what's pulling them apart? When did you learn to squash their hopes and how did you learn to call them a "loser" ?

I hated you for stealing the chance from me to be a happy child.
I hated the drinking, the abuse, the constant fear you instilled in me at how quickly things could go from "bad" to worse.
I hated being "invisible" and you know I was.
I hated you for "forgetting" my birthdays, or moving them to a different day.
I hated the NO's, to everything - just so you wouldn't have to be inconvienced - "No honey , you can't join the gym - you'll lose interest" (Perhaps you haven't noticed my arms but they can crush NO's without neven trying)
I hated "Excellence in Art", "Excellence in English", "Excellence in Writing", Excellence in almost every god damn thing for being pale and weak comparisons to the "Excellence in Sports" that were the only measure of a man in our family.
I hated the shame you felt when I wanted to be proud of who I was. " Please dear - wait til your grandparent are dead before you have to be open about this life-style"
I hated the embarrassment you felt when I tried to take my life at 14, unable to deal with my homosexuality, I told you I tried to commit suicide because of my fear of a nuclear holcaust - you swallowed that like a delicious pill, knowing it was something else.
I hated knowing you couldn't protect me - because you couldn't even care for yoursleves.
I hated you for telling me I would never get through college because I didn't choose your route (have you noticed lately that in your grandest hour you made half of what I make now)
I hated the response you gave me when my first close friend died of AIDS in college - "Well at least you did well on all your exams - you looked so upset we thought you had been kicked out."
I hated you when you told me if I ever got AIDS to not tell you - you wouldn't want to know.
I hated the lies you made me swallow, the dreams you made me crush to be part of this family, to do my part and be the prodigal son.
I hated when you began to brag about all my accomplishments, the ones you never thought I would make.
I've learned so many countless, wasteful things about you - that I have built walls you could nver imagine, hidden behind hills you could never see and it's not doing me any good anymore to do this.

I hate "hating".
I hate "wasting" my heart, my soul, my energy on this hate.

Ok - I "should be" a little embarrassed, but I'm obsessed with my new toy. The Walkman NW-MS11...simple, petite (dimensions 17/16 x 31/4 x 9/16), slips in my gym pants with ease, and gives me hours upon hours of the music I want to hear - I was looking for a RIO, but instead found my diamond in the rough. I'm gonna buy enough memory sticks (128MB each) to have one for every silly mood. I normally don't get all "gadget-geeky" - but I couldn't wait to hit the gym tonight.

i adore and worship you for many reasons but particularly for being able to drop words like "disambiguate" into your blog without falling over - I tripped over the word three times...would you pick me up ?

owwwwwww.....it hurts - cut it off, no my head - just fucking cut it off.

It's been a while since I woke up and thought "Shit!" - What did I do or say to people last night ? I was out with a lot of people/friends...but I kept wandering away from them and having these immensely intense conversations - I talked to hot daddy Dave forever. It must be ironic to be drunk and have an intense conversation with a recovering alcoholic about alcoholism - or more or less whats behind it. Invariably parents. I talked to TP for quite a while about our friendship and why did he let it go south - I could see the jealousy in his eyes when I brought up Lucky - and I realize why he let it go south. I have a hard time keeping real friends in the real world. And then I ran into "Tigger" - such a little cutie - I pretty sure I said something dreadful to his friend about when I used to fuck the shit out of him, and then I pulled a total "ghost" and snuck out of the bar without telling anyone I was leaving, I felt dreadfully buzzed and just wanted to be in bed. Forgot to call the boyfriend when I got home - might be in a little bit of trouble for that today. I called him at 630am to apologize. messy, messy, messy.......

....i keep thinking maybe I should go out tonight. don't know why - i'm in my trouble-maker mood. Mr. Jeans and a t-shirt today - I always find it odd (because it really doesn't happen often) that women cruise me - but when I'm Mr. Jeans (and a t-shirt) they always dig my shit. Actually the 19 year old hispanic boy who followed me to the bathroom and began rubbing his really impressive cock at the urinal next to me while i tried ever so hard - no pun intended (ok there's always a pun - intended) - also dug the look - but alas I'm married again and just had to button it up - quickly - because it was filling with blood - QUICKLY - and high tail it out there. I bought a bunch of great kick around shirts today - the ones you wear to coffee with your hair all messed up, or to get the newspaper, or to pick someone up at the airport...but all the while knowing you don't look like a freak but instead look quite sexy. My working out is paying off - Chest 42.5", Biceps 16.5" - 180lbs firm. I had the barber shave my head today - fuck it I'm going bald - I know it - you know it - we all know it - it's all good - I kept about 3/4 inch up top - but then you can see all the scars from when I was struck in the head with a baseball bat at 2 years of age (man everything I say sounds white trash doesn't it) Very, very busy at work - but for me that means $$$. Agreed to a price on the house, prequalified - it's all mine - wow, it's mine. I want to blow down walls and continue my landscaping - I want to buy everything I see in the 'Restoration' catalog - but instead I [paid off my last credit card with a balance (there's something very sexy about the number 'ZERO', especially when it's associated with the word - balance). Taking my boy to see 'Angels in America Part I' this weekend - he's never seen it. Then next month I'm taking him and friends to see "Dralion - Cirque de Soleil", and then in December "Tori Amos" - I'm trying to break away from the same old - same old. I bought him a beautiful White Star Mont Blanc to celebrate his new career - I like to spoil him, I secretly relish being the provider. Oh I'm so sickly 50's sometimes...

...another trip to Borders for music (i know, i know - i really need to start shopping at the independents again) :

Purchased:

Lazy Dog Vol. 1 & 2 (Ben Watt & Jay Hannan)....shake your ass, swing your head, give way to your groving feet

Concrete Love (Julie Fordham)...cry, sing, cry, sing - let's watch a sunset and smoke a joint

Beneath the Surface (Balligomingo)...pretty, pretty, pretty and very danceable

Idlewild (EBTG)... this is the 7th time in 14 years I have purchased this album - where does it take off to?)

Magnolia (Soundtrack, Aimee Mann)...another album I have owned and lost - what gives pick pockets in my house ?


You wanna come over and cuddle with me and the dog and listen to some tunes ?

Ok - I have a HUGE CRUSH on you and you and you.

You'all made Out-toberfest so much fun and uh, well Ryan and Sam made it "extra" interesting.

A Letter to The Little Boy Left Inside Me (or "How I Abandoned a Child to Fight on His Own")

Dear Young Me:

This letter must seem a surprise to you, probably - if not completely - a little unwelcome.

How have you been all these many years ?
It's been what - 20 years, 25 years since I've thought of you. I'd be lying if I said there weren't flickers of you in my subconcious - crap let's be honest here - you fucking haunt me. Sometimes when I awake early in the morning - in those moments before dawn takes into my darkened bedroom, I almost feel like your there - afraid of what the day may bring. So I know, I know you have things to do - roll in autumn leaves, watch "Land of The Lost" on you and your older brother's 13 inch B&W TV, your chores and then climbing that tree on 2 Fairhill Road... busy, busy aren't you ?

But listen, we need to talk and in all fairness this isn't easy for me.

I so remember you, running off to Sabold Elementary in the morning , that messy head of chestnut brown hair - always a mop, that huge beaming smile ever present, almost as large as your gigantic brown eyes - you saw everything with those didn't you little big man ?? Huh - funny - I just realized that you did see everything with those big brown eyes - that must not always have been fun for you.

You know I can look back now and since I'm older and wiser and - well your still so young - I can see some things better than you.

Where do I start to say what I need to say to you - how do I find the words to say...

It wasn't your fault - your Mother drank and screamed and swore because she didn't know any better - you weren't the cause - it was like a cancer that had set up camp in her so many years before you were born.

It wasn't your fault - that you disgusted him, he couldn't understand - he wanted you pitching for the Phillies in the bottom of the ninth, no men on base with two outs and two strikes and the trophy almost in hand - but you wanted to be an artist, a writer or maybe just a human. His anger was his fuel, you were kindling in the fire without even trying - you cried because you were human - he hit you because he wasn't.

And then there was me.

It wasn't your fault - I left you

I'm sorry - there it's done. I'm sorry. I miss you.

See I was a coward, when things got tough I abandoned you - I went my own way. I couldn't stand to see you cry, I couldn't continue to make you laugh, I couldn't protect you from them - what they would do to someone like you - someone so good, so kind, so sweet and gentle. I didn't pull away all at once - there were many moments - our parents and their back-n-forth "for the sake of the kids" marriage-seperation-divorce-whatever, the violence, the drinking, the dirty old men pawing you, the bullies in school, and when we moved to Arizona I had to close up shop move on without you...by then I was 10 and things couldn't stay the same. You weren't tough enough for life at the house back in '79, you would cry and it was embarrassing and girly, you were letting them get to you - so see there had to be a split. I had to go my own way. I was able to not care - about anything. I was able to not love - anyone, and they couldn't hurt me - these were my super human powers. And you weren't ready to let men touch you - not the way I was. And you see I didn't like myself anyway - so they couldn't hurt me when they touched me even if things got scary - I had stopped feeling.

So let's face it I didnt even look back.

It's so hard to look at you now - to know what I've done. To know I left you when you needed me most.

Wow - funny I never realized what a tough little fella you were for just being all the things you were - just how tough you were to go on feeling anyway. All these years later - somehow we both survived.

I want you to know I'm here for you - I won't let "anyone" hurt you and I won't use my old ways to protect me or you.

We can do this.
I'm alive with you in me.
We can learn to feel,
it's ok to be in love,
we can reinvent ourselves,
we can make our own family - the two of us together.

A good chuckle

....what ???

You think I look really cute in these jeans....awwwww...get out of here.

...what ???

The shirt - your loving the t-shirt are you, why yes I have been working out quite a bit... *blush*

...what ???

Oh I couldn't - I just couldn't, well if you insist.....*smooch*

(hee-hee, hee-hee - I just tickled my funny bone)

Stringing Together Words on a Strand of Metaphor, Irony and Whimsy
(or in other words "A List")

• When I feel obligated to a person in that monogamous sense - I feel terrible for lusting after others. And damn O'damn do I feel lust everytime I see him at the gym. Shit - it would be so hot to take him home all sweaty and ripped and play "My Lil Pony" (and no I wouldn't - but it is kinda of sexy to think about doing it)
  
• I can't get a pulse on how well this reconcilliation is going. How can we know each other better than anyone - yet seem like such complete strangers?
  
• I can be terribly obnoxious when I'm on a humor roll when I'm drunk. I was frigging cracking myself up on Sunday at our little Phoenix Gay Festival of being Gay -er - something. It's just fuel to the fire when I making people laugh - I just keep going and going.
  
• I really don't think the previous is bad - as long as I'm not offending anyone - ok it is kinda fun if I'm offending someone - I think I meant hurting anyones feelings.
  
• Crap - put up some dirty pics and your seeing over 300 visitors a day (well I mean everyday of your life is like that - but here at HCL we swim in calmer waters). YOU ALL so better have read the story too.
  
• Oh please let this not be addressed to me - I'm the worst.
  
• No I will NOT send anyone the original pictures, I mean if you really want them hunt down the magazine - one resourceful blogger (yeah, yeah, yeah) figured this out months before I talked about it.
  
• I have my girl-buddy Les temping for me at work this week, I forgot how much fun it was to actually "leave for lunch" it seems almost decadant.
  
• I know some of the stuff in this blog hasn't been - shall we say - light as meringue pie, but it really is helping me shed my skin and let go of a past that is limiting me from being more to myself and to others.
  
• I just have to admit that "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" keeps getting better - I give it at least two more years before it starts jumping the shark.
  
• Tucson bloggers beware - I will be attending the Pride events on Saturday - I will be drinking beer and I will be fashioning a diaper out of old Dead Kennedy t-shirts to wear around the grounds.
  
• It's such a warm dizzy feeling - like being Jane Pauley - to be loved by him again.
  
• I need to go whack off now. nite.
  

"Live a fulifilling life instead of just surviving"

Survive vb. 1 SYN , See OUTLIVE

2. To continue to exist or function in spite of an unsually adverse condition or development.
Outlast, Endure, Persist, Live Down, Recover....Continue

"The dance of recovery is owning and honring the emotional wounds so that we can release the grief, energy - the pain, rage, terror and shame that is driving us"


What are "your" rules of survival ? How do any of us become survivors - and what is it we think we are surviving?

Where did I perfect my game face - did I do it because I "had" to - is there a theory of "cause & effect" ?

• Cause: My Mother an orphan - seriously left on a door step in a basket, no kidding - never knew the love, the unity of a family growing up - in turn, lacking in experience and education she loved her children with a tumultuous vehemance bordering on desperate that became for me both empowering (professionally) and suffocating (emotionally). We were taught there were no promises - the parent could leave at anytime, for any reason, you were being judged, a single mistake could end everything.
  
  
• Cause: My Father saw his physicality and athleticism as his only control over his wife and his children, he was misguided in thinking that backhanding me accross a room for poor manners or pulling me - dragging - by my reddened wrists from a poorly played little league game would have the desired effect. That his barbaric competitiveness would make me a winner. That one day he wouldn't be a little intimidated when "I" walked in the room - stronger , bigger and tougher than he ever imagined a 'pansy' could be.
  
  
• Cause: My Mother was a drunk - this acted as if a treble and bass control on the volume and frequency of her feelings - often vascillating abruptly - unexpectantly - between love and contempt. Love was a ripple on the surface - something hateful brewed beneath - turn your eye away and it would take you whole into it's dark, murky depths.
  
  
• Cause: My brother, sister and I learned at an early age to fend only for yourself, trust no one, survival alone was easier - less casualties, less liabilities, less betrayal.
  
  

  
  The "Effect": I've wasted so much energy over the past 33 years trying to survive, forgetting to live.
  
  But how does a survivor give up the one thing that has kept him alive - kept him passing the open windows ?
  
  Maybe by learning the causes - by witnessing the effects.
  
  Boozing, fist fights, drug habits, casual sex, failed relationships and a fear of letting people get close.
  
  If I'm willing to look in the closet - are the shadows as scary ?
  If I take inventory of my eccentricities, can I stop calling them faults ?
  If I stop punishing myself for my parents unhappiness - can I find my own ?
  
  
  I guess I wouldn't write it unless I was willing to find out.

Blogging in it's essence is the two-sided knife.

One side - shiny and useful allows us to see ourselves, to cut open things (wounds, packages, cakes - yum... icing) and explore them - see them closer in all their detail ( and gore) for what they are and maybe more importantly what they were.

Other side - catches the light in such a way that it blinds us - we can not only not see ourselves in it's reflection we cut ourselves in our handling of it. And some cuts even when they are superficial can feel like wounds made with a hatchet.

My blogging started almost a year and a half ago with merely a desire to be as clever and witty and insightful as Jonno or Sturtle or Encorswish or Blogstalker. And then times changed, my life changed and you changed and people came into the scene (or I came across them latently) who changed the way I saw writing like Art is For Losers or Dog Poet or Bent Kid - they combined life and incredibly gritty wit with some very real and sometimes painful writing.

More recently people have come to know me more clearly (good and bad) - I have been even less cut off - my real name tied up in secrecy before seems to have leaked into so many blogs and I've grown a little less leary of that - I am who I am, if you read my blog you will figure that out. I do keep this site secret from co-workers and friends and family and yes those worlds could collide - but I don't write anything on these pages I couldn't say to a persons face (and if you've ever met me ITRW I think you would agree).

So which side of the knife are you holding today?

Anyone for cake ????

Confessions of a Would-be Porn Star (or How to be Treated Like a Piece of Trash by Strangers)

    

What is your self-worth - worth ? Did you ever do an odd job in college, one that was completely (in your mind) beneath you - desperate for any infusion of cash that it may bring. I put my self through college on a variety of student loans that to date have been absorbed and consolidated and reconsolidated so many times that my eyes blur everytime I attempt to remember which one started when. I waited tables at some of the better restaurants in the "Valley of the Sun" and paid my dues as a "Cater Waiter" - which to this day still makes my shoudler ache just thinking about it. I did the grunt work for a landscaper - swinging a pick, mixing cement, digging holes, building walls in the scorching Arizona sun (often on the same days that I would have 16 credit hours and then be off to my waiter job that night)...I will never ever have a good back. But in the end money often ran tight and I swear I sold more clothing at Buffalo Exchange then they did. How often I walked into a bar to see someone wearing my favorite "Mr. Bubble" shirt or Lucky jeans - but a boy had to do what a boy had to do...

...this is where the pictures come in (bet I made those of you at work scramble to minimize the window!)

In the late Spring of 1996, with the Spring semester coming to a close - my GP at 4.00 and two classes left to graduate, I found out my loan elibility was saturated. My parents were scraping by helping my divorced sister - apparently battling third stage pancreatic cancer that had metastasized to other organs in her body - and my then 4 year old nephew get by since my sister couldn't work and the deadbeat ex-Brother-in-Law didn't pay child support. I didn't believe in "Sugar Daddies" and I had no guardian angels - just me trying to scrape by. I'm not stroking the "Hallmark Movie of the Week" emotion paint brush over this story - these were just the simplier facts - and suffice to say I was really shitty with whatever money I had in my pocket anyway. So then came the chance.

My roomate was successful and older and I lived in his big huge house that we rented from an even wealthier gentleman that lived in Moscow. This roomate wasn't the type you would even consider going to for money out of fear of what type of expectations that may arise. But he was friends with a very well known photographer out of the west coast and whose model boyfriend had barely missed out being Playgirls man of the year (sidenote: this guy was my fluffer for the shoot, that was a perk in this story) and is actually quite a photographer himself these days. So in my mid 20's and in fairly good repair (though crap do I ever look like "anything" but a daddy then) I "tested" to be photographed for Advocate Freshman (I was WAY, WAY to skinny and shaved to be considered for Advocate Men - though a mere 4 years later I was approached to pose for Honcho). Being "tested" means that the free-lance photographer wants to make sure you have what it takes in front of the camera and that the magazine will pick-up the costs of the shoot and he'll make his cash too. So I agreed to meet him at a friends house when he was in town for another shoot. He warned me not to over think it - just go business as usual, stop by and take your clothes off. Now at this stage in my life I didn't drink, didn't do drugs and wasn't sleeping around - so excluding the privacy of my bedroom or a boyfriend - I wasn't taking my clothes off much in front of strangers. I showed up at the appointed time after hitting the gym for an hour or so of anxiety weight-lifting wearing Umbro soccer shorts, sneaks, my favorite ASU sweat shirt and a very nervous smile. He took me in the garage and had me strip off piece after piece until I was down to a jock strap. I will be the first to tell you I look like shit in a jock-strap - it pushes and lifts me in all the wrong ways (it's like when you shove a pillow in to a pillow case and it sticks out in all the wrong places). So I was actually relieved to remove it. But so then there i was trying to be sexy next to this Jeep Wrangler in a cold cement-floored garage, hoping my dick looked big enough, my ass tight enough and oh yeah - your supposed to smile and look like it "really, really" turns you on to strip next to a Jeep Wrangler in a cold cement-floored garage, hoping your dick looks big enough, your ass looks tight enough and your smile -real.

I forget how many weeks went by (crap, are you still reading this or did you get bored and scroll back up to the pictures ?), maybe one, maybe two. The photographer called and said "Freshman" was really happy with the shoot but there was one problem - I didn't look very happy and I looked older then my age. To have someone mistake your age is one thing - but to have a national skin magazine that looks at boy after boy after boy stop and say you look old is well - not personally reassuring. So he flew back and took pictures of "just" my face, concentrating on better "natural" lighting and a little make-up (oh how this must be what it's like to be Liza Minelli - though NO lighting would make that muppet woman look natural). So the pictures went well and a shoot was approved which occurred on a fairly brisk May afternoon in the backyard of the home I was renting in. I begged my roomate to stay far - far away - i watched several porns stroking my cock, but not coming - hoping it would give me that healthy flacid girth. I did sit up after sit up, push up after push up, squats, a facial, a mud mask, a steamed rag - it was embarrasingly akward. I tried on speedo after speedo finally feeling best in a little black one I tanned in. When they arrived - the were pleasant but harried - it was getting late in the day and we only had so much sun - and oh that speedo I was wearing just wouldn't do -

HIM : "Here we brought you a red and yellow one to match the yellow swim cap your going to wear"
ME: "Oh - I didn't know I was going to wear a swim cap?"
HIM : "Well your hairs kinda thinning in the front - we're going for a boyish look here"
ME: *whimper*

I pulled the swim cap on which immediately put a red crease in my forehead - so when I pulled it off trying to look drop dead sexy - I looked ok sexy with a huge red line across my forehead...

HIM: "Ok we're gonna have to keep the cap on - go ahead and jump in the pool"
ME: "Um - it's like 40 degrees?"
HIM: "Ok - we'll hose you down"
ME: *yikes-shake-brrrrrr*

And so it went - me lavishing my shivering body in strange poses (like the "throw your head over your shoulder while your on all fours like an animal, then grabbing and pulling on your butt cheeks - which animals constantly do - all the while feeling "very natural" and did I mention "Drop Dead Sexy"?) around the pool as we began to lose daylight - and after a couple of hours - it was done.

Months went by and nothing. I would keep hearing it was going to be in the next magazine and then the next magazine and I would run to the local gay book store full of trepidation to find some well known porn star - far more attractive and exotic looking on the cover. So slowly it faded from my mind - the money spent on summer school, my graduating, my first job in marketing, my first love all moving it further and further from the list of "Important Things to Think About Today".

It was over a year later. Late July and I was attending a friends, a couples, anniversary party with my boyfriend. At one point in what was a charming evening I found myself standing with a group of six or more party goers chatting about our jobs, our common interests, our boyfriends - when a casual and not terribly liked aquaintance weasled his way into the group:

HIM: "I saw some pictures of you today"
ME: honestly, innocently - "Really - where?"
HIM: silence, instead opting for a incredibly classy "jerking off" hand motion
ME: "Pardon me ??!"
HIM: "Advocate Classifieds"
ME: "Classifieds ??"
HIM: "Yeah - it's one of the Advocate magazines - but it doesn't have alot of articles - just a lot of hook-up ads and stuff...your on the cover and the centerfold"
ME: *gulp*

So with jaws wide open and all eyes upon me - I began my fifteen minutes (or one month) of fame. When I snuck in to purchase a few copies with my boyfriend at the local Obelisk, the guy behind the counter told me "Yeah these have been selling like hot cakes - apparently he's a local guy" - since I wasn't wearing a tight yellow swim cap I didn't have the heart to tell him it was me. So then it began - those wide open jaws began to be flapping jaws. I was now a "Porn Star", some heard I was a "Male Prostitute", people would stop me at bars and in public to tell me "they had enjoyed jerking off to me', even close friends would inquire "your not really doing movies too are you??", my picture was thrown on party invitations, scanned into computers and used as chat room bait with someone else professing to actually be "me", and suddenly many people I had never even batted a drunken eyelash at were confiding to their friends "yeah - they had slept with me and I wasn't all that". Even years in to the future it would creep back into my life - when a prospective boyfriend would hear from someone about my "sordid" past, or even more alarming - when a gal from my HR department in my first Marketing Manager job told me at work that she had seen the naked pic of me in the "Ladies Room" at Pinkies Pool Hall.

So the lesson in this tale (and I know you may not have even made it this far) is that every action begets reaction - not always at that moment - but over every moment in time there after.

You'll be surprised when and where that moment will find you.

So I'm putzing with the design....

you like - you like...

Chaos - Control
Chaos - Control

A little buzzed off Mandarin & Tonics, several glasses of Latour Chardonnay and the amazing view and trendy atmosphere of ELEMENTS at the SANCTUARY - I'm a basket case, but I've earned a couple of dollars to rub together, n'est-pas ??? Time for bed (joiners??) - after a good whack-off courtesy of this fine fellow and his bright imagination keeping me company into the last hour or so of my workday.

oh lover, our children won't stand a dysfunctional chance in hell, but what are they but pawns in out tawrdy game of popularity anyway.

An Open Letter to Donald

Oh how I've sat by watching you traspe around town with the likes of him and him and yes him. I didn't bat an eyelash when I was dropped from the "DONALD LOVES ME MOST - I'M 4-EVER HIS INTERNET BITCH" side-bar, but when your letters, each smelling of your signature cologne: "Brut 44 and half" - those 10-205 page notes written in your favorite grape passion purple ink (that really smells like grape jam!), where you would dot every "i" with a heart - some filled in and some just outlined to keep it from getting monotonous - and draw sexual explicited pictures in the borders of the 10 things you would most like to do with me involving a DiGornio X-tra Cheese Pizza, an Ostrich Feather and a recent isssue of 'Simple Living' - when that stop Donald ...so did my heart.

How I've spoken of heartache and pain on these pages - how I've wrung out my heart before the peering eyes of all of america - YES DONALD - "All of America" - my ratings make Anna Nicole Smith want to drink and do something horribly embarrassing to get viewers (...hold it - that is a bit redundant isn't it now)...but how much more can a boy take - how many more pretty faces will I be forced to color mustaches on - my computer screen is nearly black for Christ sake!

This - my darling - is my final plea...take me back - oh for the love that all that is good and Banana Republic - take me back.

So - how green is my garden :

How I Lost Trust Part II (or "The Wacky and Delightful Olsen Twins Make Me Want To Suck Dick")


Another venture. Nothing gained?

When I was 16 I was many things. Foremost was stupid. I lived outside myself - thinking by hovering somewhere beyond the realm of mediocrity, ornamental fruit trees and small single-family ranch homes in Mesa, Arizona - that I would evolve into Jack Kerouac, JD Salinger, Kurt Vonnegut - in short - brilliant and tortured by my own exceptional mind. I craved experiences - I romanced danger. I looked for trouble.

This is a story, I don't brag to my friends.

I met him at a party. He was strong, athletic, Hispanic boy of 17 - a compact muscular frame of 180 lbs and Five Foot Ten. He was a 2nd string QB on our high school team. He had grown a mustache because he could, he dropped out because he didn't know better and he was in many ways everything other boys envied: tough, intimidating and reckless. How odd it seems all these years later I can't even guess at his name. I stood waiting, leaning against an unopening bathroom door for what seemed like an eternity, I had never met him or even known of him, as he stood behind me - watching me intently. I grew weary of the wait and my bladder begged for release as I hurried out back and began to pee under a stair well of the back-side-of-the-tracks apartment complex. I became aware of someone standing behind me - I stiffened - they came closer and flanked my side. He stood next to me and pulled out his thick, uncut cock. My heart raced and my palms sweated - he slowly pulled his head up - his smile catching in a sliver of light coming from a neighboring window.

"Feels good doesn't it?", he questioned.

"Pissing ??" , I asked, feeling embarrassed and akward.

"Yeah, pissing, holding your dick in the air", he laughed. I quickly realized he was several beers past fine.

As I began to close up shop, he quickly reached over and grabbed my dick - embarrassingly a bit of pee releasing in his hand. My body jerked - forcing his hand to drop away. He spoke:

"Hey, hey - don't sweat it - I like dick too"

"Too ??", I stammered - too defensively, infused by terror and teenage horniness.

"Yeah - Melissa told me you suck dick" He continued, "So how gay are you?"

I can't remember my words at that point - I started phrases and dropped off - I neither denied or comfirmed. My mind was reeling. Was I being set up ? Was this being watched ? Fuck - no way this guy is gay ! Is he gonna beat the crap out of me ?

He started buttoning up his pants and started to walk away. I felt lost, desperate - standing there in the darkness, the unexpected, my dick still hanging out of my trousers - somehow feeling that it was a moment I had hoped for - but felt so uncomfortable now that it was here.

"Hey - wait up", I choked out. Somehow wanting to find a way to keep the moment alive.

He turned and held his index finger to his soft lips in a gesture requesting silence.

"My girlfriends inside", he whispered "I'll get your number and we can meet up tomorrow night"

My heart pumped at the rate of a speeding Ferrari. I barely slept that night - eaten alive by hope and excitement.

The next night we met at the local community college and wandered around the grounds. I gushed about my hopes for a life filled with fame and money, I spoke about how different I felt from the kids at my high school, I rambled on and on wanting desperately to make a connection to another man/boy. He lead me to the stadium, dark and ominuous at night without lights on the field and fans in the stand. He took me to a stairwell, not visible from the street and pulled me close to him. His lips and mustache brushed my neck, his arms larger and more powerful ensnared me, he pressed against me - into me - with force. He pulled my shirt aboove my head and rubbed his hands over my stomach and ass, he turned me around and ran his lips down my boyishly smooth back. He pushed against me as he undid my pants and let them slide to the concrete. I felt intoxicated, alive, sexy. His pressing and pushing strengthened, his hands slipped from my naked hips and pushed my arms over my head as he slowly pulled the crook of one arm against my neck. I felt a sharp pain as he hit my head against the wall, I felt quickly aware of how much bigger he was then me. My 140lbs at a 40lb loss to his strength - his fury. Suddenly it wasn't sexy - it was terrifying. I felt my larnyx bruising, I could hear myself gasping, tears welling in my eyes. His cock stiffened as he forced it between my legs - sloppily he jabbed left and right as he tried to force it in. I struggled, I screamed to let go of me. A second flash of pain as my head hit the wall.

"FUcKing SHUt UP, FaGgoT!!" he menancingly breathed into my ear. All traces of charm evaporated.

This time he found his target. A tearing feeling, a horrible burning pain, a moment filled with humiliation - as his rock hard cocked ripped into my flesh - opening up a place I had never let anyone go. I cried, I tried to fight - crap, CRAP - no, no, no, no, no, please GOD no...don't do this to me - please, oh, please, don't do this to me....what have I done - am I that bad, am I that unforgiveable - not like this, no, no, no, no, no, no...........

Suddenly there were white, blinding headlights. A car - other teenagers looking for a space to 'park' - flashing upon us, this horrific spectacle. He jumped off me - his cock ripping out of me more feircely then he had forced it in. He had barely pulled his pants up as he began to run, I had barely hit the ground before the people in the car began to scream:

"FAGGOTS - SICKO, FUCKING FAGGOTS!!!" as they drove away.

Devastated.
Crushed.
Ashamed.

I touched the pain, the burning heat and found I was bleeding. I started bawling, sobbing uncontrollably - shrinking away into the stairwell corner - wishing, praying, believing I was dead. Waiting for silence to offer my escape.

Later, as I crept into the quiet shoebox house, my sister was the only one still awake.

"Why are your crying?", she asked in a mixture of sibling suspicion and concern.

"Nothing, just a bad date", I numbly responded.

"Must of been - are you sure your ok ?" she asked

"Sure.", I said - not sure at all.

I went and hid in the bathroom for what must have been an hour, unable to clean the blood and shit off my underwear - I took them out to the garbage, ashamed to explain to anyone - especially my parents, what happened. I crawled into bed and cried some more - I had lost something I couldn't put my finger on...

hope,
innocence,
trust.

Finally after a session of tossing and turning, staring into space, I fell into a deep, deep sleep.

Beginning, trying, hoping to forget.

A redundant, verbose, illogical, crude, accumulation of thoughts (prepared in list format for your viewing pleasure):

• I'm a little embarrassed to say how involved I've become in my newest hobbie - is there a butcher term then "gardening" and is it really gardening if I have kept all of my flowering plants (up to 20) in pots? I really find some sort of quiet peace when I work on keeping these things alive.
  
• The reconcilliation is going well - not perfect, still some bumps and such - but well. I'm trying to listen more and so is he. It's amazing how much you don't hear that your boyfriend says.
  
• I've been very good about the gym - my work-outs have become very intense - and I'm becoming less and less patient with 'Squatters' - do NOT and I repeat DO NOT use the equipment to conduct personal voyages of the soul and mind between sets - WORK THE FUCK OUT.
  
• Started to sniff around for a playmate for Baby. My only fear is that I already have such a perfect and lovable dog - how will I ever find one of her eqaul ;)
  
• People seem to be getting arrested left and right around here for drugs - things are very tense on the circuit. Thank god I've been seen most frequently at Home Depot and the Great Indoors and not Boom or Arena.
  
• I think I need to start another blog dedicated to just my dreams and nightmares - I could fill a book with that weird shit.
  
• This bitch thinks he's gonna move away - I'm gonna go Kathy Bates on his ass and "hobble" him if he tries and moves away.
  
• I'm sure by now - the whole world knows of the return of the special one, but needless to say "Hi Aaron!"
  
• Game 1 - Divisional Playoffs - we're down three key players - but we are a ball club....The D-Backs are gonna hold the World Series trophy again this year.
  
• I'm gonna be late to work.
  

I squealed with joy and delight to see the following keywords brought you to my page:

Sissy Whore

Yes, yes I am.

The Ever Popular 4 Truths and One Lie

I learned to shave my balls, from two gay friends at twenty-one, who were so horrified at how "au natural" I had allowed 'the boys' to get that they made me pull my clothes off get in the shower with them naked and shaved them for me.

I called my father 'Ice Man' until late into my teens - when after a very physical altercation - and one of the first where I punched back, he began to cry and asked why I hated him so much.

I hated my father so much because I watched him pummel my mother like a rag doll one night sending her flying into a wall size book case which tumbled on top of her at the age of six.

From two years of age - to six, it was common to find me asleep in the smelly laundry of myself, my brother and my sister - piled in the hallway closet upstairs - in the middle of the night. Upon waking I would explain that I was chasing fairy dust through the house to where the fairies lived - but never found the elusive fairy.

From the age of two to the age of fourteen I did not have one dream or one nightmare that I could remember upon waking the following morning.

ok, ok, where the fuck have I been eh ?
Let myself get distracted again - wanted to write some meaningful stuff and then would spend too much time distracted on what to write instead of just writing. A lot of weird moments over the last few days - not necessarily bad moments - some oddly pleasant, but surreal.
Lots of bad dreams lately - not sleeping well - though generally in a much better state mentally then I was most of June, July and August.
I need summer to end, the heat is oppressive - leaving me holed up inside. I want to enjoy my backyard - bought a new gas grill - nice - grilled chicken every night.
Went to Manny Lehman/Mike Durreto at Freedom/Arena on Saturday night. Bumped up a little before I went - but laid off the drugs while I was there - just some beer and Ripped Fuel. Lucky showed up seperately an hour after I got there. We turned alot of heads as we crossed the room holding hands - so many people were truly supportive - coming up to us individually or together to tell us how happy the were to see us together. Some a little confused. And some a little saddened or miffed - those who had been flittered with over the last few months.
Funny how a few hours earlier at the gym - pushing through and amazing set - my heart racing - blood demanding it's attention as it jetison through - pumping and pounding - the old crush came up and began chatting me up - the third time this week - this time he asked for my phone number. Too funny - god how bad I've wanted a bedroom rematch with this boy since giving him up 3 years ago to be with Lucky. I chuckled light heartedly and made some lame excuse for why it wasn't really great timing to be giving out my phone number - he leaves without saying goodbye.
Not so funny how hours later from that moment Lucky and I start going down the road of conversations we always failed to have well. This one about "the boy" - a meaningless encounter the night before we broke up - a reckless flirtation on my part - that never had anything to do with the break-up but somehow has become this fixation of Lucky's - something he won't let go of. He's drunk - he fights shitty when he's drunk. He loses control. Freaks out. I get out of the car, walk away and lock the door. He's hurting, he leaves, he comes back - he gets destructive - throwing plants on my patio, breaking a landscaping light - oh what the neighbors must think.
In three years he's never done this.
I dreamt of Mike (the one who died last month), Lucky and I are arguing - he comes from out of nowhere - so pale, so unreal. He gently seperates us - pushing between us the palm of his hands at our stomachs. He seems to glow - but he says nothing. He places his hands on the lower part of our backs and pulls us in - as if to hug him between us - and then he's gone and we're hugging each other. I cry when I wake. I feel erriely like it wasn't a dream - almost as if it was something stronger.
I close all the blinds and watch movies in the dark. "Dark City", "Mimic" - I even consider placing a sheet over the window as the sun starts creeping around it's perimeter - for some reason I want to pretend it's not morning...
6 hours later - it's 1pm. I should be watching football, doing laundry. I shower - let the sunshine back in. I call Lucky and tell him it's forgotten, he's forgiven. We need to let go off the old hurts and concentrate on what everyone else see's. We need to stop the disrespect, rehashing the same fight.
Later I make him dinner, drink some wine - we watch the Emmy's, our dog at our feet...content to be the object of both our affections.

Ok Fast Pants...here are your answers:

1. I can assure you - I would "never" be a McDonald's character
   
2. Coming to 6 hours after going down on ‘G’ at a bar in Chicago, strangers carried me out unconcious - took me home - stuck me in a shower and then explained to me when I finally came to (and they had been up all night watching over me) that I had stopped breathing several times.
   
3. Prefer a rhythmic combination of both – starting slow and steady and ending fast and furious.
   
4. Chicago
   
5. Movie Critic or Club Scene Reporter for Rolling Stone or a Fluffer before the invention of Viagra.
   
6. Suck – then Lick down the shaft – back up to the head – down the shaft, the balls, under the balls. Repeat as necessary.
   
7. Atari – 10th Birthday. The made it a treasure hunt to find it and the wrapped it in a crappy box. It was more the lead-up and the surprise – hey sounds like sex!
   
8. Oral – 12 yrs old, Anal – 23 yrs old.
   
9. Memorize (and constantly forget)
   
10. Issey Miyake ‘Pour Homme’
    

grrrrrrrrrrrooooowwwwwwwlll.

CHEST: 42.5 inches
BICEPS: 15.5 inches

...come here baby - let daddy give you a bear hug!

Top Ten Reasons It's OK To Be From A Dysfunctional Family

1. With a plethora of divorces and seperations in your family tree your sure to get more presents at X-mas.
   
2. You have way more of a chance of appearing on Sally, Jenny or Judge Judy than those silly, vanilla nuclear families.
   
3. It's not only not controversial to be in therapy - you get the "family discount"
   
4. Two words: Prescription Drugs
   
5. More likely to "run into someone you know" at an AA, NA, or AAA (kidding) meeting.
   
6. You never actually "had" to go on family vacations.
   
7. You'll never write a blog about your coffee cup.
   
8. Four words: Movie Of The Week
   
9. Which is more intriguing cocktail chatter : "I hit my brother in the face with a golf club when I was 8" or "A story about earning a merit badge in boy scouts"
   
10. Even Dr. Phil steers clear of you.
    

...tell me - what does it take to trust ?
The first time out.
or
when you've already been around the bend.
Why is it I find it so hard - to believe, to incline myself to the way of thinking that says "No - you don't want to fuck me over - you don't wish to hurt me first"
Obviously and tirelessly I am reflective of late. I'm sorry - it must seem droll to listen to me excavating my past, memories supressed and some slung over my shoulder like a huge bag of cement mix. But - then again this blog is for me.

So today we dig.

When did I stop trusting others - or did I ever ?

A story comes to mind.

A 10 year old boy lays awake in his room. It's late. His eyes should be closed and his dreams fanciful - an X-Men adventure in which he is the star, a Hardy Boys mystery that he would solve or a Richie Rich cartoon where wealth is without question - instead he listens to his breath his little chest heaves slowly - up then down - then up again. It's a hot night for Arizona and his first year living in the state. The modest, ranch home, a generic shoebox in suburbia, is anything but quiet.

They are screaming again - things break, but his brother and sister lay quiet in their beds as well - are there eyes open - are they scared too, he thinks? Beyond the four walls and the closed bedroom door - plastered with his crayon drawings of super heros and imaginary friends - their is shoving, a scuffle.
It's bad this time.
Normally the father doesn't cry.

She's leaving again.

Too much booze all day long - the boy came home to find her drunk again - she yelled at him, confused and eractic, accused him of being a liar, a thief - a horrible little boy. She would shake him - slap him for being bad - for not telling the truth. When his father would get home - he would make the son apologize - for upsetting his Mother - for making her cry. She didn't mean the things she said - he couldn't take those things seriously. He hated coming home first - to find her crying, to find her sleeping, to find her yelling. How many steps was it from the school yard to his front door and how slowly could he make them last?

When she got like this - this other person she was - so unlike the beautiful and kind woman he cherished and who called him tiger and played with his hair while they watched 'Happy Days' - she always said she was leaving. Some nights she would pull he and his brother and sister into the kitchen. There they would sit on a school night - the clock hitting 2am - little solemn statues sitting erect in the glaring flourescent light. Holding herself up by the orange kitchen counters - she would say "I'm a horrible Mother - a failure - and you children hate me - your father doesn't love me anymore" - she would point to her haphazardly packed bags:

"I'm leaving".

She had done this before, but every time - everytime - it hurt. They would sit tears streaming over their reddened cheeks - their father would scold them not to cry - not to encourage her nonsense. She would tell them she tried to love them, tried to be a good mother, but she couldn't do it.

But this night the bedroom door wasn't flung open.
This night his father was sick of stopping her.

And the boy prayed to a god he didn't believe in - to give him her pain, to give him every ounce of her hurt, every wrong doing, every horrible thing - to fill every inch of his slight 70lb frame - with blackness. He clenched his fists and he gritted his teeth - he wouldn't cry - he wouldn't think - he wouldn't dream - he wouldn't hope - he needed room for her pain - he HAD to take it all - if he did this - this one thing - she wouldn't leave him.

He woke the next morning.
A fever was raging through his body, he coughed and coughed and coughed, his throat swelled and he found it hard to swallow.
Chills traveled his small spine and tripped over his pajama bottoms to reach his toes.

He had valley fever and spent most of the summer in bed.

...and she stayed.

Can I just tell you how shitty I'm doing with my week 2 picks - ugh. I loathe the Cowboys.

Good Enough For Here

I've laid waste to thoughts of my wasted, forgotten, though sometimes enjoyed youth - dispersing the painful, embracing the cheerful and pondering the meaningful.

Lately I find myself looking at myself as if a ancient building, the one on the corner made of well-worn faded red brick. You've passed every day on the way to work for as long as you could remember. But then one day comes and calls upon you - for whatever reason - to know the details of that building - it's heighth, it's age, it's character - and much like that I now often stop and stare at my reflection in the mirror and wonder :

what are you built from ?
what constitutes your foundation?
how strong do you stand?
who lives inside?

I look back on my youth - at 33 I recognize I have so many years ahead of me - but they are the years that will be guided with agressively-gained experience and not with a more innocent and sexual yearning to be broken in.

I look back on the times of my "firsts", always somehow intermingled with the times of heartache - not the kind a man feels, but a boy feels.

So tonight I find myself reflecting on a man named "Sam". He always lead me by at least 8 years of life - and the funny thing with age , you can never catch up. Sam was all things - many of them my idea of perfection - from the smile, to the hair, to the walk, to the cock - and he fell into my life again and again from 17 - 23. To me Sam was the unobtainable - to Sam - I was the "sure thing". An odd mixture - my youthful yearning for what I considered to better than me - and for him, a pup-tent's erection and a few beers south of drunk - I was "good enough for here". He never took me on a date, asked me out to dinner, brought me flowers, or gave me a valentine...but in those five years, I found his mouth on mine, his ass riding my cock, his smile carefully aimed - to win my affection. Book stores, public parks - he would seek me out, fire alive, desire unrequited...but at dinner parties and dance clubs I was the guy against the wall - propped up by his friends. To him I had my time and place and only when I was "good enough for here".

I see him now and then - aging less well, than better.
And I wonder if he knows how much a call the next day might have meant,
a night at the movies could have been magic
and when he smiles at me from across the bar - that smile - I wonder if he knows

....I'm thinking he might not just be "good enough for here".

oh BTW - Hi Fast Pants !

...coming to the end of another day and another week in the land of grueling personal sacrifice....of course I do really like the new Dolce & Gabbana jeans I bought last night - so, ok I'm a sell out, I deserve the empty professional experience. Took my boss and my ex out to dinner last night at "Eleve". It was nice.

....what, oh yeah I mentioned my ex without swearing or crying or ranting or raving, um - when did that come about - well I have been awful quiet now haven't I.

...yes there are details and events and such to explain - but I feel I'll jinx it if I talk about it.

Let's just say this:

I had a date for my brothers wedding in Vegas.
I flew the date up the day of the wedding when I realized I couldn't imagine any other human being in the world standing next to me.
I may have discussed - elements of a subject some people call "reconcilliation" (and I may have even mispelled it) with the date over the next few days.
I am intending to move very slowly - think dating but the person already knows what you like in bed.
I do honestly believe as much as I believed before that I was meant to share my life with this person.

Ok - maybe I could have picked a better day than Friday the 13th to break this news anyway.

Great - bet my readership just flew out the window
;)

funny...the more active my mind is - often the less likely I am to come forth with the words I need to evoke the rapid relay of sizzling synapses popping in my brain.

the following things - I can safely declare - have not happened in any particular order.

• I have not come to realize my greater gift to give, or place on this earth.
  
• I have not shed the bothersome 10lbs that hangs out with me all summer long - daring, mocking and haranguing me - each time I wish to pull my shirt off.
  
• For said reason - I have not sat indian style shirtless in front of anyone for as long as I can remember.
  
• I have not made love to a stripper (at least female) while in Vegas, no matter how hot and flirtatious they were.
  
• I have not done drugs since the night after Mikes memorial.
  
• I have not quit my job and I have not admitted to myself that I can't forsake it for fear of being poor.
  
• I have not lost my ability to take everything too personally and feel deeply hurt by the simpliest of actions.
  
• I have not fully embraced my mantra "On a High" - though at some moments I feel closer to it than others.
  
• I have not spoken of many things in my past that might shock you.
  
• I have not spoken of certain things in my now that will surprise you.
  
• I have not become any more clever or unique in the preparation of these lists.