Wednesday, July 1, 2015

Haters Gonna Hate, Hate, Hate

Grindr can be a fickle little app. If you don't utilize the hook-app known as Grindr, I'll explain it to you in the briefest terms I know. It is like Christian Mingle on your phone. But, for Homosexuals with anything but Christian acts in mind. It is best utilized as a homing device; as the phone app has a proximity alert built into the app. This takes your location and broadcasts it to other homosexuals on the app.  The easiest way to locate your closest gay.

It; however, has been over-wrought lately with spammers. These are fake profiles attempting to get you to give your phone number for their diabolical use. Canned sentences are given in hopes that you respond, all to say "hey, let's text? What is your number?" I, with apparently too much free time started to give the Focus on the Family main telephone number. This got boring fast. Then I did this...


Every spammer got lyrics to John Cash's Folsom Prison Blues.  I got through the entire song before this one asked for my phone number. I'm sure the reception desk of the anti-gay, faux-Christian Lobbing group,  Focus on The Family, is swarmed with telemarketer calls right now.

I  also changed my profile to state that I would not respond to any Chat Requests unless a code word was given.  Any line from any Taylor Swift song. What happened actually was quite funny..

Some guys really got into it...




It was kind of amazing how many guys just wanted to give me a Taylor Swift line.




 Others.... not so much.


Then there was the perfect response...



So if you are ever on Grindr, hit me up. But, only if you like Taylor Swift.

 

Saturday, June 20, 2015

Run, Stevie Run

I got on a treadmill for the first time in six months. And by six months, I mean just under a year. Remember when I blogged ad nauseam about running? Yeah. I don't  really remember either. 

The other night, me and the roommate headed to the gym. I nodded my head in respect to the power of the treadmill and stepped on to its whirling belt. It. Felt. Amazing. For about eight minutes, then it was pure hell after that. But, I did it. I felt the old unhealthy lifestyle I had been sporting (mostly around my spare tire area) begin to take a hint.  

I, as a whole am taking tiny steps back into the warm sunlight of healthy choices. Those small things you do to ensure and reaffirm that you do; actually, like yourself.  The driving past fast food joints. The ending of excuses why you can not make it to the gym. 

Time slips away and before you know it small unhealthy choices turn into laziness that fuel and feed upon itself. As I stepped onto the treadmill, I heard the wake up call. Time to run. 

Monday, June 15, 2015

Steve Has A Meal at Home

I have a problem with my new roommate. Let us call him, Mike. Because that is his name. He also goes by Mike 'n the Mechanics, as that is his blogger name. As he has a blog, over at  mikenthemechanics.blogspot.com. But, I do have a major problem living with my new roommate. And here's why...

For the last year, when it comes to feeding myself, I have been foraging around the proverbial country side like a proverbial baby goat. Meaning, that when it came time that my belly needed to be filled, I would simply drive to the nearest food establishment, not excluding gas stations, and give my complaining stomach the fuel it needed. I can honestly say, I did not prepare and eat a meal at my home, ever. Not once in the last year. Maybe more.  A life of always dining out, drive-thru’s[sp], and pre-packaged processed food stuffs. For the last year… maybe two.  Why I lived this life doesn’t matter, let’s just say it was frowned upon for me to use the kitchen in the old house…. A lot. I just accommodated this requirement by shifting to a diet not unlike a wild boar. One of wandering the forest in search of the easiest meal. If the boar had a credit card and free time to sit in the drive thru of Jack ‘n The Box for yet another feast of Egg Rolls.

Now, back to the new kitchen. Picture it… I am able to utilize an over the range microwave without reciting first the cleaning regimen in vivid detail.  It’s a brave new world.  Last night, during my commute home I began to mull-over what my dining choices would be, and what I was in the mood for. This is when the phone rang. A bearish voiced informed me that Curry Chicken was prepared and ready for consumption. At home! The gall of my new roommate to think he can just prepare a nutritious and delicious meal, then share it with me.  I just got settled into a self-sufficient bubble of only eating fast-food, and he goes off and makes a home cooked meal?  Think of the profit loss Jack ‘N The Box will face. Panda Express will face a round of lay-offs.

As I sat at my breakfast bar, this morning, I thought how I now will have to re-learn my eating habits. I watched the spoon move around the bowl, unsure it was my hand mixing my microwave oatmeal.  I wondered if the lady at Starbucks, the one who gave me my morning Blueberry Scone, was missing me. “…and people sit together in the morning and drink coffee… and eat? Like at Starbucks? But, at home?” I asked my new roommate, Mike. “Yeah.” He said as he sipped his coffee. “It’s called being family.”

Monday, June 8, 2015

The Weather

The weather has been different lately; that is to say, it has been the same. Not that I'm blogging about the weather these days. It is just that I am. 

In the last couple of weeks the local area; that is to say, where I live. North of Denver, has settled into a predicable weather pattern. Sunny in the morning, with thunder storms rolling in to control the late afternoon and evening. This pattern seems to have locals perplexed. It seems so different. So unusual. 

To me it is just a return to normal. My early twenties were spent roaming the streets of downtown Denver. I do recall the early June days of this time. Let's call this time "back in the day." So, back in the day, when Ace of Base ruled the FM band, early June meant get your shit done early in the day, because the rain would fall. 

Life is this way. The expectations and boxes we insert ourselves into, seem like the predictable weather. Then, the weather changes. And you are standing there wondering; that is to say, perplexed about the pattern and how you can't rely on anything these days. 

The weather has changed. That is to say; the pattern I thought was set, has changed. The atmospheric conditions remind me of back in the day.  

Friday, May 29, 2015

A New Room

It has been a week of boxes. A time of seemingly endless folding open, and taping cardboard boxes. To slowly packing items that belong to you. Sifting through what is yours and not yours. Sorting through what is yours or no longer yours. It is funny how things that you always just assumed were yours, somehow get moved to the "not yours" pile. You take what is now just yours and toss it into a cardboard box. Taping up whole thing closed.

Boxes are on the move.  

Waking up in a different room can bring about a whirl of emotions. All in the time it takes to open your eyes. A sense of the  unfamiliar, being a stranger in a strange room. The feeling of freedom. The understanding that the official close to a chapter of life. The acknowagement that an exciting and unknown path has been cleared. 

Boxes are in the move. So am I. 

Thursday, May 28, 2015

Thank You

I started blogging on Sunday, November 11, 2007. My first entry was written from a place of closing a door. A process of saying goodbye to my partner of four years. It was the beginning of growth for me, shared with the world via a tiny spec on a blogger platform in a tiny spec of the internet.  I blogged ever since.

As part of this growth, I began to blog about meeting a new guy, the dating, and the building of a relationship. Fuzzy was written about as our relationship grew, faced challenges, and surpassed milestones. I blogged about being part of a larger whole.

I have not blogged lately about that larger whole. I felt it too painful to blog. The first time in eight years I held back from you, the reader. For this I do apologize. The process of dismantling a relationship is difficult, at best…

I feel like I am back to 2007, writing to you about the process of closing a door. I must begin the process of saying goodbye to my partner of eight years. I step forward to accept the beginning of growth.  I start by saying thank you, thank you Fuzzy for many years… For the good, and surprisingly enough the bad.  Thank you for it all.

Sunday, May 10, 2015

Made it Through the Wilderness...

I woke up this morning singing a line from a Madonna song. "I made through the wilderness... somehow I made it through-ooo-ooo-ooo! Didn't know how lost I was... but now I dooooo. " That is not even close to Madonna's Like a Virgin. But it doesn't matter. What matters is that I'm through the frickin' wilderness. Yes, I made it through.

I didn't realize it had been since April 20th that I blogged. I do apologize. Somehow, the new job and attempting to finish my term papers absconded with my time. I am now, somewhat settled into the routine of the new job. It seems to be amazing. Back in the Human Resources field. It is pretty much Monday through Friday, with normal days and somewhat normal hours. I get to work part-week at Denver's airport, along with San Diego and other smaller airports. I am sure it's going to be aggravating, irritating, and wonderful work. 

Yesterday at midnight was the deadline for my last paper. And trust me when I say I used every minute. This was due to my massive presentation I had to build in PowerPoint. I spent weeks building an interactive presentation of the Continental Army and their struggle to get to Trenton, for the Battle of Trenton. The presentation I built was amazing. With battle sounds and smoke that drifted across the screen. Yesterday all I had to do was up-load it...... "Where's my iPad????? I ran though house like Chris Brown looking for a woman to beat. I ripped apart my Jeep. By noon I had to give in and rebuild my presentation. Sad Steve. No battle sounds. No smoke. 

My papers are turned in; along with my sad presentation. "C's get degrees." C's get degrees." I chanted as I uploaded my slap-dashed finial project. 

Today, Steve is done and dusted with the new job stress, and the Spring semester. "Made it through the wilderness....." Now, let's get this Spring thing started. 

Monday, April 20, 2015

Stress

Next Monday is the first day of my new job. I also have two massive term papers to write before the 9th of May, one with a stupid video production. So, sure! I'll whip up a Power Point on the Hessian loss to George Washington, all whilst learning a new job. Then, I'll zip out twelve pages comparing and contrasting two of my favorite Shakespearian plays.

Along with my schizophrenic dating, and other life changing events on the horizon, my stress level is through the roof. But, it should all settle down quickly. 

My face when I read the term-paper requirements....



Monday, April 13, 2015

And Baby Makes Three

I am currently conducting a research study, with my dating habits as of late. And, I am learning a lot.  After I turned forty years old, I started to date guys in their twenties. I honestly believed there were no differences in guys my age and gay men in their twenties.  I went through this twenty year old phase in my life, and I thought that since I was once twenty, I would understand. I am here to report that I am dead wrong.  

There seems to be is a magical age when guys are old enough that they're bored with the hookup scene and interested in relationships, yet haven't reached the point where they're bored with relationships, and just want to hook up. This has nothing to do with chronological age. It has more to do with when the individual comes out. The key to finding any guy is to find one on the same pendulum swing as you. This hasn’t changed since I was posting ads on the back pages of Denver’s  Outfront Newspaper. Yes, before the interwebs, we had to post ads in the singles column of our gay newspapers. Chiseled into stone tablets, if I remember. 

It appears that younger guys pendulums swing faster these days. Kids, I tells ya. When I do sit down on a date I have a series of questions I like to ask.  Yeah, know, after the “do your parents know where you are?”question. The clearest one is, “Are you attracted to older guys on a personal level, or physical level?” This shows me whether there’s a Daddy fetish going on, or if it’s a maturity compatibility thing. When I was twenty I hated interacting with other twenty year olds, I preferred having a conversion with people over forty.  The other questions are “Do you know who Matthew Shepard, and Larry Kramer are? Have you seen the film, Paris is Burning?” The answers are surprising. Is it wrong to give a homework assignment after the first date? I think no. 

There is; however, something new, other than the fact that no gay man under the age of twenty-six would ever have a Facebook account. The guys I have dated as of late, are now thinking love and marriage. And children. It seems that generation next, have the freedom and acceptance to be able to dream of settling down and raising a family. This truly is - a different time, my friends. 

Friday, April 10, 2015

'Better Work

Yesterday marked an amazing and scary change in my life. I emailed my boss and turned in a two week notice.

This action was the end result of four weeks worth of interviews for a great new position with an exciting company. It was an unexplainable catharsis to click send on the email.  A moment of feeling the heavy iron shackles beginning to loosen around my ankles.

The irony of the situation was when, hours later, my boss called me. Instead of discussing the email, he laid into the insurmountable pile of work he had lined up for me that day. When he finally finished his lecture on time management, I simply asked if he checked his own email.... The pile of work disappeared, upon his reading out-loud of my gifted mail.

On to bigger and better things. But, as the goddess of irony gives; she also takes. My first week on the new jobs is right during finials week at school. 

Tuesday, April 7, 2015

Travel Time

Have you had a dating relationship with someone from another city? The typical long distance relationship. I wonder how this style of relationship works, the actual mechanics of attempting to establish closeness when the other person lives in another town.  I have, of late, attempted to pursue this style of relationship. Trust me, it is harder than it looks.

As I have grown older my tough-guy, no hugging, "I need my space" policy has worn away. The idea of having a boyfriend whom lived a plain ride, or even a car ride away seemed perfect for my younger self. To see and date on a regular, yet infrequent timetable.  I am finding lately that I have unknowingly changed this demeanor.  The ginger-swimmer from last fall lived almost two hours away, the Spaniard before him lived in San Francisco. Now, I am finding that a relationship is the little things. The stupid stuff we do together when there is not a time crunch. Dating is not the hot sex. It is the hot sex followed by wandering around the supermarket together, afterward in search of food. Maybe grabbing coffee and just wasting away a morning. Together.

I would never shoot down a hot boy that actually wanted to take on the bag of neurotic strangeness that is me, just because he lives an hour north of my town, it is not a deal breaker. It just seems I am scratching my head at the extra time it takes to build that level of closeness when time is so limited. 

Tuesday, March 31, 2015

The Name Game

Could date a person with the same name as you? It is an odd question that truly applies to LGBT people. Could you date a guy or a girl with the same name. If I was chatting up a guy named Steve, I'm unsure how I would feel. Yes, there's the lame joke about screaming out your own name during sex, but seriously? I think I would really have mixed feelings whether I could ask out a guy named Steve.

What about dating? Would we be known as "The Steves?" Like when inviting people over to a fabulous dinner party one host would turn to their partner and ask, "Should we invite The Steves?" Or, when you are living together, a telemarketer calls and asks to speak to Steve. I've know Kathy and
Kathie, like the "y" changes things. I've known a Jim and a Jimbo, and a Mike whose handsome life partner was Mic.  I really am curious how these couples know what Christmas stocking to grab on Christmas morning. How narcissistic would it be to stand around at work on Monday morning talking about how much fun you had with Sue.  "Sue is soooo great at rock climbing. Sue is such a great cook, Saturday Sue made Spaghetti alla Carbonara."

What about dating a person with your Dad or Mom's name? Do you really want to quietly whisper your Dad's name into the ear of someone who passed out on top of you after hours of sweaty sex? My Dad's first name is Wilbur , so.... no trouble with that. I've never chatted up that hot bro leaning against the bar to find out his name is Wilbur. Would it be okay to be sitting at Thanksgiving and telling the family your new partner is also named Linda. "Linda and I are really romantically compatible."

Is it a deal breaker?


Saturday, March 28, 2015

Come on Spring

The weather here in Denver has been teasing us the last couple of days.  It has been giving us full Spring time realness. I personally have been picking up what Mother Nature has been laying down. Yesterday, after hand washing my Jeep.... well, holding the spray nozzle to one spot as I watched a shirtless dude detail his Porsche. Slowly caressing the fenders, with his massive hands. Leaning over in his gym shorts-sans underwear... Uh, yes. Washed my jeep...

After that adventure, I took the shiny 4x4 to Cheeseman Park, for some of my own shirtless time. This marked the first time for 2015 where I was able to relax in the park. My summer plans consist of as much of this activity as possible. Bring on Spring. 

Friday, March 27, 2015

Chasing Shakespeare

I have discovered that taking a Shakespeare class, online is not the best idea. In fact it's right up there with grocery store sushi, or trying to date a straight guy.

I say this, the online Shakespeare part because no matter how hard I try to focus on the meaning and depth of William's plays, I'm finding it impossible to focus. Now, I have taken a lot of Literature classes in my time, even some involving that English playwright. Reading and understanding the guy when you're sitting alone in a Starbucks is different. And, I am finding the class very difficult.

I don't hold up much hope for making it until the last day of class, May 9th. I might chuck the whole idea. Or, it is possible I just may fail the course. I have never received to a bad grade before. Ever. But, my last grade on my, what I thought was a great paper, was "F." I was shocked. Every detail that I was marked down on, were legitimate issues. But, hyper critical in their execution.

Guess I will just try my hardest to get the remaining points I can. Shakespeare or bust. In the mean time, I'll chow down on some day old Sushi, and wait for the straight guy I had plans with to show up. 

Friday, March 13, 2015

Glassy

After buying the shiny new Jeep in June, I already have to replace the windshield. Let this be a lesson; when you get a chip in your car's windshield, have it filled/repaired.  It's a cheaper choice than buying new glass. 

Jeeps are strange contraptions. Their windscreens have the Jeep grill logo embossed into the top center, as a sun blocker. There's also a tiny Jeep in the corner, just in case you forgot you owned a Jeep. This honor drives the price for a new windscreen up by three-hundred dollars. Yeah. That's right, proprietary parts. Thanks Jeep. 

They do make other, "non-branded" windshields. These are exactly the same, without the cool factor. So, for three hundred less dollars, I'm getting the generic version. But, if you know me; you know I'm a huge label whore. So... Here's the deal. I found after-market stickers that mimic the Jeep logos. I can apply the knock-off stickers and Viola! Jeep branding!  I'll always feel like I am wearing cheap Pro Wing tennis shoes from K-Mart, but they'll look like Pumas. 

Thursday, March 12, 2015

The Second Date

I am getting amazingly talented at first dates. A second date; however, is seeming to be an elusive near impossible act for me to obtain. That is to say, that I can take a guy out to dinner, act like a gentleman, talk for hours, and at the end of the date really feel a connection. Yet, even with plans made; date number two simply never comes to pass.

Last week I sat at a coffee shop and made a great connection with an amazingly hot and funny guy. Both were the youngest of a huge Mormon family, both had Texas roots, both of us were seeking what, I thought, were clear and honest ideas. In a strange twist we ended up playing together and were very compatible. Then came the discussion of the elusive date number two... He instigated the endeavor. As I have decided to let the other party involved set the tone for this act. He set the date and time. I was to pick him up at this house.... I showed up at the arranged time and place.... Nothing.
Just me on a strange doorstep, ringing a doorbell. A text was then sent to me stating that he couldn't go out.  Date two ended before it started with me texting my BFF, Mike declaring I hated boys.

Another recent turn in my dating life was when my excitement crescendo[ed] upon making plans at the end of date one, to spend date two seeing an IMAX movie. No one ever has ever wanted to go see IMAX movie with me before. So I got all excited. An actual real-life boy wanted to sit with me in 3-D glasses and watch the discovery of Space Junk or Amazonian Trees. In 3-D IMAX coolness. I felt just like when I was five and anticipated getting stuffed Ernie and Bert dolls for Christmas. Christmas found me without Ernie, or Bert. The thought of my second date drought didn't even enter my head. After all we definite plans. I sent a text to confirm, only to receive a  text hours later that they found something better to do. When asking the boy where my adult version of Ernie and Bert Christmas presents were, I was told not to be "a dick about it." Funny, that is what my Mom said on Christmas morning.

I present this strange phenomenon to you not as a problem. Just the opposite really.  A humorous observation on dating life. I am un-second-dateble.  Some day, I will get that obscure date number two... some day.


Monday, March 9, 2015

At The Car Wash

Saturday or Sunday morning, which ever day I don't work, you'll find me at the car wash scrubbing down my Jeep. It's a ritual in my world. So much so, that if the weather is going to be horrid over the weekend I still think about washing my Jeep. Of course the ice and snow would splatter up upon my shiny fenders the second I leave the car wash bay.

Last Saturday was one of those days. I got up early, stopped for a venti Toffee Nut Latte, and headed towards my favorite car wash. The Jeep was especially mud-caked due to endless snow.... and a prime muddy lot close to a friend's house that NEEDED to have my spin in circles, over and over. But, the warm weather and sun shine brought out everyone with my same idea. Saturday morning car wash.

I am not apposed to having a professional carwash, the type where you stand and watch a crew rub down you car; they just seem to never get my car clean. The drive through style of car wash are seemingly designed to be anti-Jeep. The fenders and back come out dirtier then before the flashy lights and soap streams of the water tunnel. So in my cleanliness OCD, I end up at the self-wash car wash.

I am so thankful for times like these. Complete Steve quality time with my Jeep. My headphones blasting, coffee in one hand, and a spray nozzle in the other. Washing away the grime of the week.

Saturday, February 28, 2015

Thursday, February 26, 2015

Let it Snow

Snow day! I love unexpected days off. The thrill of not having to go to work, yet no scheduled plans of going to the bank, grocery shopping, or any thing else grown up. Just time to be a kid. 

My work took me up to mountains yesterday. The drive home was right at the beginnings of a massive snowstorm. The Jeep and I slowly creeped down the highway as the wind battered the line of semi-trucks attempting to make Denver before night fall. The trucks and I failed. 

This morning I awoke to voicemails hoping that I didn't head back to the mountain project. Snow day!!! I sat in bed thinking what fun things I could possibly do... First was to get the hell out of the house. It was truly meant to be a personal fun day as every friend I called that might be free, wasn't. I even went down the list of boys in my "little black book" to no avail. It truly is a Stevie quality snow day. 

First stop was the gym. I let my iPod choose its own music, meaning I did shoulders to The Vally of The Dolls soundtrack. Picture it: sweaty Steve cruising a 22 year old doing squats as Dionne Warwick sang about getting off.  Lunch was a vegan chicken club, followed by hours of reading at my Starbucks. An easy dinner with Mike (from the Mike 'n The Mechanics blog)  and I'll plop into the middle of the bed to stretch out with the dog. 

Good day. 

Monday, February 23, 2015

Petting the Wildlife

Flirting for awhile, I finally got the invite.  That invite. The one that says it is time to limber up, stretch the hamstrings before heading over. Don't want to pull a hammy, you know. Sexy underwear; check. Tight shirt; check. Teeth brushed; check. He opened the apartment door and the hottest guy I ever imagined stood before me. Smooth Jazz began to play softly in background. A soft glow about his face. He might as well of been holding a fuzzy bunny-wabbit in one hand, and new Jeep high output air intake system in the other. 

He grabbed my hand and yanked inside. "Come spank me!" He said. "Finally, I get my Birthday wish!" I said out loud. 

Shirts and jeans flew everywhere. And as the real excitement started a door slammed. "Shit! My roommates!" He jumped to his feet and listened like a Impala in the wild. Cranking his head to hear any movement from the living room. He slowly closed his bedroom door. "I thought it was okay with your roommates to have guys over" I calmly asked. "Yeah... but you're older... they'd ask who you were." As I grabbed for my shirt I watched the sexiest Impala I ever got to pet, squeeze into his skinny jeans. You think Ashton Kutcher had to sneak Demi Moore past his roommates? 

Dressing quickly I thought of what could of been, the heat. The passion. The cuddling after. One quick kiss at the door and I was handed my hat. I wandered 
out into the midday sun. Still dizzy from what just happened, the smell of his hard body and expensive cologne covering me. 

Saturday, February 21, 2015

Everyone Into the Pool

I have not been in the dating pool since 2001. I know, I am surprised when I stopped to think about it as well. On a sunny afternoon in late 2001, I approached a tall bald man frantically scribbling away in his artist pad. I asked for a date. This continued until the week I started blogging. My first blog post was about his move to New York, to start his new life. What seemed a millisecond later, I stood in the Denver Eagle as a leather-clad Italian man shoved a crumpled piece of paper with his phone number on it into my hand. After all of that, I'm dating. Me. dating. It goes without saying that the last time I was casually dating there were no hook-up sites held in the palm of your hand. There was, if I remember back that far, websites to post fake information about yourself. I feel I was more of an "early adapter" to technology, rather than to say I was a slutty whore.

The major difference between 2001 and now isn't the technology. It is me.  Obvious to say there are massive  and obvious changes from the twenty-nine year old to the forty-three year old me. Muscle mass, credit rating, patience and courage, and Need verses Want. Back in the day, attempting to find someone was a need. A desperate pit of need. This stemmed from not being comfortable in my own skin. That state that is so common in one's twenties.  I noticed this last night as I sat across a table on what would be considered a "first date." The driven attempt to be liked and desperation to do and say the right thing wasn't there. The so common pit of desperation prevalent during my last round of dating was noticeably missing.

Things have changed a lot since my last round of the dating game. It is faster and more convenient to find the nearest frat guy of your liking. I; however, am thankful that I am diving into the crazy dating pool now, after I have aged to a point where become comfortable with me. Making dating a Want, not a Need. 

Tuesday, February 17, 2015

Tom's Diner

I am truly unsure why we deviated from our normal Sunday diner regimen. Yes, the group of homosexuals I run with, live by the motto of “let’s try something new.” So we are always open to checking out new restaurants in the fair city of Denver. Maybe, I am still in mourning over my beloved Denver Diner; attempting to replace the closed restaurant in my heart. It must of been this longing to eat in a truly colorful diner that made us decide to ditch our normal Sunday plan and check out a diner that all the kids have been talking about for some real diner realness. Old school style. 

The diner we chose was the famous, or should I say infamous, Tom’s Diner on Colfax Avenue. Now, in theory it should be an amazing place. An old seventies diner in the heart of Capitol Hill revamped to look like a hip… seventies diner. Where kitsch style, meets hipsters, meets the chic-homeless.  We didn’t mind that the parking lot resembled a broken up asphalt lot one would find in front of a topless bar. In Waco, Tx. We were a sleuth of urban bears, we wanted grit, damn it.  Being ignored by every member of staff as we stood next to the “please wait to be seated” sign was charm. Like asking a strange man sporting a raincoat for help on a New York subway ride.  Finally, a waitress told a guy to seat us. At this point I felt like Patricia Nixon being asked to make the tie-breaking vote as a judge of the national felching contest.  Mr. maître d escorted us  to our table, sandwiched between a fighting family and a un-chic homeless brood. As I turned to my friend Mike and declared we should give up our dream of being seen out with the hip breakfast set, the maître d scoffed and stated that if it’s the table they could give us their very best booth. The friendly chap then began to school me on how to find a table in restaurants. Stating “when you’re in a restaurant, and you don’t like your table, just tell ‘em.” 

We barely tripped on the broken chunks of asphalt as we ran across the parking lot. I have always been sure that one thing would happen in my life time. Besides Princess Diana rising from the grave to kill us all. It is that I would finally find a diner I could not enjoy. 

Thursday, February 12, 2015

Free Time


So much for the fist annual blogging convention hosted in Denver this weekend. It has been cancelled as all the invited participants became ill. I feel like DisneyLand after the measles outbreak.  Alone on the plasticky and tacky Main Street USA without my best friend and Small World boating companion. I do hope that Patrick survives his cold, lives to vacation another day. It's only a matter of time before  Jenny McCarthy takes up a controversial and idiotic stance on common colds. How the common cold is linked to a plot of ruining fabulous vacations. That lunatic will talk about anything if it helps her dead career. 


On the other hand; I do have five days off to bum around on my own. And I do mean on my own. 

Tuesday, February 10, 2015

Ad hominem

I have turned into that old man that loudly talks about current events in the next booth at Denny's.  You know the one, he talks loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear his thoughts on Obama. On Taxes. On cars being made of plastic. On why they needed dancing sharks on the Super Bowl.  He speaks in a tone, so that everyone can hear what he thinks. He wants to express his option, but I believe if you challenged his thoughts; he would not listen.

This morning, awaiting for my Krups to brew some French Vanilla, I read an article on Republican Rep. Trey Radel who pushed to make food stamp and other government aid recipients take drug tests, got busted on a charge of cocaine possession. This sent a massive Schadenfreude moment down my spine. The pleasure derived from the misfortunes of others; hypocrites, makes me happy. Especially on a topic so near my heart. Making restrictive laws to push people away from government help is just fundamentally wrong. But, that's not my point here.

I don't normally thump my chest about what I feel is fundamentally wrong. Yet, the first thing I did is what every person does, that can't sit in a Denny's and yell their opinions at others. I posted the story on Facebook.

This comes one day after Joch, the hottest and best bartender at the Denver Eagle, had a long debate over debates on Facebook. The debate on debates could of been intelligent and courteous. Yet, the term "ad hominem" had to be thrown into a heated debate. Facebook has turned into the village square. You stand in the center and shout your beliefs. Until someone shouts you down or tosses tomatoes at your head. The only benefit to Facebook is then you can unfriend and block the produce pitcher. People, and by people I include me, post their wild opinions via links to web-posted "news" stories because of lack of any other outlet. Facebook has made it easy to disconnect with interaction making us like the lonely man sitting in Denny's desperately attempting to get his voice heard.

If you need me, I will be sitting at the Denver Eagle discussing and debating the latest topics with Joch. 

Monday, February 9, 2015

Beard today, Gone tomorrow

School has begun with fervor and abandon of all personal time and space. Week one; just as an ice breaker saw our hero write a paper on Shakespeare's tragedies focusing on Macbeth. Fun. And, over in history class I researched the debate of the native people living amongst the American continent before 1492. Although nothing should get in the way of blogging, my life quickly came to developing the new habits. That part of life, the establishing of new habits, always throw me for a loop. One professor wants all work turned in on Mondays, the other on Thursdays. I'm pretty sure I have it figured out, now.

I did find time to shave off the beard. Although I couldn't possible work up the courage to shave completely. A radicle trim had to suffice.  On my trip annual visit to a local museum I snapped the last known photo of my 2014 beard....


Then later that night, hanging out in the boyfriends bathroom I trimmed down my face like a sheep being trimmed in early spring....




A year of beard, gone. Meh. No big deal. Time for 2015 and more follicle frivolity

Friday, January 23, 2015

For The Love of Blogging

My blog roll, or "Stuff StevieB reads...." section got shorter today. I purged dead blogs left and right. I also disconnected and unlinked with blogs that I haven't read in a while.  I did find that some blogs were hard to unlink.  I had to finally lay to rest "blog crushes" I had carried for quite a while. The ex-Navy corpsman and I were never meant to be anyway. The gay Architect living in London, who only blogged for a year off and on, was never really mine. It is time to move on.

I did; however, begin to seek out and add new blogs to my list. They're not new, just new to me. Fearsome Beard is new to me, and I reconnected with Jeph's Spot blog. There are a host of Gay Mormon blogs out there, and I have decided to find as many as I can to connect.  In These Gay Mormon Shoes has been blogging for years, yet I haven't taken the time to notice. Or, Gay Mormon Southpaw blog. Gay Mormon and a leftie... I'm this bloggers complete target audience.

So 2015 will be about re-igniting my love and connections in the blogging world.  Please get in touch and let me know any blogs out there that I should follow.   

Thursday, January 22, 2015

The Semester is Before Us...

Monday is the first day of class for the Spring semester. Oh, how time flyes. This semester will be different, as I will be taking all online classes. So... more time for Steve to hang out at the Starbucks on Colfax Ave. This morning I showed up to School, as I always do, to stand in line to buy my books. I was surprised to see there wasn't a line in front of the book store. I hardly had time to cruise Grindr before heading into the store for my annual book buying spree. My head filled with the thought it always does upon entering my college bookstore. " I should of just rented the book online, and saved all the money the nose-ringed hippy girl is about to rip from my hands."  Yet, every semester I forget, as school exits my little brain as soon as my final assignments are handed in.

Last year's Medieval History class went great online, so I thought, "Why not? More Toffee Nut Lattes for Steve."  This round we're taking  "Literature of Shakespeare" and "American History 355."  The Shakespeare class I'm excited about, as I'm attempting to go for a Diamond Rating in neardom. To pass the competency exam you need to either know computer code, or choose the oral exam of reciting Shakespeare Sonnets. I can't understand computer code, so I am going for the Lit-nerd certification.  The American History class is the one I dread. It's the last history class I will need for my degree, and I have avoided it for years. It's "America! from foundation to reconstruction." I find nothing more boring than this topic; other than the attempt to make that American Sniper movie resemble anything near the truth.

My head was filled with dread as I pontificated over the reading on the topic of rich white people owning poor black people as I walked through the stacks of over-priced books in the bookstore. Then I discovered something odd. My class don't require textbooks. What??? Yep, they're completely on line. 

We will bestow ourselves [to not] read on this book. Clearly an undiscovered country for Steve. 

I left the bookstore with a spring in my step. Looking forward to the new semester. 

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Groovy American Gay Bloggers Convention

It just may be official. The Groovy American Gay Bloggers (GAGB) convention has been announced. Gay bloggers from around the pan-Americas, and the world will be descending upon Denver, Colorado over the Valentine's Day holiday. It's going to be huge!!! There are some event details that are still to be announced. The host hotel hasn't been released. But, stay tune for updates. 

The event should be huge... well... as to today there are only two members of the groovy gay blogger group... that I just made up; but, it's going to be huge. As founder and Grand Marshal of this just made up group I'm would like to welcome the other... so far one member of the convention, Patrick from Pac's Pad blog to the convention. 

There is still room in the event, but hurry space is limited. Don't miss out on the 2015 Groovy American Gay Bloggers convention. 

Monday, January 19, 2015

Beard Challenge

You know what's fun? Taking your twenty-three year old boyfriend to the grocery store so you can buy yourself some beard dye.

As of writing this post, there are only eight days and fourteen hours until my beard dies. I'm going through a mourning process as of late. I glance into the mirror and I'm overwhelmed for sadness over my furry little friend. When I declared 2014 the "year of the Beard" I never thought I be just eight days away from my year challenge saddened to see my face return form it's hairy internship.

The original rules of my challenge may have to be amended... I honestly don't think I can go to a clean shaven face on the 28th of January. The shock may kill me. The shock may also send the parent company making Just For Men beard dye into finical ruin. With the amount I have using to attack my grey beard, just to cut off the supply so quickly... it may destroy the supply line. All the truckers moving fright; all the grocery store shelf-stockers. I need to think about them and their families.

2014 was also the year I stepped into my Daddy status in the gay world. Can I really continue to pull that off without a full regiment of fuzz? Guess we'll find out in only eight days and fourteen hours.

Grumpy morning beard.

Friday, January 16, 2015

Denver Diner

 I have realized, with age that I'm getting more and more like my father. I guess it's normal for people to realize that apples, really, don't fall far from their trees. 

My realization about this is in my love of diners. Greasy Spoons. Genetically the paternal line of my bloodline is unexplainably drawn to eating in diners. Sitting for hours, talking with friends, or simply alone with a cup of coffee. 

Denver does not disappoint in this area of fine dinning. From Greek-owned diners staggered every couple of miles in the heart of the city, simple truck stops, to the hip trendy diners filled with bearded dudes and chunky-plastic jewelry wearing dudettes. Denver has what I need. 

I am saddened that my favorite, The Denver Diner, is still sitting dark. It was on the first real date with the Ginger Swimmer, after midnight, that I had a heaping stack of flap- jacks served in front of me. Suddenly a screamed call to get the hell out broke my dream-like state. We watched from safety as flames jetted through the roof. 

Still the diner sits dark. My very genome  wanting it to be open; so I may sit and drink coffee. Like every male in my bloodline before me. It is what we do. Until it reopens, If you need me, I'll be sitting in the back booth at that Greek diner. Drinking coffee.