...and so it goes.

It's over.

The conversation has been had and I have ended my relationship - the one that I - and many of our friends were convinced was the one that would really make it and beat the odds. He presented his side that despite the space of the past ten days that he still thought we could make this work. He reminded me of the good times, promises made, plans for the future. He noticed how my eyes would drift off when he spoke. I let his speak, I listened. When I spoke - I finally asked him to just let me go. I wasn't the man he was meant to spend the rest of his life with, for all I tried and hoped - for all his convictions that we were in love and I was the greatest man he had ever known - I'm just not the man for him. As we had both entered our 30's we had begun to grow differently and become unique to each other. I didn't fall apart and neither did he. Once I had spoken he said there wasn't anything I had said he couldn't agree with - we have been here before, we fought to turn this around - couples counseling, seperate residences, days off - despite our pride, our ego, and our geniune love for each other - our relationship was on life support. This time there was less shock, we had both been preparing this last week and a half for that fact that the next conversation may go just like this.

I didnt cry til he left. I went out to my backyard and stared up at the cloudy night sky and wondered "what's next?", I lit up the grill and grilled chicken. I sat down and had dinner and paid my bills. I watched TV. I resumed my life. Then they came - warm, salty tears moving across my cheek bones, falling then flowing along the lines of my neck, coming to a rest at the collar of my shirt.

I will be ok.

I feel sad - but somehow at peace with this.

I don't regret the past three and half years, I will filter out the best memories and try and let go of the hurt.

I think I'll go grocery shopping now.

Yep, kinda an out of control night - was that my group of friends starting a circle jerk at Padlock - uh, I know nothing about that - and considering how nasty 95% of the patrons were - no one beyond the circle would know anyway. Pulled the ghost and took off - I couldn't deal - I could inititate the trouble - but admittedly couldn't follow through. Sleeping really short hours lately - been up since what 430am - watched some crappy horror movie with William Katt (remember him - sing with me "...believe it or not I'm walking on air...bla, blah, bla...- something - flyyyyyyyyy") about pirahana eating kids at a day camp - I rooted for the fish.

Lucky comes by to get Baby at 8am - we haven't had the discussion yet - suppose it's inevitable - but neither of us want to talk to each other.

I'm gonna take off for either Palm Springs or San Diego tonight - hop in the car - veg' to some music. Hopefully one of my buddies will come - if not - I'll still go. Be some place else, anoynomous - maybe make up a name and pretend to be some one else for the night - how about Delbert, an Orthodonist from Sheboygen ???

Yeah - I didn't think so either.

I've got this naseaus feeling in my stomach that won't go away. As I sat in front of my therapist last night spilling it all out (oh come on now - you HAD to suspect that I was seeing a therapist) it became this red hot burning sensation. I thought several times of excusing myself to the bathroom - but to do what "lines"? (naaa, to 80's), "puke" ? (naaa, to Bulimia), "cry" ? (naaaa, something I should do - but honestly don't know how to). By the time I got home - it was just kinda there with me - this uneasy feeling. I suspected it was what it was like to have a premonition - but with less clarity to it's purpose. It's not even official, I'm waiting til March 1st. That's what he wanted. I could turn back if I wanted to - but it would be the same thing 4 weeks, 6 months, a year from now. I watched Trista (The Bachelorette) picking Ryan the Renaissance Fireman and thought "Oh No" go for the slick guy from LA - he's something you can chew up and spit out in 6 months, a year, when you get offered your first "straight-to-video" B-Movie called "Gee - I Hate the Camera" - but, not Ryan - you just know he would cry, and it would be heartbreaking to see that big lug cry. So I decided that I'm probably more a Ryan - to aware of my emotions, to sincere and open with my mind and heart, to different, from what I don't know - just to different ...

Trista really should have picked the other guy.

I'm the son of an Irish Alcoholic and a Norwegian Agressor (meeting the back of the hand was common place for any back-talk or teenage indescretion) - it's ok, I'm beyond it...well I am when things are good. Yet when things I hold true and dear begin to crumble - like my relationship - I will admit I can feel the vines of dysfunctionality, creeping like cats claw over my conscience and better sense of well being.

A child of alcoholism and agression does either of two things when confronted with emotional pain - they look to what they find "medicinal" or what they find "destructive". Dysfunctional sure - but you know what - I can admit to it instead of hanging behind some cloak of ignorance where I say I'm just "partying it up with my buddies". I snorted through 7 grams of kitty in 7 days, I sucked down two Bloody Mary's at lunch today and then came back to work - no, it's probably not terribly healthy - but I'm aware - very aware of what is going on. When a doctor isn't close by prescribing medicine for our pain - we find ways to cure ourselves, it's instinct, it's the human condition.

No maybe not for all, maybe you go play racquet ball and watching your relationship of the past 3.5 years end is ok for you. Good for you - fucking, eh - your god-damn amazing.

I'm real - I'm hurting. I'm sick of believing in love - that I can be everything to someone who isnt even sure what they want and less of all that I even fill the bill.

Am I falling part ?? - no.

If you - as a reader, having read my most inner thoughts and honest moments - have any clue what I have 'survived' in 33 years on this earth and still have ended up being a mighty nice guy - than you know this will not kill me.

Maybe I might be getting a little James Dean on your ass over the next couple of months - sure, but hey - it's just like TV - switch the channel if you fucking want.

...not that we don't have enough to worry about with well Sadam, Kim Jong and missing-from-the-axis-of-evil-but-certainly-belongs-there Micheal Jackson...there's this excerpt from Dan Savages latest column:

"Very worrisome, and not just for gay men in L.A. A few days after the L.A Times story ran, The San Francisco Chronicle reported that (surprise!) drug-resistant staph infections were appearing in gay men in San Francisco, too. Public-health officials in San Francisco are assuring people that this isn't "the equivalent of a new HIV disease," but this sentence, from the original L.A. Times story, should sound eerily familiar to anyone over 35: "Although the outbreak seems confined primarily to gay men, doctors say at least one woman contracted the infection, probably from a male sex partner."

scary.

LEO: As positive as that new moon may be, as you get closer to the middle of the month, your closest relationships become a bit rocky — just when you want them to be smooth the most!

No, Valentine's Day on February 14 just isn't likely to deliver the carefree feeling of fun you are hoping for. I feel so badly having to tell you this, but it's true. Old Uranus will stir the pot, trying to undo the best-laid plans. I am afraid I have to report that Valentine's Day is almost certain to be disappointing on some level, as your partner is apt to act completely out of character. Or it may be that conditions surrounding you will create obstacles to enjoying the day to the fullest. For example, your sweetheart may have to work late that night or may be away on a business trip. It's also possible that a lover's spat may spoil the day's mood, or that your partner will show a side of his or her character that you have never seen before. All this could be troubling.

Ever have an astrological forecast that was just a little too exact ?

A day before Valentines Day my boyfriend and I have pretty heavy fight - the day of Valentines Day (after not speaking to each other for two days) he calls to wish me a happy Valentines Day and tell me he wants to take some time off from each other - apparently two weeks is that magic number and he'll contact me on March 1st. I've been advised that "all boyfriend rules apply" during his imposed time off. Such an interesting choice of passive-agressive wording.

So not knowing if he's reading this site or not, let's make this clear:

I feel betrayed.
I feel hurt.
I feel angry.
I feel sad.
Is "crushed" an emotion ?? I'll try that one on for size - it seems to fit nice and snug.

But - I don't feel "confused" - oddly, not at all.

I know exactly how this 3 and half year roller-coaster ride is gonna end.

hmmm, I'm spending Valentines Day alone. Sounds kinda strange for a guy in a long-term relationship.

I'm getting a bunch of horror movies, some beer and getting stoned - fuck VD day.

roses are red, violets are blue
after a fucked up night like tonight
wonder if you think I'll hold tight - still to you

Saw these boys in concert last night - fucking awesome. Short - short, concert though. Of course it is always nice to know all the songs - I know, I know, I'm one of those guys who gets drunk and sings along - so sue me. Looked pretty ridiculous when I tried on my concert shirt when I got home and they had sold me a girls petite - Hey were they trying to say something there ?? I looked like Brittany's Trailer Park Back-up Dancer (way, way back!)
Painted my bedroom this weekend - Ralph Lauren "Snowdrift Suede" - awesome. Rearranged all the furniture according to Feng Shui principles - we'll see, we'll see. Really, really happy with the way it turned out though - especially for what a pain in the ass that Suede Technique is. Fairly mellow weekend, otherwise. Finally watched Luc Besson's "The Messenger" - not as good as his other films, but I think theres an interesting statement on the confusion between "pride and ego" and "religious faith" (but then again maybe I was reading in to it). So sad - it went by so quickly.

....alot of feedback - from many, many different directions on my recent post. Some really inspiring shit was shot back my way. I realize that I am incomplete in my effort to be whole. Yet, honestly I feel I'm trying - sometimes I tug the rope too hard, other times it's sandy musk and red, raw burns just hang on my hands - as if stubborn shadows against a reading wall.

Thoughts like what is self-respect? Give way to thoughts of, what is self-respect as a gay man (chew on the word 'compromise' a few times before you try and answer) ?? There's so much to think about on this path to - well fuck if I know - we'll say personally-enriching, life-affirming, hope-extracting, biggie-sized "Nirvana" - existance.

I don't know who the fuck I am - I can admit that.

So I cross-examine who I've been...
I read up on who I want to be...
and I dream of who I could possibly become.

"If the United States launches a surprise attack on our peaceful nuclear facilities, it will spark a full-scale war," said Rodong Sinmun, North Korea's main state-run newspaper, in a commentary carried by Radio Pyongyang.

There isn't one word of that sentence that doesn't give me the chills (though my favorite three are "Peaceful Nuclear Facilities")

(deep breath)

...ok...here we go again.

crap, now I feel like I'm gonna paraphrase everything I just wrote and it will lose it's sincerity and it's within the sincerity and shame I feel when I tell this story that I am empowered to forgive myself for having wronged another. This is the first time I've ever told this story. You see I've always believed no matter how good a person you strive to be or become - you should never forget your wrongs, sear your mental flesh with the pain inflicted on another. I've had this misguided belief that this keeps you from ever committing the wrong again. This behavior is limited and is restraining me from becoming a better person.

I realize now though - you can't slay the dragons (i borrow from mr 8LDJ here) if you see yourself as the dragon.

So, in an effort to let go of this I push my internal dragon down on the hardened ground - fire licking and spewing from it's mouth - kicking and screaming, and I slay it with my written word.

One hopes.

The cursor calls out to me - blinking, flashing, warning - to put this down on this vacant, pulsing, white screen is to jeopardize what others may think or feel about me. I make permanent and public a memory I've never shared with a loved one or friend. I do this though to show I'm honest when I say - this blog is about my personal growth - NOT - winning any popularity contests (nod and thanks to Jer here). You may not like the "me" in this story, but then neither do I.

So this is a story from history. My personal history.

A "me" I hardly know now - but maybe see an occassional glimpse of in a rash moment, or heated exchange. For all intensive purposes though - who I was then, maybe just for a few minutes, or a few collective days - I could, I would, never be again.

In my early 20's I was possessed by a streak of anger and self-hatred that was as wide as the blacktop of the autobahn and as dangerous as crossing it on foot. I was burning bright with a blazing red hot anger - fueled by booze and drugs. I had no sense of direction except a spiralling pattern downwards. I honestly never thought I would be alive in my 30's to be writing this - questioning wrong moves and worse mistakes.

I want to evoke the whole evening from that night - a sultry, summer night or a crisp autumn evening - but I honestly couldn't tell you. I've shut it away for so long, not wanting to remember - that I have successfully forgotten all but what haunts me about that night.

Have you ever wronged someone ? Truly - wronged ?

The wrongs that others have visited upon us live in us - until one day we visit those wrongs on another.

I often savor these words, pulling my tongue, scraping my teeth, across them - unable to swallow them, uneasy with their taste. I am not saying this is a mandate, or others aren't strong enough to not subcumb to this theory. But violence is known to beget violence, hate to be beget hate and so on. The biggest error within these words is that it transfers it's life on to others as we wrong them. It does transfer, but it never leaves you - it just grows stronger trying to take it's hold with each wrong you do.

I ran into "D" at Nutowne on a Sunday night. Sunday's were beer bust and by 9pm there were only two conclusions to make about the bars inhabitants - they were inebriated or out to get laid.

I was on that particular night - both.

"D" and I hadn't spoken in years.

He had been the first boy to break my heart. An early and first example of why they call them crushes. It had been a summer romance after graduating high school, when I was 17. He was my first "lover". Though I had already been dating and sleeping with boys since I was 12, this was the first that someone made me feel lost in them - that I wanted to live and breathe alongside their every breath. He was the first boy I fucked and once that started I couldn't get enough. I fucked him every chance we would get. Less knowledgable - more naive. We swallowed, we barebacked - all this in the bedroom next to my sleeping parents. After a few months he got a fake ID and was getting into bars. I probably seemed less exciting than the opportunity to feel grown up. He gave me Chlamydia and then when confronted broke up with me and told me he was going straight. I crashed emotionally - every car on that autobahn left treads across my ripped-open chest.

So here we were - was it 4 years later, 6 years - I've shut that out.

He was hammered and he wanted me. I had filled out, tight, beautiful muscles, evenly tanned. I wore my hair in a hassle free buzz cut. I had matured physically from the wirey 17 year old I had been. I was strong and I had lost any resemblance to the sweet, naive kid I had been. There was an edge to me now - an animal agressiveness. I supposed this all just made him more attracted - he had always been more attracted to the 'bad boy' cliche. He was a career bus-boy, a perpetually-stoned pretty boy, trapped in a high school hey day that had left him behind. He had failed to move on in any way from who he was 4 years prior. The eyes though were still so blue, the lethal combination of surfer blond and high school jock - but the years were passing and "care-free" had given way to "aimless".

I wanted him too.
I wanted to fuck him.
I wanted to hurt him.

We went back to his place - the whole way he was gushing compliments and praise. How together I looked, how hot I had become, how much he had regreted not staying with me - what shit, what fucking - absolute-I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you then spit in your face-bullshit. The anger was welling up in my chest - screaming like a tribal warrior - "let me out" - LET ME OUT!

We were all over each other the second we entered his small one roomed attic apartment. When he shoved his tongue in my mouth - I bit down - drawing blood. He let out a scream and pushed me off:

"Fuck - what did you go and do that for asshole??", he said.

I calmed him down - apologized - said the moment had gotten away from me. I kissed his forehead, his neck, lifting his shirt over his head. I pushed down his jeans and feverishly began to rim his ass. He was past the tongue-biting, moaning, pushing my face into his ass. I shoved him down - hard. He toppled over.

"Take it easy - your being rough.", he said.

Something inside me had clicked - someone had unlocked a door - the chants of "Let Me Out" had been silenced. I was drunk. I was full of hate. I was going to hurt him.

There are times in your life that you are pushed out of your own body - by fear, by anger, by pain. This was one of them. I watched from above - disengaged from my body - unable to find my way back inside.

I grabbed his arms and pinned him down. He started fussing, telling me to stop - I started spewing hateful things. What a fucking pathetic loser he was - that he would die a no one, die alone, what a pathetic whore he was, he wasn't good enough to deserve me. I became rougher - punching him, wrestling him and then fucking him. Pounding my dick into him - never releasing his arms - pinning the weight of my body against him. He started to cry. I was hurting him - He was hurt. Sometime during it - it blurred from consensual - to nonconsensual - and back again. I hadn't even considered a condom - I hadn't seen him as worth it. I blew my load inside his ass. I pulled out, released him. He screamed a wave of obscenities at me. I told him I had waited years to hurt him. I was all the way home before I felt like I was back inside my body again.

This is the worst thing I have ever done to another person. What had been done to me at 16 - I had now done to another man. Did I rape him - I can't say. He gave me his number afterwards - would you give your number to a guy who just knocked you around and forcibly fucked you ? It took years for me to see beyond that moment and see it not for vengeance - but something so indescribably wrong - that I shut it away.

I never called him. I never apologized for what I did or how far I had gone. He approached me a couple of weeks later and showed me the bruises, called me an asshole and walked off. He died a few years later. AIDS. I can't apologize to him now. Let him know the shame I've felt, the disgust I feel for treating him that way.

So a decade has past and it haunts me that even once I could have been that person, so angry, so cruel to have acted this way to another person - no matter how much I felt they had wronged me.

I am not that person - not now.

I never want to be that person again - not ever.

I try everyday - to not ever be again.

We say we want people to know us - to understand us, but then we only tell them the good things about ourselves.

We hide from people the things we've done wrong, the things we have to live with in the dark of night.

fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck

there is nothing worse then writing a emotionally charged entry and then switching screens and losing the entry.

fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck

...at best, I'm hiding out emotionally lately. too many small hurts. people i trust and people I knew to hate. i want to start putting words down on paper again, but I'm processing things I'm worried about saying aloud. I feel like i've stopped saying anything real or important - distracted by the fucking popularity parades on other sites. i worry about ways i've wronged others. times i've failed to be the good guy i've tried so hard to be. people i've done well by - mistakenly - to see what shit they really are.

i look at the picture of the little boy below and I wonder who he grew up to be - and what mark on the world - if any he'll make.

cryptic ? perhaps.

...over that background. easier on your eyes.

"In by March - out by June" ?????
Is this our governments idea of the military "Rythym Method" ?
Either way - someones getting fucked.

...my biggest achievement of the weekend was receiving my new dining room table. It's a trip how it changes the dynamic of not just the room between my kitchen and my TV room but of the whole house. I'm reading a book on Feng Shui and have yet to adopt the practices - or buy in to the whole thing - but I do find it interesting that the rooms I feel least comfortable in have furniture that faces directions that don't work with my natural "Year of the Rooster - THE COCK" shui ( pronounced - SHWAAAAAAYYYYYYY). Anyway - it makes my house look so "House-Like" - less the single guy with beer and poppers in the fridge and more the - I think we'll have Duck L'Orange for dinner.

Another stop on the way to Adultsville.

Well, now.

Have I ever been deluged (am I making up words again or is that one real?), bombarded, buried with emails regarding my "Woe-is-me" drunkenly scrawled ramblings of Wednesday night. Every email has been a sweet bitch-slapping, charming butt-kicking, loving hit-to-the-back of head message. I owe responses. But I'm trying to come up with the apropos combination of flirtation/musing/bitchiness/cajoling to answer them back.

The funny - yet wonderful - thing about blogging is that it is all relative to moments in time. Much like life. In one, or a collective series of moments, we can feel inextricably one way. Mostly because we are "feeling" that way. Feelings are fluid. They can possess a viscosity that allows them to slowly move across your psyche, or a fire-consuming like content that races them from tip-of-toe-to-top-of-head in a day. My depressions are a crimson and orange lava slowly ebbing through my brain - my self-loathing’s are more sporadic - a summer-time brush fire, all consuming - but quickly extinguished.

I DO like my age. I'm so glad to be beyond the youthful bullshit of floating checks to get by (more often ending with the sound - BOING!), sleeping around to see if in others - I would/could/should find myself, rubbing one penny by itself (because - it was the richer kids who had TWO to rub together - not me) and the endless insecurities of maybe never being someone my parents could be proud of.

Oddly enough Sunday was a great self-esteem day. Gay Rodeo - men who appreciate men weekend. I got so much attention at Charlie’s that it became a little awkward hoping it wouldn't strike jealousy in my boyfriend’s heart. I felt very appreciated - even if it was as a Daddy.

I HAVE the HAVES. Things you aspire to have by 33. Car, House, Dog, Boyfriend, Friends and a wealth of memories of having done crazy things, illegal things, stupid things, happy things and in all of them "memorable" things. I have success because I beat the shit out of myself to get it. I convince myself that these things complete me, make me or enhance me. So isn't it funny that the people who read me - like me and have never seen or experienced these "Haves" - they have chosen to like me for my written word, my passionate ramblings, and my off-base humor. I am all states of evolution depending on which attribute or characteristic you are concentrating on - in some ways I'm a wise old man, in others a silly, naive, little boy.

Whether slow-moving lava or quick-burning fire - I do know this - I am a force of nature, an element of something bigger - and I evolve as slowly and as quickly as I can.

...who are you ? and where have you taken my face ???

it sucks, really - it just sucks. I've built my site on talking about the bigger issues and greater thoughts - i hope - so in context the post I begin to write is self-fulfilled and trite. but honestly at 33 - it sucks to begin to fade. I didn't write the rules - but I knew them - I've always known them. For all the people who disregard you when your young as "pretty" and "smart" - the pretty counts for so much more in the gay scene than you realize. Oh what it is to be a pretty face and hot body! When I was young - I looked - well fuck it - I looked pretty damn good. I thought my set-back was everything else. I hadnt gotten the degree, I wasn't making the $$$, I was driving a pick-up. But tonight - at 33 - hanging with my buddies who were in there 20's it was painfully obvious - that my muscles, my cock, my checking account, my BMW - were nothing. I had bags underneath my eyes that no ORIGINS product seemed to eliminate, I had a hairline that "ran" from me as quickly as it receded from my forehead, I had love handles that grew over muscle and my heart and my spirit hung half as high.

It's vain and it's BS, but it's the life we live in. Where smoother is pretty and tighter is better and younger is well, younger.

I used to own this bar - and now I'm barely taking up breathing room.

 

Not to be an overachiever but, I'm already done with my tax return and should see it tomorrow. HR Block Tax Online rocks!

The question is out there again, not "Why would anyone ever give Anna Nicole Smith her own show?" or "Where is there more corruption - the Catholic Church or Corporate America?" (though both are very, VERY valid questions)

But : "Why do we blog?"

I came across something off of my referral log today of interest, an exchange on "Datalounge":

RE: Blogs?
by: anonymous 01/14/2003 @ 11:56PM
Some say that these are just people with too much time on their hands. I say no. The people who follow them have too much time on their hands.

RE: Blogs?
by: anonymous 01/14/2003 @ 11:58PM
"Some say that these are just people with too much time on their hands. I say no. The people who follow them have too much time on their hands."
Takes less time to follow one than to have one, so I say you're wrong

First - I'm pulling this comment out of context, the writer(s) from what I saw read blogs and had favorites and may or may not have been bloggers themselves ( I am in no way jumping on them and hope they don't mind me stealing a piece of there conversation) - but these two sentences just kept bouncing around in my head. I mean so many bloggers sit around wondering why they do this - and then to see what others may think really made me think.

SO: (Oops - dammit I forgot to have a "Second")...anyway....

Uh....bloggers are people with too much time on their hands ???

That's weird - I hit the gym 4-5 days a week, read voraciously (Business Week, Fortune Small Business, Men's Health - for the articles, Nun's Weekly - for the pictures, and even actual books - does 'scratch-n-sniff' count - not the book, me when I'm reading the book), I run every aspect of a successful small business, I invest time in a successful relationship of over three years, I take my dog to the dog park and play soccer in the backyard with her,
I find time to hope,
dream,
laugh,
share,
fuck,
love,
party,
and think.
I spend almost everyday of my existence thinking "There just isn't enough time in the day".

So - nope, that's not true.

Blog readers "are people with too much time on there hands"....nope, don't believe it.

Are we discounting that this is any less real a way to spend time then reading 'Moby Dick' (yes I mean the book by Herman Melville that bores everyone to unconciousness) ? I for one don't believe you could ever - EVER - be a blogger without being a reader. How does almost every blogger become a blogger ? Cause and Effect -baby - by reading a blog that inspires them to write their own - let's think of it as an intellectual virus. I learn so much by reading other blogs. I learn about life in different cities, other countries and how we/I often myopically view our world/our life as universal. I see how others deal with death - beautifully and with courage. I read insights into literature, sports, the arts, pop culture, politics and history. It takes tons of time to follow other bloggers (just like maintaining "real world" friendships) - to choose between those who become friends and teachers that you follow everyday, to those you check in on - that flesh out the enriching and diverse world wide neighborhood you choose to live in. I connect with people I WILL meet, MAY meet and will NEVER meet, but a slice of how they are glows off this screen at you - intermingled with my ramblings, meandering thoughts and eccentric humor.

We seek validation.
We hope to be known.
We attempt to connect.

There's nothing WRONG with that.

We do it every day in this thing called our daily existance. Whether it be hoping the hot frat boy or daddy beefcake at the gym smiles at us while were doing curls, or our dog runs to us first when were standing on the other side of the park, or our parents recognize that we are independent and successful, or that our boss senses that the company speeds along efficiently and successfully due to our exhaustive efforts.

WE ALL SEEK VALIDATION.

Stand on a street corner with busy traffic speeding by - don't you ever wonder what the drivers see standing on that street corner ?
Dance on a box in a dance bar at 1am on a packed Saturday night - don't you wonder what those swaying and dancing and mingling around you are thinking of you ?
Walk in to a crowded boardroom/classroom - do you wonder what first impression you make ?

I blog.

I don't look for "best of" votes, cash donations, naked pictures, hook-ups, blue ribbons or gifts.

I just blog.

I learn more about myself then I knew before I sat down to write...and willingly I share it, just hoping that it clicks with someone who needs to read those words. A hilarious story, a different point-of-view on a current event, a raw painful moment from my past or present or just a picture from my life.

I release my energy on to this computer and somewhere in another city, in another state, and maybe even in another country - someone walks away from their computer carrying my energy with them. Maybe it puts a "pep in there step", maybe it makes them cry, maybe it helps them see something clearer, maybe it pisses the shit out of them - but it's there, it's with them - despite mountains and miles - my energy.

I like to think that they do at least.

(I'll shut up now).

...have I mentioned that I've lost 16 of my unwanted pounds. Pretty good for 3 weeks of effort, excercise and really strict and boring dieting.

I spend quite a bit of time wondering if my parents know who I am, or even more recognize the man I've become. Though I have to admit to being taken aback (and a bit mystified) when I sat and had a lovely dinner with my Great Aunt Mae (and folks) last night and heard charming stories about what rock stars they use to be (or to use her words - "On the farm we all thought they looked like Hollywood movie stars"):

Due to the blaze at Casa Chris - "Le Swish" wants to shower at my house tonight, random thoughts escalating to a feverish pitch:

- how long will it take me to run home and practice laying around naked ?
- will my dog approve of another naked man in my shower (she likes to lick you when you step out)?
- is it wrong to continue to jerk off to Vintage Falcon porn with company present ?
- Lube, Poppers, Bullets and Cockrings - household decorations or deviant accessories ?
- Does this mean we're going steady?
- Will he buy me a ring ?
- Cock-ring ?
- Should I whip up my world famous tater-totts to make sure he's been fed ?

So much to do, cameras to install in the bathroom, wash out the one towel I use as a cum rag, hide the Olsen Twins porn collection, busy, busy!

.....hey, um - yeah HNY03...I've abbreviated it cause I'm kinda sick of saying it and especially hearing it. Lucky and I hid out yesterday. I put together a filing cabinet for him and we watched 'Marathon Man' which neither of us have ever seen and I cuddled with my dog every chance I got. We stayed out to 3am dancing and dropping on New Years Eve. It was different. In our last 4 New Years Eve's together we had never partied here - kinda quickly remembered why. It was nice - but in that every Saturday Night kinda way. I haven't dropped since August so - we were warm and fuzzy and went and hid on a velvet couch in a private area of the bar and made-out and bullshitted for what must have been an hour about making this last forever. Some cute, but LOUD - and I mean LOUD recent San Diego transplant fag-hag came up to tell us how adorable we were and why our Hamburger Mary's sucks, and why she loves being a fag-hag, and blah-blah-blah-blah-blah. Lucky adores obnoxious girls like this and gave her his business card and asked her to call us - I quickly got us back out on the dance floor which suddenly seemed the "quieter" and "safer" alternative. All in all a "nice" night - nothing more nothing less - we're debating Montreal or Toronto next year - someplace outside of the states.

BTW - thanks to those who read me and actually some how find amusement in my ramblings, lists, stories, thoughts, worries, bad jokes and et al. There seem to be enough of you that I've way surpassed 50,000 visitors as of the begining of the week. Thank you.

ow, ow, ow, OWWWWWW

My bi's and tri's are screaming today. I started back and reinvigorated my work-out by moving to high cardio, less hard-core pumping. For the weight lifting portion I'm switching to the "Power of Ten" - ouch. Every repetition - 10 second counts. I never knew bi's/tri's could take so long. I had to drastically reduce my weight levels - but the overall affect should be increased strength and tone. I kinda don't want to shed all the weight - I must admit I do like the slight intimidation that size lends to a guy - now if I can just perfect a manly sneer.

BTW - I'm gonna hit 50,000 visitors by Sunday morning. Kinda cool I guess. Suppose the way things are right now I'll decline posting a nude pic with 50,000 written on the inside of my right thigh (johnson hangs out to the left)

I let myself go.

Actually "I let myself go" is an understatement.

How 'bout - "Oh my god ! you fucking fat pig - what have you done with Kurt ??? You've eaten him haven't you ?? For Christ Sake - I think I can see him moving around in your belly - you devoured him like a Triscuit with cheese - didn't you ???"

It's the truth - and it's the ugly truth.

I haven't been a holiday person for years. Lucky is in New Jersey and I'm alone with my dysfunctional family unit - and around the holidays I have two favorite past times - Eating and Drinking. Normally there is some counterbalance where I work out every day without fail to keep the haunting pounds off for some huge New Years Eve Circuit Party in another city. This year though we're playing it mellow and staying home and somewhere back 3 and 1/2 weeks ago - I skipped the gym for one afternoon.

The only problem is I skipped it for the next 23 afternoons as well.

This is my longest absence from the gym since I was 20 and hospitalized with a doudenal ulcer.

Tanning, cutting my hair, the gym ...all those things fell by the wayside as I slipped in to a holiday coma. Restless, bitchy and depressed - I stopped posting much (it was so hard to find the time between NOT going to gym and constantly eating and drinking). So I'm at Tarbells for dinner with friends on Christmas Eve when D. reaches over and "pats" my belly. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

I can point fingers.

My boss - the "King of the One Slice", never will you meet a man who brings in more pies or cakes with one slice taken out of it - "Please - take this home - enjoy it!".

My Mom - always sending me from her house with fresh-baked cookies.

My boyfriend - who could eat the entire Krispy Kreme franchise and still not gain a pound.

At one point after Thanksgiving - between my boyfriend, mother and boss - I had 5 different types of pies in my refrigerator. I would sit with the whole pie and a fork in my favorite chair watching television - eating an entire pumpkin pie.

My Dog - Baby - often turned away in disgust.

So in the end, others didn't make me eat. I was feeding depression, stress and anxiety - and were they ever hungry!

No supplements, no gym, no need to get sexy for a holiday party, no shirtless - dance all night circuit parties, no real desire to even do it just for myself - the sweaters and jackets were covering it all up, but man O' man were the jeans getting tighter.

Then yesterday - it all came crashing in. I excused myself from my parents table and the Christmas dinner of Prime Rib and went to use the boys room. It was a fleeting thought "Hey a scale - god, I haven't stepped on one in months...wonder what I weigh???".

I placed the right foot, then the left. The dial swung feverishly from the left, to the right, then back again.

My parents said the screams of terror shook the walls.

198.

Since my 33rd birthday in August I have gained 27lbs.

So I called the boyfriend today:

"Babe - help me... for the love of all that is unholy and made of sugar and carbs... carry an elephant tranquilizer and shoot to kill if you see me heading for a bag of Salsa Verde Doritos, knock me unconcious with a pine-tar free baseball bat if you catch me ordering a "Biggie - Sized" anything ('cept Eros Lube that is) and shoot me with a sawed off shock gun if you hear the word "gift basket" fall from my lips one more time"

So it ends. I just woofed down a biggie double-quarter pounder with cheese, biggie fries and a biggie Coke. Say goodbye to the fast food.

No booze for 30 days - even New Years Eve.

I just pulled on my gym clothes and am leaving work early to hit the gym.

And if I see a pie, even a slice - I will stomp on it til it resembles road kill on highway loop 101.

..wish me luck.

...now - it's not just because I have a schoolgirl crush on you but now THIS - you are so great.

...are you tough ?

Could you take me in a fight ?

Are you FIRE or are you ICE ?

From where does "toughness come", or does it grow ?

Am I a Bully because I would pick on you first, or am I your Hero because I would defend you no matter what the risk ?

My mother is Irish, My father is Norwegian - Fire & Ice...I'm a mutt with a violent - hidden temper. I rage, I storm - yet I do it in private. I feel fury and rage - still I express it by silence. My cruelest moment is in the moment where I offer only a stare.

I will slug you - yet not utter a word - my passing breath, my single punch...whispering your name.

I'm a cock-sucking masochist, a little S.O.B. I am my fathers violent temper - hidden by his invisible pain. I am my mother's outrageous display of fire - viewable from near and far.

I can't decide if this means I can defend myself when needed or if I'll tear myself apart before they even have a chance.

The Grind. No - not brought to you by DownTown Julie Brown (Wubba-Wubba) or Eric Neise (Man I wanted to nail that guy!) - but by my life.

In the final stretch (a couple of hours of reconcilling numbers to reality) before sending over the Q2 portfolio to the CPA. Ugh I'm wiped. I was at work til 9pm, then went home and wrapped Lucky's Xmas gifts (I'll take a picture - it's really embarrasing how much I get into "beautiful" wrapping - presentation is everything), then back to paperwork til 1am - up at 6am to reclean the house before the termite inspection. I can't wait til this choo-choo train slows down. I'm taking Xmas Eve and Xmas Day off - figure I'll finish painting the office.

Anyway - gotta jam, gonna be late for the prom - GREAT pate!

Going to hear and see the seductive song stylings of Ms. Tori Amos.


 

 

I love when you reminisce.

Baby - your like a burning in my groin, that hot flashing pain everytime I piss - that undeniable feeling that somewhere, somehow, you finally picked something up - something that so strong - that only time, or penicillin, could tell where it would lead to... you know that feeling baby ?

I still remember the 1st anniversary of the second day we had spent together, just you and me cuddled together naked and shivering in the top bunk of rusty ole bunkbed at the downtown YMCA. What a magical day we had had - Weston-Oil, Crisco-Grease style lovemaking, followed by a trip to the methadone clinic for Sunday Brunch (...remember you said you were full - let out a girlish little belch - and we just laughed and laughed for hours at what seemed like almost nothing), and then we went to the 'Tammy Faye Art Museum for Modern Women of a Lesser God', you cried (real tears!) when you say the oil on paper bag rendering of Ms. Faye as "Mary" and confided how she made you feel all the more closer to your personal lord and savior - Bergdorf Goodmans. We cruised public restrooms - knocked over a Stop-N-Go, baby - how did it all fly by so quickly ?

I admit, I thought we were headed for rougher waters on the 4th anniversary of the 3rd day we had been in love (you know - you called it "Hump Day" - tee-hee) when I had bitch-slapped you at the "Down-N-Out" during 2-4-1 "Colt 45" Happy Hour, not because you were bad or less than me - but because that morning you didn't manage to arrange all my corn flakes in my favorite commemorative "Dukes of Hazzard" cereal bowl by size and shape, how I like them. But you understood, as a man , I had to draw the line - I only do these things because I love you - and because loving you baby makes me want to be a better man. Just this morning I was down at No Mo Money Pawn Shop looking for a lavender cubic zerconium wedding ring to place on that pretty lil finger of yours.

I'm sticking it in baby - nice and deep, just breathe into it - relax, relax - aw yeah - that's Daddy's baby...

oh, btw - Donald - you look frigging HOT today. woof.

hmmm:

Trent Lott makes a racist statement honoring a 100 year old hard-core conservative (Hot Leather Daddy Strum) - that the spin doctors can't spin under the table (OR did they throw it up on the table with garland and all the fixin's to get our mind off something else ? Maybe war with a certain middle eastern country - shhhhh! no one knows were going steady!)

Mikey (Admit it I'm just a fucking FREAK) Jackson dangles his child out a hotel window - yet maintains custody of his kid. Perhaps the kid unleashed the spider on him ?? The press has a field day showering us with the freakish images.

The UN methodically goes knocking door-to-door looking like Amway salesman in Iraq and the American press corps scramble for the "Cliffnotes" version of the 10,000 page "Mommy said we can't come out and play with nuclear weapons today" government document.

Every Catholic Priest, Bishop and even maybe the big guy himself - is molesting young boys - in the present, 20 years ago - I guess even in the future - can you think of a job with less pay and less associated dignity - oh yeah - United Airlines Flight Attendants.

All I'm saying is - and I'm not really saying anything at all (or am I ?) is - what is really going on in the world that these are the only news stories I hear: morning, noon and night ?

ahem...news of my disappearance is greatly exagerrated..

um, kinda.

REPEAT after me:

U R E A B A
U R E A B A
U R E A B A
U R E A B A
U R E A B A
U R E A B A
U R E A B A
U R E A B A
U R E A B A

yo-U a-R-e the E-nd A-ll B-e A-ll

...hey a little positive affirmation is as good as a slap and a tickle, any day of the week in my book...

Why do people fall for this fucking chain mail crap ?


> >Dear Friends,
> >Please do not take this for a junk letter. Bill Gates is sharing
> >his fortune. If you ignore this you will repent later. Microsoft
> >and AOL are now the largest Internet companies and in an
> >effort to make sure that Internet Explorer remains the most
> >widely used program, Microsoft and AOL are running an
> >e-mail beta test.
> >
> >When you forward this e-mail to friends,
> >Microsoft can and will track it (if you are a Microsoft
> >Windows user) for a two week time period. For every
> >person that you forward this e-mail to, Microsoft will
> >pay you $245.00, for every person that you sent it to that
> >forwards it on, Microsoft will pay you $243.00 and for
> >every third person that receives it, you will be paid
> >$241.00. Within two weeks, Microsoft will contact you
> >for your address and then send you a cheque.
> >
> >Regards.
> >
> >Charles S. Bailey
> >General Manager Field Operations
> >1/800-842-2332 Ext. 1085 or
> >904/245-1085 or RNX 292-1085
> >Charles_Bailey@csx.com


Sure - sure they will, their also offering free head - aren't they ?

A couple of hints.

"Bill Gates is sharing his fortune" - Do I have to even speak these words out loud.

"If you ignore this you will repent later" - WOW, shit - a little heavy handed, but he could have said "Do THIS OR DIE !" - at least thats what I wrote on my Christmas party invites.

Internet Explorer is not a program - it's a "browser". And it actually comes in versions...and SOME people think it's COOL that their still using Ver. 4.0 - sicko bastards.

Microsoft is not (ask Netscape - remember them?) an "internet company" - but now their trying for some of the share. They and AOL don't even play well together and considering AOL is going down the tube (MS even offers a "true switch" service to help AOL users LEAVE AOL) and Microsoft is heavily advertising their "new and improved" MSN 8 (i.e. - Lets grab some fucking market share!)

What the hell is the name of the company that Mr. Charles S. Bailey works for anyway ? I have a feeling poor Chuck here really pissed off some girl (or boy) and has cancelled his phone and email service is enrolling in the Boyfriend Relocation Program.

These three words "Email Beta Test". Sure you might be able to track emails being opened by the hits against your server for images and shit (if you've embedded a 1x1pixel gif to uniquely identify the source tag when it hits your server) - but would never be able to attempt to determine unique users and how many people they forwarded to. $245 bucks a person - woo-hoo - what a genius "customer attrition" program - in my day most blue chip companies didn't want to pay more than a buck a name to develop an in-house direct-marketing database - but these guys will pay $245 a lead. Hmmmm - a universe of 100,000 is decent to test market an email advertising campaign, say I get an 18% response rate - click-though, not closure (I know conservative - but I don't know what the offer even is) - so I would be paying out $24,500,000 for 18,000 unqualified leads. That's just $1,361 a lead. Shit for that fact and assuming I don't know jack about the person anyway, I should just pick 18,000 people at random out of the phone book and mail them certified checks for $1,361 and cut my losses before this project even launches. Crap - I didn't pay anything to "receive" this email and I can already prove to Microsoft and AOL that about 1000 morons have seen it - I'll cut ya deal - I'll forward you THEIR email addresses and full names for just $20.00 a name - I make $20K for sitting on my ass and making fun of them and think of all the postage that you'll save.

uh - I'm waiting.

...what is your challenge,
...where are your weaknesses?

are you strong,
when do you feel weak ?

do you breathe in your flaws
can you drink from my faults ?

...I am weak in my humanity
...I am flawed by my sense of what is right
...I am saddened by my knowledge of what is wrong

Can you find idealic perfection in an unfortunate beast - that can't even look upon itself ?
Can you find hopeful daydreams in a cobalt blue sky - where only the greyest of clouds form ?

I am challenged.
Yet I hope,
I aspire,
Still I dream
of being loved

by You

Can you find it your kind, generous heart...

to love something so imperfect as me.

you fucking bitch. i am so fucking taking you out for birthday drinks and then sodomizing you................

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 ?