Inspired Alignment

My dear friend, Tamlyn, has a Facebook group page called “Inspired Alignment.” This group is designed to deliver inspirational messages, and to engage participation around a daily topic.  Tamlyn encourages anyone who wants to share, to write about what they feel helps them live an authentic life. Normally I would steer far away from this type of “Woo-woo” touchy-feely stuff as it normally seems like a bunch of malarky. Yet the philosophy of this Facebook page is to simply share what works for individuals, in hope that it may help others. 

So what do I believe?  

I believe in growth, physical growth. After the work day is over, and I leave the office, the opportunity to grow as an individual presents itself as a choice.  Upon heading to my car, I have a daily decision to make. I can head home to raid the refrigerator and plop down on the sofa, I can head to my favorite fast-food place for my favorite burger, or I can take a small amount of my day and head to the gym. Even at forty, I still have this power that manifests itself as a lazy, self-defeating voice that thinks that heading home is the better choice. That a stop off at my favorite fast-food joint will be much more gratifying. As fast food equals happiness. This is when I say “NO” to that voice and head to the gym.

Why is the fear of succeeding so strong inside of us?  The fear of happiness. The fear of success. The fear that the other people working out at the gym are just better people? I talk to so many friends that declare they could “never go to the gym” as they would be judged as unworthy. They seem to be scared of what complete strangers may/or may not be thinking. The simple fact that you are at the gym, attempting your best to improve yourself, means you are on an even playing field. 

Another excuse that comes into my head, I also hear from others. The convenient excuse of time. “There’s just not enough time in the day to go to the gym.” I do; however, have time to eat cheeseburgers. More time than improving yourself?  Well, short-term, the act of eating a burger may be more gratifying, but...

“Those who think they have not time for bodily exercise will sooner or later have to find time for illness.”  -Edward Stanley, Earl of Derby (1826-93), British statesman. The Conduct of Life, address at Liverpool College, 20 Dec 1873.

Physical activity is what sustains us in life. To not work towards being physically fit is to welcome illness into your life. The tiny amount of time it takes, in respect to our allotted time on this planet, is minuscule considering the most important key to life is a healthy body. 

The act of bringing physical activity into your life is an act of over coming the fear of happiness. The fear of success. It in-fact empowers success.  The confidence that is gained by  meeting exercise goals, even small ones, can boost self-confidence. It also makes you feel better about your appearance. To feel good about your physical appearance is a right, not a privilege. Exercise is a distraction that can get you away from the cycle of negative thoughts that feed anxiety and depression. The instant gratification you get from food, sex, or liquor falls away because you are doing something positive to manage anxiety and depression.

Tell that little voice that keeps repeating that you aren't worthy of being healthy, that instead you choose to go for a walk. 

Swimsuiting

I have a bizarre love of portmanteaus.  This is when you use a word whose meaning is derived from a blending of two or more distinct forms. like Gaydar from gay and radar. Meaning that homosexuals put off radar signals at such high frequency, they can pop popcorn placed near them. 

Sometimes, portmanteaus are called "Frankenwords" due to the creation of unnecessary words. Like "Infotainment" meaning "information presented in a format intended to attract with its entertainment value" when simply the word didactic would suffice. Yet, this is the fun of the English language. To know the rules, then bend them. 

Today, I headed to the amazingly beautiful Fort Collins, Colorado to attend the wedding of a longtime friend.  In the last week I have completed all the obligatory pre-wedding invitee requirements. The suit was taken to the dry cleaner, shoes polished, and this morning a hair cut was checked off the list. I even remembered how to tie a bow-tie.  As I pulled out my "wedding suit" and slid the jacket on is when a portmanteau slid from my lips. Pathesad. Not just sad, more hopeless than pathetic. I was swimming in my jacket, a jacket that was tailor fit a year ago. "When was I that fat?" It was as if I didn't recognize my own self, a year later. 

All day I did the pose where you keep your hands in your slacks to pull the suit jacket back. Like a math teacher, in a lame attempt to look hip. This was in hope that know one would ask why I borrowed my Dad's suit.  I'd say that the act was swimsuiting. If that portmanteau wasn't already taken.  

Concretize

I've returned to an old love. 

Way back in 2005 I, like all homosexuals in America, fell in love with Project Runway. Time marched on and boring rehashes of the show lost me. The great idea of the show turned into a fashion  assembly line. Each season was soon predicable from the season before it. And after it. Soon it passed out of my gay world. 

Then I read a text from a friend about the new season. Season 324. I figured why the hell not, and since I couldn't remember the last time I actually sat down to watch a TV show,  I have been meaning to work TV back into my life. 

I have to say it is great this season. I'm not sure if it's just because I've been away so long, or that the updated feel of the show has me back to the original feel of the show. What ever the reason, I'm hooked. Oh, and the best part of the show still is finding Tim Gunn's "word of the day."  Last night was Concretize:  To make real or specific: "The need to simplify and concretize . . . was hardly acceptable to a mind fascinated by the . . . suggestiveness of ideas" (Arthur A. Cohen).

Take Me at the Ball Game

As part of my quest to do as little as possible, other than enjoy the summer, this week was a family trip to the ballpark. My annual voyage to see the Colorado Rockies at Coors Field. 

The answer is "A"

Do you have a favorite spot to sit in a ballpark? Mine is on the upper deck above third base. Even back in high school, when I would ditch class and take two buses out to the Houston Astro Dome (back in the olden days when it was Houston’s baseball stadium) I would sit in this area. This preference started because If you arrived at the Astro Dome at just the right time, you could score free tickets from the Dome’s management. As the owners of the Astros and the dome wanted to show the area above third base packed on the televised games. At fifteen years old, I cherished being out on my own, sitting above third base watching the Astros play. Ironically, it was during these games when I made it to my own third base.* I have fond memories of those baseball games under the dome. Let’s just say that the song "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" always puts a smile on my face. 

Even though this weeks tickets were freebies, we found our seats in the upper deck above third base, and settled in for a great night of baseball nachos and pretzels. With the summer night air, and roar of the crowd, my quest to enjoy summer to its fullest is well on its way. 

*Third base = anal

Lazy Days of Summer

This is my favorite time of year. Pride is over, and Independence Day has been celebrated. Now I can just relax and enjoy the summer without any plans. With the Homo-sex-companion-partner distracted with his new love, I’m free to do whatever I desire this lazy time of year. 

I guess it’s true, in what they say about the seven year itch. We celebrated our seven year anniversary with my partner falling in love with someone else. Being reassured that It is a completely different type of love, I now I find myself in a triad relationship. Not that I’m totally happy with the endless chain of boxes arriving from Amazon with presents intended for his new infatuation. 

It all started on Patrick’s visit to Denver, as Pac and I wandered down Denver’s 16th Street pedorite mall, I received an urgent call from the other half. He understood the importance of my time spent with Patrick, yet urged me to leave the fun and come meet someone very special to him. That was the day that changed our lives forever. 

As I was first introduced, I realized that I wasn’t really jealous of the way my partner of seven years gazed across the deep pearlescent of her ebony glow. I wasn’t jealous because it was a different kind of love entirely. No partner can satisfy all the needs and desires, to think one can, is foolish. So, this was the day I met Sue Ellen. Yes, like from the television show, Dallas. All of his cars are named after characters from this TV show. I believe I have blogged about Mark Grayson, in the past.  

Sue Ellen is an ebony goddess, 1968 Plymouth Fury. She now spends its days sitting in the Forney Museum of Transportation in Denver, yet she is never truly out of mind. The lazy days of summer, for me, are spent taking slow and sunny runs around Cheesman Park, and hours upon hours spent needlessly at my favorite coffee shop. No real commitments until the end of August. Whatever I’m doing to waste my time, I always know that he’s out there somewhere, on an deserted highway; with her. Yet completely safe in the knowledge that she get stored-away and he’ll come home to me. 

Swatch Me

Sashaying through the mall last weekend, I was covered in the glow that only comes from the purchase of a new iPhone. A long over due act, I was happy to finally bite the bullet and update from the 4 to a 5. Let's just say that I have a new love. Siri. My heart now belongs to her. Him. I love that my assistant is gender neutral.  

Playing with my new toy, I almost walked by a new, gleaming white storefront. I stopped in my tracks, turning my head sideways like a dog trying to watching TV.  "Is that what I think it is?" I asked Siri.  A frickin' Swatch store!!! The Steve squee was heard down at the food-court. 

I ran into the store, zipping from display case to display case. It was 1987 all over again. 

Upon discovering Houston, Texas' Galleria Mall in the summer of 1987 I spent an unhealthily amount of time (for normal fifteen year old) at the Dillard's cologne and watch counters. Part of this obsession was blown at the Swatch counter. I soon successfully begged my Mother into buying me a multitude of the 80's plastic brightly colored fad.  Well, Swatches and Polo cologne.  By the second month of my freshman year of high school at Stratford High, I was known as "Swatch Steve". Well, Swatch Steve, or stinky Steve due to my bathing in Polo cologne.  My left arm would be festooned with four Swatches. 

I settled on one watch, and after having to control the urge to roll her eyes, the sixteen year old sale associate handed me my precious. That's what she gets for working in a store geared toward materialistic forty year olds. Having to hear about the 80's fad and the fay boys that loved them. 

I will return to buy more Swatches. 

Steve Grand

I found this on Christopher's blog, here. Thanks turning me on to this video. Check it out:





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Rise and Shine

Starting this week I changed my work schedule to 5:00a.m. My coworkers and friends believe that I have gone insane, yet I am enjoying the change. It gives me three full hours by myself in the office. I can drink my Dunkin’ Doughnuts, Hazelnut coffee without fear of others usurping the office coffee maker, and I get most of my day completed before the normal day actually begins. 

Part of the decision was also based around the 24hour Fitness located down the street from my employment in lovely, downtown Boulder, CO.  It may be crazy that I am getting to work three hours early, just so that I can hit the gym at three instead of during the busy time of five, but it changes my workout tremendously. No longer do I have to modify my routine due to lack of access to a flat bench,

Just look at that clown! 

as are typically taken up by guys discussing next quarter's finical outlook on their creepy Samsung Galaxy phones, as they sport completely dry, $50 sweat absorbing tech shirts. Typically. Now I can camp on a flat bench, searching for songs on my iPhone, to my little sleepy heart’s content. 

I hope to adapt to the change of getting up at 3:30a.m. soon. Dear God, I certainly hope so. All the omnipotent power beheld within Dunkin’ doughnuts ground coffee, with its Hazelnuty fumes is the only thing getting me through this week.  

Weekend

This last weekend was all about friends stepping out into the future.

Saturday we joined the celebration of a friend, after an amazing and courageous fight against cancer, she celebrated a birthday and of being a survivor. It was one of those parties where everyone sits around the table, finishing each others sentences, and telling embarrassing stories from our collective past. 

The weekend also marked the first steps for a friend who is learning how to be an individual again, after so many years in couplehood. I realized, for the first time how incredibly brave, smart and fun this person, I'm glad to call friend, is.   

On Sunday I got the privilege to visit my friend, Michelle's house. Still under construction, it was a visit of possibilities. As I walked through the unfinished rooms it made me giggle about my friendship with her, coming from being girl who thought no one would ever have her, spending every Saturday night dancing with her gays at whatever club was popular in the 90's, to being a wife and Momma in her new house in the 'burbs. I danced with her all night at the club, now I dance with her seven year old...

Panic at the Kum &Go

I knew something was odd when I pulled up to the local Kum & Go and there were hordes of rednecks loading up their muddy trucks with cases of drinking water. I did pay much attention because they always do strange things at the Kum & Go gas station; like buying chewing tobacco, and "renting up thoooses mooovies on the Red Box." Little did I know the rednecks knew something I was about to learn. Our fair city was in the middle of a e-coli scare.

A random test of the local water system came back with a positive response to the e-coli bacteria. For the next 48 hours we cannot drink tap water without boiling it. So, yeah. Yay. 

In times of crisis, our government urges us to be prepared. I thought of this preparedness as I ate my slice of gas station pizza and headed over to the grocery store to stock up on sundries to get our household though the storm. The Department of Homeland Defense would of been proud. 

It was a mad house at the store. People were stocking up on water like it was never coming back. We Americans do adore a good mob panic. I rushed to get what was important to survive our trial...

The orange flavor is the best for brushing your teeth. Oh... The water on the left is for the dog. I'm not sharing my Miller Lite with him. Again. 

The 3rd of July

For some strange reason I have been just crazy waiting for tomorrow, the 4th of July. Yeah, it's America's Independence Day, with all the pomp and circumstance, but I have selfish reasons. A BBQ with the friends. 

I find as I'm getting older, that hanging out with my gang, my homo homies, my friends, is truly the best part of life. Tomorrow will be the apex of summer. Running around the back yard, eating too much food is what the highlight of summer should be. 

I hope you get a chance to really enjoy summer, soon.  Whether it's Independence Day for you, or just the next day off. Go out and sit in the grass. 

The Stevie Side of Sears

My Sunday was designed as a complete day of relaxation. Breakfast with the buds, a visit to see a friend’s new house, maybe some shopping before relaxing at my favorite Japanese noodle shop. The day would be capped off with laundry and cruising YouTube. This dreamy plan for the day; however, did not come to pass as the best made plans seldom do. 

Upon finishing off pancakes and agreeing to head over to see a friend’s house under construction; I hopped into my car to begin the long drive. As I pulled out of the pancake house’s parking lot I noticed a strange new light on my car’s dashboard. It was a warning signal with an explanation point inside a sideways letter “C”. “What is that?” I asked my car. It just sat there, glowing. Then I made the connection, it was my low tire-pressure indicator light. a quick check let me know that I had a nail in one of my tires. “There goes Sunday” I said to my car, feeling silly because I know that my car only under stands Korean. 

As it was Sunday, my dealership and other closed options led me to my local Sears Automotive Center. I too was surprise they were still around. Apparently they are the only game in town for Sunday auto repairs.  Since they are the only option, there was a three hour wait, just to get a patch on my tire.  Three hours... alone in a Sears Grand....on a Sunday...  phone on 10% battery...  I pulled up gym shorts and said out loud, “Let's do this!”

Three hours of playing with the flat screen TVs, lounging in Sears display beds (my skin was exfoliated by the 180 thread-count sheets), shopping for poorly made horizontal striped tank-tops, and mocking hideously dressed mannequins led me to lounging with snacks under the main gazebo in the patio furniture department. I had just gotten asleep in a lounger when my phone rang with the news that my car was repaired. 

All-in-all it was a very relaxing day. I finally got a replacement water filter for the fridge, and I had a really great nap.