Thursday, July 30, 2020
Monday, July 13, 2020
Wednesday, July 8, 2020
Wednesday, July 1, 2020
Saturday, June 20, 2020
Upon returning from the gym I entered my house to find a bird desperately attempting to operate the patio door lock in the living room. It was a smallish grey bird that seemed judgmental of my choice of glass in my windowpanes. And yet, pretty chill as it did not panic as I reached in close to open the siding patio door. It hung out for a bit before finally hopping out the door and onto my lanai. I then franticly searched for how the little feathered dude entered my house. I found all entry points sealed. Upon texting my cleaver boyfriend he quickly suggested the entry point must of been the fireplace. As he tested this, I glanced over at my white painted brick to see grey ash and bird poop covering the area. My battery operated LED candles (placed perfectly at a casual angles upon the fireplace Mantel) strewn about without regard. The clear point of entry for the bird-intruder.
So upon cleaning of bird poop from many surfaces and vacuuming a solid layer of wood ash my living room was free from evidence of the bird-bugler. Closing the fireplace flu as precaution.
Tuesday, June 16, 2020
Wednesday, June 10, 2020
When I toured my local clubhouse and its gym facilities during my first visit to the place, I was impressed how it was actually a real gym with real weights. Not just the typical hotel or apartment building gyms with outdated cable machines and belt-driven equipment. No, not mine clubhouse, real iron. I mean, there are no heavy plates to press, but hey dumbbells going one 65lbs. That is unheard. As of today, the gym opened. Being closed since March. The safety plan for reopening this oasis in the drought of gym time is apparently one hand sanitizer dispenser plonked down in the middle of the free weights. Hanging on the side is one bottle of "possibly" disinfectant and one roll of paper towels. The "possible disinfectant" did not, obviously list its dwell time (the time it needs to sit, wet on a surface to disinfect it) so I just went with two minutes and prayed down the equipment before and after. But, hey! It's a gym.
I have never been so weak in my life. I have not struggled with 50lbs dumbbells for arm curls since high school. I felt like an old man attempting to do arm curls. I had to force myself to just stop and check in with my mental state. My eagerness was going to get myself hurt. I had to wipe away all expectations or demands on reps and weights. I now have to work my body back into a routine and build my strength. I have never had to do this in my adult life.
On the other hand, it is kind of exciting. Getting back into a rhythm and seeing the development in my body. It's all new again.
Friday, June 5, 2020
I am not passing judgment on these bloggers; they hopefully found other outlets to communicate their stories. Just that the era of the personal blog seems to have passed. I also had stopped posting for quite a while. And there were two reasons for this. The first reason I would state is that I had no story to tell. No life-tale needing to be told into my online diary. As we know one main reason people did blog was because they wanted an electronic diary to record their memories. I simply went through a phase were I felt I did not need a written catharsis. The second reason was that people became more and more entitled to read this platform. The examination of my work was not the issue, it was not even the feeling privacy lost.... maybe judgement of grammar and tone of voice.
These reasons, in retrospect, were stooooid notions. During this time, I experienced the death of my Mother, my Father, ended a relationship, and several friendships. These were not processed in a manner that needed shared via blogging. And yet; here I am. Returning to this format as a diary to record my story. Feeling totally at ease in continuing my path. So let us go forth and examine a life lived / and to be lived. You may notice that the "Comment" ability has also been turned off going forward on my blog. Another reformat. This is nothing to reflect the conversation of the readers side, just to remove the expectation of response. I am finding it rather freeing.
Wednesday, June 3, 2020
Now I do understand that anthropomorphizing can be unhealthy. Depending completely on the situation. I will let you decide on the level of this construct as I am deeply assigning attributes of human form or personality to a very inanimate object. But, heres the thing, the thing is not inanimate. It is very inanimate. It all starts with my very detailed understanding of my view of addiction.
I know that I can become overly attached to things. Like TV shows, foods, or that slut of an ex-boyfriend. This is why I never watch Game of Thrones or Glee. This is why when people ask if I want to smoke pot I say "no" because I know that within three days I'll be at the gas station buying my second pack of cigarettes in two days. I am in no way painting a picture of addiction. If you know me in real life you would know that I rarely drink; It's just that I know my personality. This probably is why I waited years to
Right out of his little
So, yeah. Anthropomorphize much? Although I have not forced the boyfriend to watch videos I have captured of Meeko in action; I did witness a troubling site yesterday. The Boyfriend entered my house and came into the living room, and upon spotting Meeko, he waved at it and said something like "aw cute, hello!" So either I am dating someone who knows how to humor a crazy person's delusions, or he also knows how to give human traits to a robotic vacuum cleaner. Either way, he's a keeper. The boyfriend, that is.
Tuesday, June 2, 2020
"Where's the cat? She never came to bed last night?" He said. I groaned as I rolled from bed. I feared we locked her out on the balcony the previous night. I pictured the long-haired floofster in full diva mode after spending a night on the patio. We would pay the price for this transgression, that's for sure. But, as I rounded the corner into the living room I noticed a different situation. Lamps toppled, their shades knocked out of wack. Items previously on tables scattered everywhere. And, in the middle of it all, the fluffy princess, staring intensely to the ceiling. A moth staring bake in mocking tone.
The common Miller Moth has an annual migration originating on the Plains of Colorado, Kansas and Nebraska and migrating west into the Rocky Mountains for the summer. They return to the Plains in September. I guess they take their summers in the mountains, I mean who wouldn't? Although it is an annual event every ten years or so the numbers are massive due to the change in climate. This year the numbers are massive.
So if I can list them, we have a Pandemic, the Race War, and the icing on the cake is this swarms of insects? That's really all the signs of the apocalypse, right? I mean our local IKEA is also closed so I can't buy a new sofa and this may be the fourth sign. I personally think that is the signal for Demi Moore to die, Right?
I approach the kitty and notice deep bags under her eyes, and an ashtray filled with burnt-out cat cigarettes. She's mumbling about the moths.... "I'm gonnnaaaa get eweeeee.... eat your wings..... killlllll moths." Incomprehensible really. Poor thing staying up all night to capture a moth, knowing it will never fly down from the ceiling. The boyfriend swooped up kitty and I got out the vacuum to suck up the dusty-winged intruder. The cat still declares loudly to us how "she could of got it!" as we nod our heads in agreement. All the while hoping these weird times we are living in, clears up soon.
Monday, June 1, 2020
I made a Facebook account just to join my large families Facebook group. Seven kids, seven grandkids, a few third generation kids, and a cast of in-laws. Their discord is ongoing. I wanted to easily report of my non-COVIDedness. Apparently pandemics make people want to see who around them have succumb.
As I checked in, I thought of the black death of the 1300's, how royal families approached the pandemic. Royal households would cloister away their servants, so they could ensure the servant would not bring in the death, and yet the family members could still be served. Whole estates would be built far from civilization in order to have the whole extended family safe together. As you may guess, I would rather spend my pandemic laying in the base of a pledge pit, than in a palatial estate amongst my gene pool. So in comparison I can deal with a Facebook account until the mid-1350's when I can walk the city streets without a plague mask stuffed with poises.
Sunday, May 31, 2020
After living in my house for a year I stopped by the open door of my second bedroom in my two-bedroom home and gazed upon my un-packed boxes of books. A new thought just naturally appeared in my head. It was time they saw the light again assembled on the bookcases. In 2019 my books were sealed away in highly-taped moving boxes, and shipped across the fair city of Denver. These boxes were left scattered about this forgotten room in front of empty bookcases and unassembled desk parts. The boxes sat were the movers left them at the start of that year.
The door was left ajar as the days blurred into weeks blending into months. It was a year of ordering the electronic textbook version of school books. A year of not reading for pleasure as the quiet downtime was too much to handle in the quite house. Solitary confinement for the books and the reader. Instead there was take-a-way in front of the TV as distraction entertainment filled the place of books.
Then it happened; I walked into my second bedroom and began to fill up the shelves. I assembled my desk, pushed up my chair, and began to read again. It is nice to be back.
Saturday, May 30, 2020
Now, I am not a stranger to cutting my own hair. In the era beginning after posing for gay porn "photographers" and before being able to quit my second gay waiter jobs I did buzz my own hair. But that was just a study in Mohawks and flattops. This was followed by the timespan the gay community knows as the Caesar and Faux hawk generation. The late 90's was a non-stop cornucopia of pointy-pointy hairdos.
In 2020's shutdown, the need to cut my hair is dictated by my skill. Or lack of skill. It means my hair gets trimmed on the sides and blended to a longer top with a side-part. I can not go too tight on the sides as my hair can go directly into a style known as the "Hitler" and its begat tiki-torch scuzzzbag bastard goblins. Side part combovers can move right into Nazi youth if not done correctly. So longer and blending has me standing naked in the bathroom mirror for a minimum of two hours. Although I do get to listen to the collective works of Kate Bush on repeat four times, I don't get to listen to a paid hairstylist ramble on about finally moving out to the West Coast.
The experience is growing on me. Literally.
Wednesday, May 27, 2020
This last semester was a strange one, even though the classes were online; once the pandemic hit both of my professors, for the two separate classes, melted down and gave up. As the majority of their other classes were in person, switching over to online learning took most of their time. One also had to start home-schooling his 3rd grader and spent what would be the remainder of the semester talking about how hard 3rd grade math can be. The lessons in ancient rituals of Ireland faded away and all the assignments at the beginning of the semester stood in for the majority of the grade. For me, this was great as I actually cared at the beginning of the class, not so my towards the end.
The class was on Irish history, and I was really taking it to learn about the monastic era. This era being one of retrieving ancient works of great Greek/Roman thinkers, and transcribing them into modern language. To see how Socrates came to us in modern tongue. Once the class moved passed the era of the monasteries, I just kept getting mad over and over reading about the generational fight for freedom against the jerkish British. Gurl! eat a Snickers, you get all Colonialist when you are hungry.
So the strange semester is over. And next semester, in the Fall of 2020 surely will not be plagued by the... plague. It will be my "senior project" semester to finish my history degree. So yay. Other than the fact that I have run out of student loan money and have no idea how I am going to pay for it. Maybe Betty Devos with get the virus. We can only hope.
Tuesday, May 26, 2020
Mine is just fine. As an essential worker, I am guaranteed to not miss out of experiencing every bit of oddness this society has to offer during this strange time. My deep hatred of bars and clubs has turned into a positive. The city shutting down major avenues so walkers can social distance means walking adventures are more fun. I am actually having a decent pandemic. Well, other than the gym. The gym closing down have not done me well.
Since I never did any cardio, and only lifted weights, not having the access to free weights was a shock to my system. I started to cry when I grabbed the handle to the gym's front door to find it locked. This meant that I would have to do.... home workout stuff... just imagine. I first bought the typical dude-bro equipment. A pull-up bar for my office doorway, a fit ball to bounce around on, and new running shoes. Or, waddling shoes. Although I have warmed up to being the "workout outdoors type" wearing manly lycra leggings at all times now, the pull-ups are not ever going to by my favorite. Every time I reach the top of the stroke, my chin touching right below the frame of my well-appointed office, I see the a cartoon in my head from my childhood is stars an elephant. The elephant is attempting to pull his massive girth up a cliff. I am that elephant. Large, wrinkly, and grey.
I NEED the gyms to reopen.
I need to do arm curls using iron plates, not rubber bands. I need to rush out of work to go somewhere other than home. I find it strange to just leave work and go to my house. That's weird. But, at least I am non-dead. If you call not seeing your arm veins pop living.
Tuesday, June 25, 2019
My entire life I have been concerned with and watch constantly for news of the snow pack in the Rocky Mountains. Not sure how this started? Probably when I was a child with only three TV channels where the local news would report the mountain snowpack constantly during Spring. I would score the snow levels like straight kids scored football. This year Colorado snowpack is five times bigger than it was a year ago. Score! This weekend’s June snow dumped several more inches of snow on the mountains were I should be hiking. This last storm came during a time of the year when spring melt is usually underway.
So yassss Queen, this boosts reservoirs and reduces wildfires later this year. Also it helps boosting the watershed going eventually to Lake Mead. You’re welcome California. But for my gay ass, on a major push to shed another ten pounds; it means That instead of hiking season it’s more Like mud season dragging significantly into the summer months.
Wednesday, June 12, 2019
When I was twelve, my mother bought me a lava lamp. Apparently wanting to stir up some straight-dude stoner tendencies in me. It was one of the first generation knock-offs and had red wax inside the glass cylinder. I watched in a transfixed manner as the red lava slowly moved up and down due to the heat from a 60 watt light bulb in the base of the lamp. This fascination lasted three days. Since I was a flaming gay twelve year old, I soon pulled out the glass portion of the lamp and placed the base behind a tall plant in the corner of my room to make fabulous up lighting. I still see how the light interacted with the leafy foliage on my bedroom ceiling. Much more hypnotizing than a lava lamp could ever be.
It took me just about a month to set up the "lighting scheme" in my new house. With my inner gay boy directing how to emotional impact the white walls with a lightscape. The first step was to drag out the countless number of extension cords, then map out the best use of each fixture. The best part; however, is the Wi-Fi. Every light, every switch, is controlled by my Wi-Fi network and controlled by my iPhone. It’s just like living in the god-damn future. This network, via a wireless hub, senses when I come home and triggers a light-scape before I enter my front door. When triggered, via the sun going down, a soft dimmed glow comes from most lights. All while being voice controlled by my Google Home thingy. I simply say "Hey Google, turn on the closet lights." And the closets are dramatically bathed in LED glow.
Yes, I am aware that really this stems from two much free time and a disposable income. But, the potted palms have never looked lovelier in the late evening. As their leafy foliage dances on the Livingroom ceiling.
Monday, June 10, 2019
I was thinking about this as I was line at Brother’s BBQ Sunday afternoon. I was deciding whether I had to start the charade that I was buying a full rack of ribs for my large, and hungry family. Instead I made a stand; I ordered my full rack, proud to be free from the meat-binge closet. Oh, how time changes you.
That being said, I still have the "Meat is Murder" bumper sticker boy living inside of me. He will always be there. I have to say, I am happy eating at my local vegan restaurant and maintaining a plant based diet. My freezer is filled those green boxes of Garden Burgers frosting away. And yet, there are a few times when the carnivorous cow or pig hating murderer comes out. I guess the saying of "Everything in Moderation" is true.
Editors note: full rack eaten in record time.
Friday, June 7, 2019
Ever have date anxiety? That feeling of nervousness that rushes over you, making your brain convince you that you don’t really need to interact with the outside world. That delivery Taco Bell and YouTube Vloggers are enough of a friend base to sustain you in this world.
This week had my brain playing this game of sabotage. Like picking shredded cheese out of my chest on the couch is a viable social strategy. I still managed to pilot my car to the top of parking garage adjacent to Racines Restaurant to meet a solid massive of man. Like solid thickness. Which is weird for me, and also completely refreshing. For the last thousand years I’ve been the big spoon, I think it’s time to little spoon for a while.
May I take this opportunity to advocate for Denver’s centrally located "date" restaurant, Racines? It really is the best "first date" eating establishment. It’s calm, it’s low pressure, and it has low walls around the patio to leap over in case the date is going badly. A Wendy’s is right next door, so after your great escape you can walk over and drown your sorrows in a Frosty as the date collects his car from valet. Then you can drive home without dripping Frosty on your seats. Trust me; I speak from experience. But! Not this week.
Halfway through the cobb salad, I began to be thankful for leaving my sofa and YouTube friends at home and for venturing into the cool summer breeze of Denver’s early evening. The conversation was easy, both agreeing that Betty Friedan is a product of her time, and still should be celebrated as sparking the second wave of feminism. Ya, know dudes on dates conversation. I began to have a rising internalized squee as all the anxiety washed from my brain due to a sense of happiness. Happiness based upon the connecting to someone with a similar world outlook, but not to similar…. We also made-out like teenagers in his car, steaming up the windows like I was in a Mustang listening to Radiohead.
Thursday, May 30, 2019
I have had a swimming pool in every place I have lived since the ancient year of 2000. Yet in this time, I have been actually in these pools just once. Never have I stopped to enjoy the amenities and go for a swim. Mostly I blame the people living in the neighborhood overrunning the pool with their loud noise, and feral children. There’s nothing worse than a child enjoying its self. I kid.... kinda.
I know it’s not swimming as a concept because I can spend the whole day naked at Denver’s bathhouse outdoor pool. Maybe I hate my local pools due to having to wear trunks. Probably so. As summer has arrived, it’s probably time to make a trip to naked pool land.
I was determined to actually use the pool near my new house. And by near, I mean if I’m not careful leaving my front door, I’ll fall in. As it opened on Memorial Day. Within half a day an email was sent out the the pool had to be closed due to broken glass being found in the pool bottom. Hours after it’s opening. So... okay. Guess I’m not getting in that pool either. Off to the naked pool.
Tuesday, May 28, 2019
I went on my first hike of the summer last weekend. It was a "date hike" so that was pretty awesome. A strange sense came into my mind in the middle of the hike. The person I was hiking with, spent the whole hike matching my stride and speed. This made me aware that sometimes I hike at a slower than "standard" speed for the trail, mostly due to my desire to soke up the atmosphere. However; our hike, around Dillon Resivour was perfectly matched in speed and gate.
The reason I was thinking about this was that in the last several years, my hiking partner had a faster speed, and quicker movement. I always had a feeling I was never keeping up with the movement on the hike. Never did I acknowledge this, but internally I began to avoid hiking due to this mid-match in hiking philosophy. Simply to stop an activity I enjoyed due to a partner radiating a sense of "ineptness" in my speed and style.
Yet, hiking with a person who matches in style, and also has consideration, rekindled my passions for hiking.
Monday, May 27, 2019
The family is attempting to schedule our Father’s Memorial. It is a bit difficult to get seven kids and seven grandkids in one place, but we are shooting for August. It’s a bit strange working with four sisters on this. Mostly because they all had, what seemed to be a close relationship with their Dad. For me, he was a total stranger. Not a necessarily bad relationship, just not a relationship at all. Now, I tend to think this started with the public acknowledgement of my fabulous gay-ness, but it is more than this. As far back as I remember, there was the family dynamic trope of a Dad spending time and energy on the daughter and no effort on the sons. Even as a kid I knew was the status quo.
This is in no way a negative statement or an an angsty blog post about my relationship with my Dad. It’s more an examination of how kids can have differing viewpoints on their parents based upon birth order. Also, I was explaining to a friend on where the memorial was to be held. As kids, our parents took us to a camp site and picnic place in Northern Colorado. Every family outing was in the same place. Even at the time, in the mid-eighties, we knew the location wasn’t just a picnic ground and hiking trail. It doubled as a then active Minuteman Missile launch site. Picnic tables and nature trails woven around concrete blast doors covering armed nuclear missiles.
"Woah! That’s fucked up!" Exclaimed my friend. "Meh, it was the eighties. They were everywhere." Yet, I began to think of the irony. The only positive family memories I have where played out on top of weapons of mass destruction. To which my Mother would tell me not to worry about it, because we would all be raptured if they were launched.
So, I guess I’ll bring deviled eggs to the picnic / memorial / return visit to the Minuteman Missiles.
Well, this is a turning point my friends. Summer starts, and I begin to demand that I only eat out on restaurant patios. This demand is placed upon all friends that ask "where do you want to eat?" Last Friday Jimmy was able to oblige and we ate al fresco at the very tasty Uno Mas, on Denver’s famous 6th ave. This was followed by my first visit to a Denver gay bar in just about three years. I know, it boggles my mind too. Daddy’s on Sixth was a great "Friday after work" kind of place. They also had a patio.
Saturday brought a long hike around Dillon reservoir, followed by a sunshine filled lunch. Sunday Brunch was Syrup on City Park, where my stunning date and I, sat in the sunshine and ate coconut French toast.
So if Memorial Day is any indication of how the Summer May create itself, then it may just be a great summer.
Monday, January 28, 2019
Saturday, January 26, 2019
Thursday, January 24, 2019
Saturday, January 5, 2019
Hit the Slopes
The Christmas and New Year celebrations were amazing. A lot of home time, spent watching Christmas movies with Mike and Naveen. Yes, I got the presents I wanted, and it seams they too were happy with the gifts I gave. We now have our living room view back, as the tree was deconsecrated on news day. By this, I mean as I placed the last string of lights in their box, Mike picked up the tree marched to the balcony and tossed it over. The gleam in his eye told me he’d been wanting to do that act for awhile.
The Christmas holiday also brought changes to my relationship. Naveen started a new relationship outside of ours. As I don’t believe in monogamy, (a viewpoint just for me-not others) I was more than happy to encourage this behavior. Right after Thanksgiving He became a snowboarder. A six-foot-two, Indian, snowboarder. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love the outdoors, but sliding down mountains doesn’t not speak to me.
The only interference with our blissful household is that he wants to borrow my car to do this endeavor. Taking my all-wheel drive up the mountain. And hopefully, backdown again. When this happens I receive my German sport wagon back covered in grime. I clutch pearls and clench my jaw every time I lay eyes on my Deutschwagon, ice packed and mud covered.
I fear asking him to get my car cleaned. This is because I am so obsessive about my car being perfect that I don’t trust just how he may clean my wolfsbaby. When I attempted to explain the difference between a brush verses brushless car wash I just recieved an eye roll. So... clearly I’m the only one who sees the difference in quality car maintenance. Yes, I didn’t get a chance to put a solid wax on before winter. But, you just can’t send you car through a car wash with those rolling brushes. What are we? Monsters?
There needs to be a concierge service for rich dude-bro boarder...dudes. One at the base of the mountains where they can stop by after shredding it all day and have their borrowed luxury cars cleaned and pressed. Great idea for a ski town business. There ya go.
Until then, I’ll be content getting flaming hot Cheetos out of my vegan leather interior.
Tuesday, December 18, 2018
Apparently I need a new Zester. There’s nothing more fun than starting a baking recipe just to find yourself digging through every kitchen drawer for a tool. I repeated this act about a month ago when I was attempting to find my meat tenderizer. So, the growls were loud when my lemmon zester was missing in action.
I spend Sunday wanting to make my first batch of Christmas cookies with Italian Lemmon Cookies. I had purchased some beautiful Meyer Lemmons to add in the dough, but it was not to be. I did attempt to chop the skins super fine, hoping that would be the same. It’s not. I now have a batch of super delicious cookies with fine bits of lemmon peel to chew.
I feel like I need to inventory my kitchen just so I know that items I own. Maybe Santa will bring me my missing tools.
Wednesday, December 12, 2018
Two things are bugging me this week. The first is my ski rack on the top of my car. It whistles. At highway speeds a high pitch squeal begins to sound above my head. "Okay, I guess I need to buy an air screen to change to air dinamics." I casually thought. Then I discovered that my VW cross bars don’t work with my Thule racks and $90 new air screen. I have spent this week attempting to find a way to attach the two without using duct tape.
The second is porn. My porn. I have unique tastes in porn; which has been satisfied for free via Tumblr. The site; however, just announced that they will be deleting all graphic content. Meaning, all the tumblr pages that I follow will go away on the 17th of December. I have spent the week grabbing as many images as I can to supply me until I can locate a new source of smut. Hundreds of gay Japanese suit porn images have been flying across my desk top. If you’re aware of a good Japanese "young businessman in suits” porn site, please be in touch. Not; however, if you’re reading this and you also happen to be one of my sisters.
Wednesday, December 5, 2018
Today was the last day of class. I have to say this is the very first time I’m sad about this. Historically, I’m counting down the days until the semester ends. Dreading the last couple of weeks. But, this semester has been completely different. My classes have been amazingly interesting; Feminist/Queer Philosophy and a history class about Denver.
This is ironic as the history class was based upon the racist KKK dickheads that controlled Denver in the early days. Followed by a class based on liberating modern voices in queer literature. In fact this morning I received this...
It didn’t hurt that I’m 100 years old and actually lived the ‘80’s/‘90’s AIDS crisis. At one point I was explaining Act Up to 20 year old girls. Like I was on the front porch of a gay retirement home in a rocking chair. But, hey, I guess I got an "A".
The Denver history class is motivating me to start a new YouTube channel. Based loosely around the traditional history narrative about a western US city, but with a marginalized voice perspective. Like what happened to Denver’s China Town? Spoiler: Racists. It’s callled the "1880 Race Riot", but really it was a "white assholes with torches"
So, yeah. This semester was actually amazing and I’m sad to see it go.