THANK YOU

Now that the tree has been taken down and all the red and green totes are stored, I have a bit of time before the New Years Eve parties begin to stop and tell you something.

Thank you for making this year great.

No really, I don't know how I'd decompress if it wasn't for my blogging. You return time and time again to check in with what crazy goo is coming out of my head and on to my page. So, with out getting all sappy, thank you. I'd totally give you one of those bro hugs right now.

I hope 2011 is great to you, if not let me know I'll kick it's ass just for you. But, I'm sure it will. I'll iron my "best shirt" and head out to the New Years Eve parties with complete optimism. Optimism because we're here, we're queer and we're used to it.

So enjoy your parties, you deserve it.




- Posted via my iPhone whilst being an enigma.

TOP GEAR (ISH)

I use the iPhone app, Scruff* as a way to kill time. I just wander around looking at profiles until I find a hot guy to stare at or maybe a witty profile detail, I especially appreciate well written personal descriptions. Good for you Mr. Man for taking the time to put something creative in your little ABOUT ME box.

I started to update my little “What I’m Into” box on Scruff last night while waiting for the sausages that Fuzzy was pawning off as dinner to be done broiled. I quickly realized that it was turning into a rampage on how I hate the US version of Top Gear.

Top Gear is probably my favorite show on the idiot box. The UK version. See, I now have to say “UK version” because there is now a US version of the show. Which I hate. The show and having to say that it’s the UK version I like.

The reason I watch this car show is because it’s not like the Dude, typical straight bubba shows on the TV network known as Spike. I’m really into cars, not looking a boob jobs being scraped across the hood of cars. UK Top Gear? No boobs. Just witty boobs talking about cars, and cute James May. Then suddenly my DVR decided I needed to watch the US Top Gear, Oooo more cool car shows!?

No. It’s like the History Channel decided to take the lobby of the Smithsonian and put a Hooters in it. You can still see the lunar rover and the Wright Brothers’ plane, just with BBQ sauce on your hands. The wit is gone and replaced with dumb-downed dude jokes. Really? Can the hosts put on a clean shirt? No.

So, I guess I won’t be updating my Scruff profile. Unless I really want every gay guy that’s not seen Christine Aguilera in concert* to know what I crazy person I really am. Which you already knew.









*Grindr = Has seen Christine Aguilera in concert
Scruff = Has not seen Christine Aguilera in concert

CHRISTMAS RECAP

Let’s do the annual Christmas prezzies to Steve review. As with every year the gifts to Steve were great, Pumas, T-shirts, robots, Dr. Who stuff, and my new favorite obsession, American Eagle flannel shirts.

Even the Chinese gift exchange went smoothly with our group, not a black eye in the house. This may set precedence in a new calm gifting on Christmas morn. I brought flame less candles and ended up with a quesadilla maker. First thinking, “what the hell am I going to do with a quesadilla maker?” Soon to find that it makes one amazing and health dinner.

The winner in the cool present category goes to these guys……

Blue and yellow on the far left and the solid blue in the middle have joined their brethren. Don’t they look happy? How did he know I liked Pumas?



From the Homosexual, lifetime companion partner’s Mom I got a Gap gift card. No. I got a Baby Gap gift card.

Was she trying to tell me something?

CHRISTMAS MORN...

Christmas miracles still happen, like finding out that your homosexual lifetime companion partner knows how to play the accordion.


Enough said...

Midnight mulled wine

It's almost time for midnight breakfast and midnight mulled wine.

Every year at our house we stay up to watch TV, eat an extravagant breakfast, and drink an entire pot of mulled wine. I can't say why we do this.... We just do.

Burp. Merry Christmas.

Why does this guy look confused?

Maybe because I'm heading to the gym on Christmas eve wearing just a T-shirt. I guess it's going to be a brown Christmas.




Where is my snow?


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

CHRISTMAS EVIE

It's time for our annual message from Evie Harris.



Merry Christmas, Mary.



TONIGHT WE BAKE

I have been severely under cookied this holiday season. Tonight. We bake. Dalton sent me this photo from his own baking happy time in Brooklyn….

Chocolate Crinkle Cookies, Half brownie half chocolate cookie and half powdered sugar.* So I immediately got the recipe and tonight I finally have time to bake them. Since I have the cognitive ability of an under-sized orangutan, I need any directions to be easy with a lot of pictures; this is why I only eat in restaurants with pictures on the menu. This recipe looks very easy to follow, even for me.

You can find it here.

On the other side of the culinary spectrum, I have planned the menu for the Christmas Midnight Breakfast. This is when Fuzzy gets home at midnight Xmas eve and we sit down for a huge breakfast before laying down for three hours before getting up to start the Christmas happy time. This year on the menu will be chicken fried steak with sausage gravy, ham steak, and scrambled eggs. With some sort of biscuit yumminess. All of this food will be snarfed down in three seconds even though I will of just have eaten at Frank and Kevin’s house hours before for Xmas eve dinner and just hours before eating again at Carl and Will’s house for Christmas day. This 48 hour time frame will NOT be recorded into my diet plan.

So, try the chocolate crinkle cookies. I'll let you know how mine turns out.

 
*Yes, three halves. I know.

YULE AGREE

I hope that your fertility sacrifice to Odin yields you a fertile and peaceful season. Enjoy your winter solstice; I’m just glad the days will start getting longer.


Did you see the eclipse last night? I hope yule agree it was amazing.

SWEET DREAMS

Have you ever gone mattress shopping with a partner? This year Fuzzy and I decided that part of our Christmas present-fest would include a new bed. Our mattress now resembles the Appalachian mountain range, and we haven’t had a good night sleep since the last time we stayed in a hotel which helped us realize how bad our mattress really was.

Uh, kinda...

Going into a mattress store with your Homosexual, lifetime companion partner really brings your bedroom out in front of commissioned sales associates. Which is always fun, especially when your partner keeps saying stuff like “spoon me to make sure it feels right” or “is the side firm enough to support your knees?” Oddly, we received no difference in service then the boring opposite-sex shoppers. Not an eyebrow was raised.

Since Fuzzy is at 190, I’m 220 and the dog somehow is comprised of dark matter we really needed a bed that would hold up under the pressure and not move during one of my sleep terror nights plus the dogs constant rotating like a furry gyros roaster. The sales dude, Kurt was very helpful in getting a Beautyrest that would help up sleep through the night.

So, sleep tight.

NICE TO SEE STEVIEB WITH BIG HAIR

I stumbled upon some old photos the other day. The joys of working at home, you get bored, look around the home office and start to dig through boxes. So, I thought I’d share them with you.... 

This was the summer of ’89 on Capitol Hill in Denver.  I think I weighed 110lbs here, since I now weigh 220lbs I can say that I’m twice the man I once was.

This is my very first apartment in ’88 and my very first boyfriend. Now he owns a Graceland/Elvis themed solon in NY and does Madonna’s hair when she’s in town. God how I loved that shirt.

This is my really great hair photo from ‘92. If I had the frickin energy I so would grow out my hair like that again. But, oy vey gevalt the mousse I’d go through.  Does J. Crew still sell shirts?

GYM UPDATE

The Big Gay Gym has been closed for renovations for the last month. The 24hour frequented by the Homo class was woefully under appointed and kind of nasty. The space for the free weights was always overcrowded and the locker room…. A girl could lose her dignity.

Even me, the gay ghetto gay stopped going because I may like to cruise your ass, but I sure don’t want to wait for it to get off the flat bench. I moved over to the 24hour near the college to work out with the DU college dudes. The dudes are quiet, put the plates back where they belong and never sit and chat on the benches. I’ve never had to wait for anything. Until the renovation started on the BGG.

A couple of weeks past, I sauntered into the dudes gym on chest day and found the gentleman I loving referred to as Forest Gump relaxing on a bench, the only thing he was missing was a box of chocolates. “How the hell did he find this gym?” I asked myself. Well, that’s when I discovered that the BGG was under renovations and everyone that frequented the BGG was now heading to my quiet location.

Drat. Weeks of three times the normal people at the gym. Making the decline crunch bench smell like Fahrenheit. Well, this tyranny of fabulousness ends tomorrow. The Mo gym reopens, with its new updated look. All the bench warmers and elliptical sluts can just go back to their fancy gym…… Yeah. I’ll go check it out. What? There’s amazing cruising in the locker room.

ON THE MOVE

In the last two years I’ve had five offices in my company’s headquarters. Some of the moves had to do with logistics, some where plainly due to high ups getting laid off and having the opportunity to move into a better space.

Yesterday I moved again, but this was because of my big mouth. Well, really because my office was next to the office manager and I guess he got tired of listening to me laughing on speaker phone. Oh well, me and the “action figures” moved to another part of the building. Isn’t it odd how your little Habitrail gets firm in your mind, then when the plastic tubes change it’s like you’re walking around a strange city? I spent most of today flailing my arms around saying “This does not compute” When I started to walk towards my old hallway, much to no one’s amusement.

 

I do, however get a nicer view…..

GUYS WHO FOLD ARMS WHILST GUARDING CHRISTMAS TREES

It’s that time of year again. Time to follow the Facebook group, Guys Who Fold Arms Whilst Guarding Christmas Trees. Funny how I’ve waited all year for new pictures of manly Brits guarding their respective Christmas trees with arms folded.

So if you’re a guy, and you have a tree to keep secure, and then check out this FB group by the super smoking hot ginger, Glenn Jones.

EVERYONE GOES HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

It's the time of year when you start to dread heading home for Christmas. The relatives gathered around in man-made fabrics, talking about the changes on American Idol. Awesome.   But, it’s nice to know that you’re not alone in your annual trip to boredom land at the end of a cul-de-sac.







Skaro? Isn't that near Mykonos?

LYCRA CLAD

Have you ever acquired something thinking it was just the coolest thing ever, just to be proven very wrong?


Yesterday was a work from home day for me. I’m finding this weird because I end up getting more done in my sweatpants and un-showered then any day at the office in a polo shirt. Maybe it’s because I want to prove to the world and the boss that I’m viable at home or it’s a good motivator to have a dog staring you down every second. Who knows, even after Skyping my bud in Brighton, UK and bouncing around Facebook I finished a major report. Yeah, all in my PJs.

Cloistered away in Southfork and after going for a long run, when Frank called and asked if I wanted to go to Costco I jumped at talking to someone other than a Shar-pei. This is where I saw the jacket I bought last month. A cool design of Polar fleece and Lycra, perfect for running and matches my running pants. Which I can no longer wear in front of my supportive friends as I’ve heard enough Steve’s wearing spandex jokes for a lifetime.

As we made our way through the free buffet that is Costco, I reached for a tiny specimen cup filled with meatballs just to be met with my cool coat on Santa Claus. Probably not the Santa, it just looked like him. Huh, Santa wears my cool running gear. Well, there goes that.

So if you need me, I’ll be running in the park wearing Santa’s running jacket. In spandex.

THE REASON FOR THE CHEESE-ON

This time of year it's mandatory to sit and listen to the story of our Lord and Savior’s birth, “The reason for the season” over and over again. I equate it to listening to co-workers talking about football. I know it’s important to a lot of people, they devote every Sunday to worshiping what they perceive to be the “best team” and trash talk the other leagues, but in the end how does blowing millions building stadiums and dancing around in satin jerseys improve my net worth?

That being said, go team! Blah, blah, blah. But,in my head I just replaced foam cheese head hats with foam baby Jesusiesss.

 

 

I’ve stumbled upon the Greatest Story Ever told but, in a way that even I understand…. Why wouldn't there be Dinosaurs and Daleks at our Lord and Saviors birth? they're good Christians too.

THE ANNUAL CHRISTMAS RANT

Ahh, December. It’s time to gather around and listen to Uncle Steve’s annual Christmas rant…..


WHAT THE FUCK DO PENGUINS HAVE TO DO WITH CHRISTMAS!?!?

Have you seen the inflatable, glowing Christmas crap that everyone displays on their front lawns? Big billowing snowmen, elves, and insidiously happy penguins.

SERIOUSLY, WHAT THE FUCK DO PENGUINS HAVE TO DO WITH CHRISTMAS!?

At night it’s quite a cute little scene. A winter wonderland all blown up and bopping around to the forced air whooshing up their butts. But, during the day it’s another story. Driving through any upscale neighborhood it's a reenactment of Jim Jones goes to Christmas town. Dead, flat elves and snow people scatter the lawns like a mass suicide cult hit the North Pole. A massacre of merriment. One half-inflated penguin dragging its self off the lawn coughing out

“Don’t drink the Kristmas Kool-aide……..and I only live in Antarctica and parts of South America why am I even here?! Aaaaaaaaaghh!”

I feel bad for their ignorant cult joining asses as I drive by.

SORORITY GIRLS FROM HELL '10

As we sat around this holiday weekend the friends talked about the usual girl talk. Eventually the subject turned to how we spent our twenties. Or, wasted our twenties. Most of us stood around bars and tried to get laid. I spent most of this time at “Surf City” a beach themed bar with surf boards and fake nets everywhere. If I wasn’t there I was burning up the dance floor at The Metro. You’d find me wearing Guess jeans with a braided belt and sporting an over sized dress shirt, with a Structure tie. Now I know, I resembled a Cracker Barrel waiter, but then I was smooth and cool.
Standing around The Metro in my over sized braided belt hanging down my left thigh I would suck down Zimas and stare blankly at the video wall. Waiting for Sorority Girls From Hell to play. This video phenomenon was shared with most everyone sitting around the Thanksgiving table.

I thought I’d share it again with you. Just imagine you’re wearing a Chess King jacket.

STEVIEB WANTS A HUGE LOAD



Cheesemen Park in the snow



Ah, the air of December. It seems we have a mild December starting in Denver, My fair city. Which, equates into a very brown December without snow to cover the lawns and houses with a blanket of cuteness. The lack of snow is not shared with other areas of listening audience, buds in the UK are Facebooking their pictures of the snow, and I guess the east coast has pockets of winter-wonderland. Not me… nope the guy who lives for huge loads…… of snow. But, the hot weather guy on channel 9 says I should get my December snow storm this weekend.

Wait…. Am I blogging about the weather?

Have I mentioned that December is my favorite month? Most likely due to all the plans and activities planned for the weeks before Christmas. I do love a plan. There’s tree trimming, cookie baking, freezing to death as we watch the cities Christmas parade, the frozen death march around the city zoo, and this weekend is the annual soup party and holiday music concert. Every year the BFF Carl hosts a soup and kibitz affair. The ugly sweaters are optional…. for everyone but me.

I guess this weekend is the official StevieB kick off to the elf like glee that is my Christmas. Now where is that tiny down coat for the dog?

WORLD AIDS DAY

http://www.breaktheillusion.com/

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.

DESKTOP FRIDAY

Yep, that's just what I needed nice, calm, and content bunnies.




That’s just what I needed.

MY LIFE, LIVED WITH DIGNITY

I had to stay home yesterday because of a cold. When I’m at home in my sweat pants and with the dog laying half on top of me it always hits me, I never spend days at home.


When the weekend comes I always have somewhere to go, some sort of event or chore to tackle. Even during the week and there’s no one to hang out with, I’m out and downtown trying to find some sort of trouble. This is why yesterday, sitting in the bed watching a eight hour Ghost Hunters marathon / Golden Girls marathon with occasional breaks to watch the sleeping dog’s stomach raise and fall it hit me, I am not the sit at home kind of guy.

I found myself driving around our provincial village heading to buy…….. uh….. stamps, maybe. The cold medicine had its toll on me. I did end up in the Soviet Safeway’s parking lot, eating Oreos and a breakfast burrito, washing it down with a liter of Coke Zero. Just sitting there….. watching the unemployable go in and out of the local rundown Safeway. “Gawd, there so…. Belch” I said popping another Oreo into my mouth dropping crumbs on to the bright orange beach towel I wrapped around me so I wouldn’t get Oreo/burrito bits on the upholstery.

I believe I’m much better now.

...AT THE CAR WASH...

You know the lady that stands in the lanes of the carwash and when the attendant is done up selling you to a forty-dollar carwash she looks at your windscreen in hopes of sell you her chip repair services? And how she tries to hit on you?

No? Just me then.

I have very few obsessions. Other then, well a certain British Sci-fi show and Pumas and Apple products and the gym and…maybe… we should stop. The most unnecessary of my compulsive behavior would be my obsession of keeping my car clean. Really, really clean. This manifests in a car wash every four days. What? It’s dirty. Unclean.

This resulted in friends saying things like “you’re going to strip the wax if you wash that car too much.” Which led directly to me waxing my spoiled spoilered baby once a month. Thanks.

Mostly I can fight back and just go to the drive through bay and wash my silver saloon with the high-pressure wand. But, when it’s really dirty or I’ve had a bad day it goes to the fancy car wash. This is where I feel like a bad Dad If I just get the twelve dollar car wash, like the extra rinse and “clear coat” finish will stop evil from coming to the sports sedan. Oy vey iz mir, so I get the thirty-nine ninety nine dollar car wash so no one will judge me.

It was during one of these trips that I met my girlfriend, Dana. I complemented her on her Pumas; she sold me on rock-chip repair feeding into my obsession of keeping the Lotze perfect. I was a match made in heaven. Unfortunately, last Saturday she wanted to take our relationship to the physical level. Oy vey iz mir!

As I paid for my forty-dollar bath she approached me to see how the windscreen was holding up after her handy work. I said how it was great which was code for wanted to her to slowly work her hands over my bicep. This is when she offered more than her windshield services. Every fiber in my body stopped the physical reaction of retching upon her Rush Tee-shirt. But, then I stopped; she does have nice Pumas. I wonder if I’d get a discount at the car wash?

STEVIEB THE BEEFEATER

Did I tell you that I had dinner bought for me every night last week? It was easy, last weekend I went to the store a bought a container of tofu. That’s when the manipulation started.

Way back in the day when I was a hostile and judgmental vegetarian I made some good dishes using tofu and tempeh. I gave this up when I started my love affair with pork.  So, I guess being reminiscent for the 1990s or a 33-inch waist I started to crave my semi-famous grilled tofu and veggie scramble.  Yummo.

The free dinners started on Monday night, when I brought up my urge to connect to our vegetarian roots.

“You shouldn’t have to cook tonight. Let me take you to Famous Dave’s Barbeque for some ribs.” The carnivore of the house suggested with love and concern in his voice. 

Tuesday and Wednesday where the same. When I again expressed the urge to make the block of neglected soybean curd into a gourmet explosion I was met with a look of exhaustion and disgust.

“Really? Haven’t I suffered enough with compact florescent light bulbs in the dining room chandelier and making us go for bike rides all the time? Can’t we just go get Mexican?

It’s Sunday night, the carnivore is happily teaching a class tonight and I just settled down for…… Well, I made scrambled tofu and veggie stir-fry. It was awful. Horrible. So I tossed it and I’m now eating Taco bell. But, don’t tell the carnivore.  

DESKTOP FRIDAY

Find it here....
http://thedailywh.at/post/1352436830/transformers-fan-art-of-the-day-godzilla-vs-the

STEVIEB'S GHOST STORY

One of my first jobs during college was as a manager of a funky coffee house in an old Victorian on Colfax Avenue. The house was built on Denver’s grand boulevard in the late 1880s but, with the city changing and after the patriarch of the family shot the driver for knocking-up his daughter, the family soon moved out of the grand manor house. It changed hands only a couple of times, most of its life was a Denver’s premier Furrier at the corner of Colfax and Franklin Street.

That was a long time ago and by the time I was a manager of the gay coffee house the mansion had seen much better days. It took me around a month to understand that the huge fur storage vault door was swinging open not due to normal reasons. Or when I would turn off every light in the entire building, seeing the second floor bedrooms illuminated. Even after I removed the light bulbs. At two am I had friends join me one night to watch the windows flash on and off. Oooing and Awwwing like they were fireworks.

My last night closing I had my boyfriend at the time stay with me so I wouldn’t be alone. But soon I forgot about the “owner” of the house as my thoughts turned to my boyfriend’s carnal desires. This did not last long before I flew across the dining room.

I found a new job the next day.

After you get physically assaulted by someone you can’t see I could understand why you would get into the paranormal. I didn’t, just something to talk about. I saw it that I had it coming for being a bad guest.

On my birthday in 1998 I sat in my living room struggling to write. I was trying to get down into words that just six days earlier I had lost my best-friend, Randy Jorgensen. Taken away because of losing his hard fought battle with AIDS. How do you deliver a eulogy to a room full on his family, his relatives that don’t want to hear how he died? They didn’t want to hear how he loved men. They didn’t care about the love that we shared and definitely didn’t want anything to do with how and what took him from them.

I was writing for a hostile audience to say the least.

As I crumbled up draft after draft I kept getting annoyed at my dog because he wouldn’t stop whining. That’s when I finally looked up and realized that my house lights were going berserk. Blinking wildly, on and off blink, blink, blink. That’s when I got hit with the phrase, “Fuck them! Write about us!”

So I did.

THE LESBIAN GHOST HUNTER

January 28th 1998 was my twenty-sixth birthday. The afternoon found me on my living room writing a speech. Not just a speech, more like the most important thing I’ve written in my life. I was under a deadline and hard pressed to finish it quickly, this was made extremely difficult because of the subject matter also because Chester my Chesapeake Bay retriever would not settle down and the lights in the house kept blinking off and on. Blink, blink. Roooower, blink, blink. Bark–bark. Blink, blink. Blink.

Last Friday I went to a lecture on the paranormal. This was given by my good friend Ranoli and I went because I trusted her to give one amazing lecture on spirits to kick off the Halloween season.

Okay, so yes I’m fascinated by ghosts. I am not in a true believer, drink the Kool-aide kind of person my any means. I am very mixed about the whole subject. I’m very science minded yet believe some things are possible. When an intelligent person that I trust impeccably speaks to her experiences and thoughts on the subject, I’m going to listen and trust what I hear. That and the idea of lesbians that hunt ghosts is just fucking cool.

Ranoli, the lesbian ghost hunter / lecturer was the first person to help me become that man that I am today. When I was fresh out of high school and new to living on my own the only thing I knew about the gay committee was sex. This first couple of years was very tough. I was adrift in a new world away from the structure of the church and in a sea of nonchalant fucking, drugs and drinking. This is how I ended up terrified on the front steps of a church deciding to go in and join the new gay and lesbian choir forming in Denver. That night was when I met Ranoli, who saw the terror in my eyes, got me to calm down and walk into the rehearsal room. This made me realize for the first time that it isn’t just that we sleep with the same sex that makes up our community.

As she is one of my mentors in life I listened intently to her story of how she became involved in the paranormal. I always love how lesbians are nonjudgmental, and speak to their story and journey without spewing to the established dogma. The dogma here being the aggressive ghost hunting shows on TV or movies. Instead, she addressed the entities that may be hanging around and the compassion to help them move to a better place.

During her speech, I started to reexamine my own experiences in the paranormal….

DESKTOP FRIDAY

The happy wombat is happy....



THE STEVIEB SEAL OF APPROVAL

There’s two new blogs in town. In the ebb and flow that is blogging it’s nice to see new suckers guys getting into the habit of sharing their unique perspective on the world.


PAC’S PAD
This is my bud, Pac from Atlanta. After receiving countless essays via Scruff and Facebook I said that he needed to write in a way that tells his story. What better then a blog?

You tell ‘em Pac, you tell the world.



WHAT CAN YOU BE RANDY P?
Catchy title isn’t it? Randy lives in North Cali and is restarting his life with a house, a new job and newly single but with a great attitude. I’m going to watch where he goes from here.

Whether it’s cruising Folsom or working on the house, he’ll jump in with great gusto.



And since we’re talking about successful people on the internets let’s talk about my BFF Dalton and his online shoppe, CRANK INDUSTRIES. What Crank Industries shirt did I get?

Ruggers. Woof! Get your own at Crank Industries.

STEVE'S BIG DAY OFF

I had yesterday off so I thought I’d make a photo essay of StevieB’s big adventure.  Obviously we needed a theme (we do love a theme) so I chose the color white….

First off was laundry….

Then off to get some coffee…

Tunes….

A little late lunch…

Tried to watch a couple of movies, the best being LIKE IT IS, a boy meets boy, boy bare knuckle fights to near death to prove his manhood, kinda movie.

The Shar-pei did not approve... 

Before I knew it, it was time for bed...

Great day, now it’s back to work. Damn it.