Tukey Sam-wich



Man I love Turkey sandwiches. It just might be better than actual Thanksgiving to me.



Pulling out the endless supply of brightly colored Tupperware filled with yumminess. Heaven.

Turkey Blues

Oh, Thanksgiving.

As much as I love the four-day foodathon, I’m glad to be back at my desk. In stretchy pants. Our bear Thanksgiving meal, sans any kind of pants turned more respectable upon the invitation of girls. It was not lost though because they were girls with bottles of wine, so it worked out. It turned out that I was lucky I was fully clothed, two hours into cooking the turkey we noticed that the oven was not hot. The heating element had chosen that time to break. With some quick phone calls and a mad dash to the only open appliance service store in our small, fictional town I disemboweled the oven and installed a new heating element. All with a half bottle of wine in me. I truly am a gay MacGyver. Just me, a socket set and some Riesling.

My contribution to the meal was dessert, so I cranked out Cheesecake.

I baked the Cheesecake large enough so I can take leftovers to the gym and eat while on the treadmill. That way I get a good workout and a treat.

On American Thanksgiving Eve, Dalton the BFF, flew in from NY and we have enjoyed the last four days just spending time catching up on the friendship. The crazy mall trip early Friday morning actually wasn’t crazy at all, we missed the crowed and found that the Gap was neat and tidy. Banana Republic was spic-and-span. No crazy hoards had tossed the eighty dollar sweaters table on its side. I was kind of saddened to not see any carnage. Sadly, the only thing I splurged on was winter face masks for running. My nose had been getting cold, so I bought a nose warmer.

As you can tell, we were very excited about shopping, yet all and all, it was quite the weekend. Now I’m back to the gym and eating salads and dust.

Turkey Week

It is American Thanksgiving week.

I am actually a little bummed because school is on “Fall Break,” meaning that I don’t have classes this week. Am I the only nerd that likes to go to class? I guess so. Last Thursday the professor, the one who said you can get AIDS from a soda can, announced that he doesn’t really want to grade anything, so he’s going to just divide up everyone who showed up to his lectures and give them “A’s.” I guess that the sixteen page paper on Martin Luther won’t really count for anything? Just sitting in the seat will score me an “A.” Well, I still spend any free time this weekend when I was not at IKEA clicking away at the homo coffee house to complete the pages before the deadline.
My highlight of the break will be spending free time with friends. On Wednesday Dalton, my Ex turned Best Friend Forever, flies in from New York. I’m very excited to spend Thanksgiving week with him. Ever since Dalton moved back to New York I’ve haven’t had anyone to go watch Gay Hockey. If it’s a week visit filled with Hockey or the Cooking Channel, it will be fun jus to spend time with him.

This week also spurs the call from the Mom asking me to come visit her. To be preemptive, I stopped by over the weekend. Her house looked amazing, not at all I expected from an eighty-three year old living alone. When asked about the up-keep she plainly stated that “the boys” come in once a week for cleaning and maintenance. She now has a parade of Mormon Missionaries come over every week and complete a long list of chores. When I stated that she’s using them as the help, like tie wearing, Book of Mormon thumping maids, she turned very defensive. “They like to come over. They enjoy helping me out!” She said pointing a finger at her cat, for some strange reason. Moral of the story, convert to Mormonism and get free maid service.

This seems to be the one time of year to just relax and enjoy friends. The stress and worry of life can wait for next week. Now it’s time to just plan the free time, make cheesecakes and get ready for the big parade on television Thursday morning.

My Prestigious Award

I believe that I’ve finally found a person to cut my hair that I actually like.


I have a tendency to get my hair cut and then swear it’s the worst one yet. This is probably due to the fact that I hate to get my hair cut in the first place. Sitting still in a chair listing to some hair stylist drone on about their car troubles and the price of sweaters. It seems so girly to get your hair cut, and every hair cut seems to be more annoying than the last.

In 1986 I sat upon the curb in front of John Evans Junior High School. My Father had unceremoniously kicked me out of his truck hours earlier to attend the eighth grade awards ceremony. I really don’t remember the award I was receiving, probably something minor like Most Improved Attendance. Even then, I thought I deserved the award for Eight Grader with the Most Panache, as my style was so superior to my fellow male classmates. For the ceremony I was sporting a shirt with a handsome tie, well it wasn’t necessarily a tie, more like a scarf that I had taken from my sister and made into an ascot. The colors of my ascot were set off in my acrylic sweater vest. I held down my freshly blow-dried and feathered hair as I entered the auditorium, the other boy’s hairstyles being so horrible. I didn’t want my hair to be messy as I ascended the stage for my prestigious award. All in all, I was a fourteen year old man ‘bout town.

Finding my seat in the auditorium I noticed that there were actually three seats reserved. One chair for the Dad, one for the Mom and one for the student. All the families settled into their assigned seats. I sat in the middle seat and started to pretend that my parents were on a European holiday. Why else wouldn’t they be there to help me receive such an amazing career acknowledging award? It’s funny, nowadays when I feel completely out of place and awkward in public settings, I just click away on my iPhone, pretending I have really important people to talk too. Back then I sat and played with my perfect feathered hair.

As my name was called I went to the stage to make a speech, to find the Principal just handing the pieces of paper off the front like bales of hay. This is not how Marlee Matlin received her award? As I walked back to my three seats, a yellow piece of paper in hand, a mother of one of the other kid’s next to me took pity and acknowledged my good work, then smiled at my floral tie.

I ripped my tie off in the hours outside waiting for my Father to show up. I examined the gold seal on the John Evans Junior High award certificate and tried to not acknowledge that my Dad had forgotten to come pick me up. It was very dark out when I purposely messed my hair, trying to get it as un-coiffed as possible. Make it look like the other boys in my class. The other boys who were home, safe and sound.

For the first time I have found someone that cuts my hair and make it feel like something I want to actually participate in; of course, the person who took the guilt out me liking my hair is an alpaca breeding, Lesbian. This sandal wearing, alpaca owning Lesbian that makes me feel comfortable in my own skin. I think I might just grow my hair out.

Raw Chinese Chicken

Sometimes I’m afraid that someone will break into the house and rub raw chicken on stuff.


Last night, the Homosexual-Lifetime-Companion-Partner and I finally arrived home from our Sunday adventures. Me, I was at my coffee shop exploring he wonderful and wacky world of Martin Luther, he was roaming the countryside with his homies. Around eight, with our guts rumbling, we sought out food. This is why we found ourselves at the local Chinese restaurant. We ordered take-out and sat in the designated waiting area. I was sporting running shorts, sans undergarments, and he sported sweats and a T-shirt. A shirt embellished with his life’s motto: I SHAVED MY BALLS FOR THIS?

Time stopped. We waited.

After a long line of local towns people paraded past us, most our antagonist declaring his shorn balls knew, we still have not received our Asian themed feast. Hunger and impatience turned the two of us in to the local gay troublemakers.

“Sometimes I’m afraid that someone will break into the house and rub raw chicken on stuff!” My Partner declared to me in a loud and concerned tone. This is an actual line from the TV show, Obsessed. A young girl was so concerned with food contamination that she would padlock her bedroom door in fear that someone would break into her house and rub raw chicken on her things.

Seriously. Raw chicken.

We now use this line as a term of endearment. I turned back and loudly said, “I know, we’ll be home soon and you can bleach everything before you go back into your box.” After a couple more cutting comments about how much he hated raw chicken the tiny girl behind the kitchen dropped her pen, ran back to the kitchen and emerged with our order.

As she rung us up, she made of point of saying that she had not, at any time handled chicken, cooked or raw.

“Good! It will kill you!”

The Linen Anniversary

Today is 11.11.11

This marks an anniversary for me.

Today marks four years of endlessly rambling about the common Homosexual in its natural environment. Can you believe we have been coming together on this blog for four fricken years? The thought boggles my mind.

I’ll take this opportunity to say, thanks.  Thanks for stopping by and reading my blog and looking into my small corner of the homo world.  Four years of blogging has led me to meet some of you in real life and I’m grateful for that. It has also afforded me to built strong on-line friendships that make me happy everyday.

I can honestly say that I enjoy writing down my experiences, my fears and triumphs. To translate the mistakes I make in my daily life and post them in blog format.

Cheers mate. Let’s keep going. 

Stevie B's Big Day

I love a surprise day off from work.


All Federal Holidays for the US are posted, years in advance, for anyone to review. Whole branches of the Government, countless companies, banks, and intuitions plan their schedules off this master list.

Speaking on a conference call today, I proposed a plan for tomorrow. Giggles ensued. A common mistake by me, forgetting days off until I’m reminded. This had prompted my work-mates to start a betting pool. Will Steve forget Veterans Day? Yes. Yes, he will.

Guess I’ll take tomorrow off from work. Go hang out at the coffee shop and write a couple pages on the Protestant Reformation. Nothing quite like a surprise day off to motivate a guy in work on his term paper. I’ll have coffee with Martin Luther. Or.... Maybe it's time for an adventure, screw the Protestants and take my bike out to a nice long trail and see nature. It's a hard choice.

I always think I should print out the next couple of years of holiday and upload them to my calendars, yet somehow it takes the fun out of the surprise.

How many Loads have you Taken?

Thanks to Mike at Mike -n- the Mechanics  for turning me on to Doug Repetti's YouTube page and this....

Bare Bear Thanksgiving

While watching the Bronco game yesterday, I might I purposed an all naked Thanksgiving.


This fall, I have been included on an open invitation to go our local bear bar and hang out with a group of football aficionados. Sundays seem to be my homework day, so I mostly turn down the invite. Although this past weekend was packed with dining out among friends, spending Sunday Brunch at Pappadeauxs, I still managed to write four pages on the Protestant Reaffirmation.

With my Sunday morning run completed, dashing out a chunk of my fifteen page term paper on how Martin Luther kicked some Pope ass, and my belly full of seafood buffet I had no excuse but to belly-up to the bar and enjoy a televised football game.

Sometime during the third quarter, the conversation turned to clothing optional resorts around the country. My furry friend, Bear, travels around the world spending all his free time getting naked and enjoying nude beaches, hotels and resorts. This is the point when I invited him and his partner over for Thanksgiving. A naked Thanksgiving. As the words came out of my mouth I immediately flashed to my new dining room chairs. My new upholstered dining-room chairs. My joke turned back on me.

Suddenly I had purposed having a pack of football watching, large and hairy bears to come sit on my soft surfaces. In my head I turned into Mrs. Hyacinth Bucket. I flashed to a group of naked Onslows brushing up against my expensive wallpaper and drinking from my Royal Doulton with the hand-painted periwinkles, whilst in the all together.

Apparently I had proposed the best idea around Thanksgiving since canned cranberry sauce. I just need to stock up on trash bags. I’ll spend my turkey day shouting “stay on the bin bag! Stay on the bin bag!

Home Delivery Mormons

A roving gang of Mormon missionaries went door to door today in my neighborhood. I videotaped my reaction when they came to my door. ..




God I look terrible in pig-tails.

Luke Evans Breaks my Heart

I love Greek and Roman mythology. Upon hearing about the new film, Immortals being released this month I was counting down the days until the release. To top off the story of Roman gods at war with humanity, was the fact that Luke Evans, my pretend British boyfriend, was cast in the role of Zeus.

I admired this actor’s ability to be honest with his life, even role model a successful working actor who is out and proudly gay. In September, 2002 Evans was interviewed by The Advocate:

“ Well it was something I'd spoken to a lot of people about, including my boyfriend at the time - we've broken up now - but at the time when I just got Taboo, I knew that even though my part was a straight character, everybody knew me as a gay man and, in my life in London, I never tried to hide it. I knew I was going to have to do interviews with gay magazines, so I thought, ‘Well, I’m going to have to be open’. It’s who I am. And if people don’t like it, then I don’t want their jobs. I've never been a very good liar, which is another thing...” *

Now apparently, upon landing larger roles his, “out and proud” has been squelched for a larger paycheck. See the Advocate article here, and Queerty's article here.

I think I’ll stay home and not go see Immortals. I really have to stop letting these Welshmen break my heart.

* The Advocate.com

Snow Day

We have a snow day today in my neck of the woods. I was actually surprised as the announcement of closing schools and local businesses scrolled across the bottom of the screen on this morning’s news. There seems to only be six inches of snow, back when I was a kid we’d have to march up hill to the school bus in two feet of snow.



My house this morning.



Did I just make a statement about “back when I was a kid”?

Great. Snow bound and apparently I get old and crotchety. It is true; I grew up on a ranch, far outside of a small town. The house sat on a long dirt road and it was quite a march up the hill to the paved state highway and the waiting school bus. We were unceremoniously thrown out of the house and told to make it to the school bus on time, but either way to not come back. My long feathery hair would flap in the snow filled air as I traversed the barren, snow banked tundra. My color changing moon boots crunching in the fresh tire tracks, attempting to be quiet and not alert the coyotes.

Okay, they weren’t coyotes. But, the neighbor’s dogs were really mean and would come knock me down and lick me. Their tongue marks would freeze on my face. So, that was bad.

What I'd be doing right now,
if I didn't have to work.

Now I don’t have to leave the house, as I work from home. This also means, I can continue working as the other half and the dog join the neighbors as they organize a block snowball fight in the middle of the street. This will be followed by a History Channel marathon, tucked under the down comforter cocooned the middle of the bed.

I’ll spend my day coordinating Excel spreadsheets in my office. I guess this is payback for being able to spend most of my days in gym shorts and a pillow made late ‘80s Bobby Brown coiffure instead of adorning my thick neck with a tie and commuting to an office. So, go! Enjoy your snow day. I’ll be here. Alone. All I need is my Excel spreadsheets. My Excel spreadsheets and my office chair. My Excel spreadsheets, my office chair and my world wide internets.