STEVIE LABASIA, FROM THE HOUSE OF LABASIA

We have movie night once a month. A group of guys that send around five-hundred emails back and forth to deciding on a great movie to watch. Then finally each month it’s something exciting. I personally have extremely obscure taste in movies, a black in white gay Asian robot love story/ ninja flick would be my style, not so much for others or anyone for that matter. So I usually just leave it up to the five-hundred emails and see what happens. November, we really lucked out.

Paris is Burning. If you have not seen this movie then I implore you to do so as it is a primer for gay life just as Mommy Dearest or Trick. Sadly is never makes the “Top Ten” lists but it is just as vitally important, because it teaches you your roots. Our roots, in the way of Harvey Milk or The Celluloid Closet

Find it. Netflix it or rent it.

O P U L E N C E
You own everything!

Scream this next time you’re walking through the mall. It’s fun.

NO MORE TURKEY, PLEASE

The end of the Thanksgiving holiday. Thanks Jebus I’m back to work where there are only salads to eat. I forget every year what a food-fest the four five day stretch really is.

My cheesecakes and pies where a hit on Thursday. Then again on Friday my cheesecake received praise from a Fuzz’s Mother as she noticed there wasn’t a single crack on the top of my chocolate cheesecake. High praise indeed. Although I ate my weight in rich stuffing and turkey I also polished off quite a bit of this…..

I kind of had a hangover for DATGS, the Day After ThanksGiving shopping. Our group of Homos trudging out to the mall in the early morning air. We settled on coffee and the huge sale at the Gap. Really it was to cruise the boys and get some amazing deals on sweaters, Dalton kept piling 60% off sweats into our arms until we could pull him out of the store. After one more stop in a trendy clothing store where I suddenly stopped and realized that everyone in the store had been born after Whitney Houston’s first album, we were done.

The rest of the weekend was fueled by this….

Plate after plate of left-overs, and since Fuzz’s people are Italian the turkey was fortified by sausage, meatballs and other un-pronounceable pasta dishes. This led to a hard start on Sunday for this….

Back to running, and running. I figure to burn off everything I ate last week I’ll need to run from Denver to Cape Horn. I better start now.

THANKS STEVIEB!

I’m alone in the office today. Why, because I didn’t think to bring my work home last night so I had to come in. Smart, he ain’t.


But I’m in sweats….

I’m a homosexual; get me out of here….

Like any self respecting fudge packer, I should be home baking pies; pies I tried to start last night…. Until several Homosexual crisis came to the Emergency Stevie Phone.

“Help, my kitchen chandelier simply won’t due for Thanksgiving!” So rushing over to the Homo-in-need I switched out the brass and glass for a hand oil rubbed bronze pendant. Dat-Dat-Da!! “Thanks StevieB!”

Back at South Fork, right after getting the flour and butter together…“Honey, we have a horrible lack of lighting on the piano. Do you think there’s a lighting store still open?” Off we zoom in the StevieB-mobile to find a lighting store to find a tastefully under stated music light. After four stores and three-hundred times of Steve saying “What? You don’t want to accidently fall into bad lighting?”* The mission was successfully moved online. Dat-Dat-Da!! “Thanks StevieB!”

If all goes to plan I should be able to sneak back to South Fork with my lap-top set up next to the spring form pans and completed my duty to homo thanksgiving. God speed. And if no one picks today to fall out of love with their wall colors.

*Clueless refrence, from Clueless the movie and also just clueless.

THE ROYAL BLOW OFF WEEK

I love the week of American Thanksgiving. The traffic seems to disappear and  the gym is deserted. I guess all the Dudes figure that eating their weight in carbs makes this week a cast off. I’m just the opposite, must burn as many calories a possible to stop the guilt on Thursday and Friday. This never works.


I went for a run yesterday morning to pace myself for making cheesecake this coming Wednesday. The park also was deserted. It MIGHT have something to do with it being 36 degrees out….. Maybe. I’ve got to ask Santa for cold running gear. Brrrrrrr.

This is going to be a great week. I told my boss that I was going to wear “jammies” all week (I’ll post pictures) and I’m pretty excited about using my new food processor to make a pumpkin cheesecake, two pumpkin pies, and a chocolate cheesecake. This year I’m following Martha’s recipe to make home-made pie crusts. I’ll keep you posted on the hilarious outcome. God help us all.

Although Thanksgiving is four days away I’ve already started to annoy people with my Christmas presents. Yes, my bud Dale in the UK has given me my first Sonic Screwdriver.* Several of them actually, so a huge thanks to Dale for my huge Christmas box from the UK. I have already started to shove my Pertwee and Eccleston sonics into people’s faces enough to bug the pa-Jebus out of them. I've found that if I hold my sonic Screwdriver in one hand and my key fob in the other, I can unlock my car. Amazing.

The Christmas package full of Doctor Who yummyness from Dale came to my work on Friday. As a co-worker brought it into my office she noticed the Royal Mail stamps and asked why the Queen was sending me boxes. Really? Because the box says “Royal Mail” on it it’s from the Queen? My retort of it being a royal box from a Royal Queen and to a flaming Queen was lost on her. She got soniced later.

So, yeah. Four days until the binge fest.

*It’s a Doctor Who thing, you wouldn’t understand.

DESKTOP FRIDAY

Study of Male Nude
Theodore Gericault (1791-1824/French)



 
Because Géricault was inspired to paint a series of  portraits of the insane,  this week I feel I would fit in with his muse.

MONSTERS ARE SO VERY INTERESTING

Sadly, every time I get my hair cut I think of this……







This is why I didn’t become a cosmetologist. I’d act just like Bugs.

Oh, my stars.

STEVIEB GETS PERSONAL

I hate the “about me” section on any form. It just seams crazy to me so I end up avoiding them like Jake Gyllenhaal avoids OUT Magazine.


After years of walking around the little blocks on my MySpace Facebook page I finally defined the StevieB.

Talking about the TV show Glee with me will only get you a glazed-over look as I plot on how I can get away from you. I don’t know, nor do I care how the Droid or other phones compare against the iPhone. I’d rather be in cargo shorts right now. Want to get to know me? Feed me Chinese food. The best song ever next to Caswell’s - Ice-cream Truck is Robyn’s - Be Mine. I’m Into House Music, Top Gear, Thai Noodles, Doctor Who, Godzilla, Bauhaus (band and school) and pushing plates at the gym. But, not necessarily in that order.

I’d like to add that the next person to use the phrase “Bitches!” Is going to get socked in the eye, but that’s probably not the way to make friends.

MID NOVEMBER

Mid November always finds me in a funk. This happens every year, the snow has started and Thanksgiving is weeks away. Maybe it’s a combination of having to finally break down a put on a coat and the thought of never keeping my car clean. Last week was the apex of the Steviefunk. Although it wasn’t nearly as bad as it has been, maybe this was because in the past I would drive in and through this….

This year I’m driving in and through this….

Just maybe.

The helpful intervention was when Fuzzy noticed that I skipped workouts and found me in the middle of the bed watching pay-per-view. Balancing cheese pizza on my belly. Fuzzy quickly recognized that the Steviefunk was approaching and knew the cure. Small home appliances.

This year it was a high end food processor.

How does he know that  I love things that plug in with blinky lights? Yep. And as today I’m slim, trim and gay. Whoo-hoo. Back to the gym, back to reality.

Sunday was Jerrod’s daughters Sweet Sixteen birthday party. I do love when the Jerrod throws a party for his daughter. Mostly because it was in a private room at Hamburger Mary’s a local gay bar famous for their Thumpa-Thumpa music and Bloody Marys. It was my kind of Sweet Sixteen. The kind I prayed for when I turned sixteen. Instead, when I turned Sixteen I was taken into the inner rooms of the Mormon temple and had the 40 year old male elders lay their hands on me.

Now that I think of it….. It really wasn’t that much different from the party yesterday. For me anyway.

DESKTOP FRIDAY

My dream car has graced the desktop this week.

THREE YEARS OF STEVIEB

Today marks an anniversary for the Nice To See StevieB blog. Way back in 2007 I wrote my very first blog entry. So today marks three years of pathologically narcissistic Stevie B rambling on about the common Homo in its natural environment.

In honor of that first blog entry I thought I repost it in all its teenage girl diary angst. God I’m a drama queen.

November, 11th 2007
Road Trip
So, I'm leaving on a road trip tomorrow to take my partner of 4 years to New York. He's moving to Brooklyn, this is something that he's always wanted; all his friends have ended up in the city. So I'm trying to be supportive, trying to keep his spirits up and keep him focused on what a great thing this will be. And yet, he is leaving his job, selling his car and moving to a strange city. He'll finally get to live in the city with all of his friends and close to all the theater and museums that he loves.

It just hit me about an hour ago that my lover/partner and friend is leaving. He had been my very closest friend through the years since we met in Dallas and I always knew that he wanted to live in a bigger city, Dallas was to small and Denver was really too small, I know that living in NY will be the very best thing that could possible happen to him. So when you know that a friend wants something badly you just help out however you can.

God damn, I don't need this to be a downer but suddenly I'm really pissed and sad. When you sleep next to someone for all these years then suddenly they’re gone. That hurts my head.

We're driving his moving van through to Brooklyn and I've mapped out all the fast food places I want to stop and eat at. Runza, Steak and Shake, and the best White Castle. Although I'm pissed that there is not a single Jack n the Box on the way but HELLO White Castle. Leave it to me to be dumped by a guy, help him move across the country to get away from me, then be excited about fast food joints along the way. Go figure.

Wow. I write badly, and to think that I’ve been writing about the inside of my head in this manner for three years….. Jebus. Well here’s to three years, but mostly I like to say thank you. Thank you for checking in from time to time just to see Stevie B.

WHY I HATE FOOTBALL

Have you ever dated a bisexual?

Back in my ol’ college days I systematically hunted down and seduced mass of muscle on our college football team. He was half-back with a tight end. We hit it off gang busters both in and out of the bed, the only real issue we had was he’s attraction to the other sex.

The passion between us was incredibly strong, a bond that no man could rip apart. Although after getting pretty serious no man did. Was I the type to sit crying in my living room wearing his football jersey rocking back and forth as I listened to Melissa Etheridge? Absolutely.

The next time we met was in Valhalla.

The apartment building named Valhalla. I had moved in a year earlier when I noticed that I had new neighbors. When I knocked on the door I was greeted by Michelle who then introduced me to my Odin, the Ex-football player with Similar Features.

Michelle explained how they finally decided to move in together before they got married, showing me her massive engagement ring. I welcomed them into the apartment building as the football player gave me nervous looks behind Michelle.

I spent the next year trying to avoid the happy couple like they had the plague. This was hard because Michelle was so incredibly nice. Coming over to have nice chats about, calm mundane neighbor things. I never once had any sort of “conversation” with the footballer; I figured being friends with his fiancé was enough fun. I ended up enjoying Michelle quite a bit. We hugged and promised to keep in touch when they moved out.

She kept in touch just once more. She had a cousin call me to give me the date for the service. Would I go? In the end I only felt it the right thing to do. I grabbed the best-friend and all the strength I could muster and walked into the church.

The mood was surprisingly light, the front on the church covered in photos of him and his personal belongings, the hardest to see was the football jersey draped next to a slew of football trophies. When Michelle spoke, she thanked everyone for their support and love of him and their little family. I quickly found it odd the Michelle or anyone else that spoke never mentioned how the footballer died. They glossed over how he contracted HIV from someone during a probable tryst away from Michelle. No one mentioned how he concealed his status for years, not getting any lifesaving treatment for fear of having to admit to what and who he was.

At the end of the service Michelle thanked me for coming as you would to an ex-neighbor. She smiled gave me hand shake and looked for the next person in the receiving line.

To this day I hate football.



Melissa Etheridge - Similar Features

STEVIEB IS A RUNNER

I guess jumping upon unsuspecting picnic tables is the new way to warm up before a run.

I'm pretty proud of myself today; sore enough that I can't move, but proud. I had the longest and best run I've ever experienced both on Saturday and Sunday mornings. They were longer and faster due to how I pulled my carcass to the park Saturday morning. I started out with my normal clomping foot in front of foot method which always causes aching in my feet and calves. For some reason the proper running form that I've read about for years but never had been close to finding just clicked into place for the first time, my hulking frame moved into a runners stance and the pressure and force moved away from my feet and into the larger muscles designed to take the impact. Suddenly I felt like a nine-teen year old running for the first time.

I ran two laps around Cheeseman Park, laughing at the speed I was making. This is when I noticed the other runners attacking the picnic tables.

From a standing position they would leap up landing upon the concrete table top. Then spring down to the soft ground. Over and over. I started to ponder about my medical insurance and if it would cover a self-induced blow to the head. I envisioned my attempt resulting in my face first impact and its concussion causing results. Since it’s a public park I’d look like a drunk passed out and I lay there for the day slowly coming through with amnesia. That’s when the hilarity of having amnesia would begin.

Maybe, I just stick to being a tree pusher to warm up.  If you don’t hear from me, please look for a drunk in Cheesemen Park with really nice Pumas.

DESKTOP FRIDAY

Sometimes you get the giant moth, sometimes the giant moth gets you.

found here.

TWENTY-ONE DAYS TO GO

There are twenty-one days until the old US celebrates their version of Thanksgiving. Not that I care for the definition of thanks for giving as much now that I’m an adult, the celebration has turned to the first step into my favorite time of year.

I received my first sign via text yesterday, Dalton my ex Partner turned BFF sent me a text letting me know that he finally bought a plane ticket from NYC to Denver. This means that in twenty-one days I get to pick up his smiling face at the airport. The next sign is that Frank, friend and host of Thanksgiving for the last eleven years has started to plan the turkey and carb loaded menu. Three different kinds of dressing? Yes please.

Do you remember last year when Fuzzy was convinced that the old fashioned screw-in Christmas light I stapled to the outside of our house was going to catch fire and kill us all? Yeah, this year the lights outside will be all nice safe LEDS. They can’t short out and catch fire. At least that’s what I need you to tell him. Okay? But, how early is too early to drag out the blow up snowman? Next weekend, you say? Okay. Good.

So, I guess I’m ready to greet the holiday season. Dalton has a plane ticket, check. Mall plan of attack for the Friday after Thanksgiving, check. Cheesecake, check. Twelve foot high tree at the ready, check. Staple gun, lights, blowup snowman, fifty feet of extension cord, and enough vodka for Fuzzy to liquor him up so he won’t notice when I run a staple through extension cord, check. Let’s get ready to party!

MOST HAPPY STEVIEB TIME

I'm thinking that today is going to be all about the little Asian girl reggae bands.



I feel like I'm at the beach already.  Sorry, to gay. Here's one that's a little more masculine.

STEVIEB VOTES

It’s Election Day here in the ol’ US of A. This means that the useless clogging election crap may stop choking my tiny mailbox. Maybe. This is just one day of the tree killing land fill….

Every day it has been the same thing, a pile of propaganda. The jokes on them as I voted by mail weeks ago. After the all the mail and creepy-ass TV commercials that make me glad I have a DVR I won’t be surprised if next election we’re all required to go away to “Election Programming” camp.

If I have to go, I’m taking my dog with me. Dressed like this……

He’s a Chinese-split.  Harley's Halloween photos were going into his baby book until Patrick got a hold of them….

STEVIEB'S SPOOKY DREAM

I had a nightmare last night, fitting I guess for Halloween. It was the typical haunted house and scary ghost dream but, with a typical Steve perspective.


The plot of the dream was that my friend Carl had been left some property from a lost forgotten relative. It had an old Victorian mansion on the front of the property and pre-WWII warehouses along the back facing the river. The house had not been lived in for years and was famous for its paranormal activity.

Carl started out wanting to turn the warehouses into lofts and the house into the community’s office/visitors center. I stepped up and was eager to help clean up the old house but soon the effort stopped because of the many accidents, soon the work crews wouldn’t continue the project. This effort was also stopped because every day I moved forward in the rehab of the house the matriarch of the house would try to stop from the spirit world. My effort to help my friend Carl was also stopped because every day there was a parade of “ghost hunters” underfoot. A line of eager paranormal investigators ripping down the fresh plywood on the windows and breaking in to get their nerd on.

So, the dream wasn’t about ghosts, it really was about property management. Most of the dream was me cursing idiots under my breath as I once again used my Dewalt to screw the plywood back up over the first floor windows.

I woke up exhausted and sore from all the manual labor. I’m so glad it’s November.