Damn Convention

Damn conventionalists. Damn convention. The weather outside seemed a tiny bit different this morning. A change had happened. When approaching my morning routine of walking the dog, there was a difference in the air. It was chilly. Now, it wasn't cold mind you. It was just a couple of degrees towards Autumn and away from summer.

I noticed it right away. This made me squee on the inside. This tiny almost unnoticeable change gave me a reason to pull my Man Uggs from the very back of the closet. I sighed as I slipped the sheepy softness onto my feet.

Now, it wasn't cold enough to put pants on. So tonight for class you'll see Stevieb rocking his Man Uggs and shorts.

Damn the conventionalists. Damn convention.

I guess I'm ready for Autumn. 

Monday Flannel

Changes

So as many of you have noticed and sent in questions to the blog; yes, I am dating. Or, to say I'm on the hunt for a quality boy to date. This doesn't mean that Fuzzy and I have ended our eight year run, in fact just the opposite. We're stronger than ever. 

Our tastes have just evolved. He now has a boyfriend and for all intents and purposes, we are in a triad. This means I get two Christmas presents and two birthday presents. Jim, Fuzzy's boy, came along with us on the big gay cruise, and fits perfectly into our lives. 

This also means that I have been exploring the dating scene. I would call it dating; but, really the act entails hunting down and pouncing on unsuspecting twenty year olds. 

What the future holds is anyone's guess. Fuzzy, Jim, and I have started house shopping, but with the understanding that my inner chicken hawk will eventually bring a boy into the happy home. Or, some other situation will dictate the needs of all. 

Countdown to Folsom

There are 30 days until my trip to San Francisco's Folsom Street Fair. A trip that is required in the gay scriptures as needing to happen at least once in a devoted homos lifetime. This trip to Mecca dictates circling this street fair five times to prove your devotion to all things gay-holy. 

This year is my year to prostrate myself to all thing gay and leathery. I can't say what I'm most excited about. I am jumping out of my skin to see SF again, a city I'd call home in a heart beat. I'm excited to see friends and hang out with and make new friends. I'm like a kid waiting for Christmas to go to Folsom. I am only perplexed with what treads I should wear. As you can imagine Folsom has a strict dress code. No, normal on the street clothes should be worn. Hummmmm... so should I break open my cobweb covered leather closet, wrestling gear, just a jock? I could go native? Where does one put their iPhone when naked on a city street? 

These are important questions one needs to ask. What to wear to the fair? Maybe I'll go dressed as a dog catcher. See if I can net up a rubber puppy. 

Monday Flannel

...the Universe and Everything

Ever have one of those "Lone Wolf" weekends? A weekend where it just works out that all the friends are either out of town or attending miscellaneous life events. This weekend is one of those.

I do enjoy the freedom to do whatever and do it whenever I choose. Go see a biopic on Yves Saint Laurent? I certainly don't have to share my popcorn. VooDoo doughnut run at 4am? Sure. No line. Last night I ended up at Denver's cleanest gay bath house. The Denver Swim Club. Now, I know what you are thinking, "Is Steve really blogging about going to a bath house?"  Well, yes. But, not because of what you are assuming. This gentleman's establishment (if you have never been) happens to have an outdoor pool with water the temperature of bath water. I have been obsessed with this pool all summer long. Not during the day when other naked gays are around, no. When the pitter-patter of naked tax attorneys, semi-erect semi-retired car sales men, and struggling college students can no longer be heard pool-side. In the middle of the night. When it's just me, naked under the stars.

It is commonly believed that the expanding universe has no edge. That the universe is continually  expanding into endless nothingness. Isaac Newton argued that the universe was infinite in size. Yet, as there was no way for humans to imagine its dimension, Newton wasn't really content with this idea. I however, am content to float naked in a bathhouse's out door pool watching it speed past. I stay still as possible letting the ripples of pool water slowly subside. My eyes slowly adjust to the dark sky as the non-stop thump-thump of the gay disco fades away in my mind. This is when the stars and galaxies begin to introduce themselves to me. Shy and timid at first, then like a vale being pulled away.

Eventually something pulls me out of this state. Most of the time it's an insurance broker with a Viagra induced stiffy that seems to think I need his brand of nasty, hopping into the pool.  Some times  it's a bus on the other side of the fence that noisily rattles along the street. Sometimes, even with the whole universe churning and whirling in front of me, just for me,  I get lonely and go inside. 

Steve Seeks His Soul Mate

I have lived, pretty much, in the same gay coffee house since it opened in the early nineties.  Other than a multi-year life in Dallas in which I spent all my free time drinking coffee at Crossroads, a real gay coffee shop and homo-themed book shop; The gay coffee shop on 9th and Downing on Denver's Capitol Hill was my second home. Every paper for school had been plagerized written within its walls.  First dates met and judged. Friends spending hours in quality dishing and chattering time.

Now it seems that time has moved on and this second home is gone. I mean, the business is still there, but its soul is gone. Sold to the highest bidder. This leaves me to find a new home. A new place to spend my time,  attending college, arranging first dates, and hanging out with friends.  So coffee house courtship begins. God, I hate dating. I mean when it doesn't matter, like guys, it's easy, but this hunt for a coffee shop is important.  I am seeking the type of soul mate that matches on the level of a coffee shop. It's important stuff here.


So here's my list: It must be hip/gay...ish, have munchies along with coffee, close to the gay area of town, have a decent area (with power outlets) to chill out and write, and have a continual flow of good-looking guys. And most importantly, not try to kick me out after six hours of writing. You would be amazed how hard it is to find a place like this.

I have begun my search today by writing this entry at a new place on 13th and Downing called Capitol Hill Roastery with the hip vibe of a bigger city, it held promise. The cute and bearded barista was adorable.  However; the power outlets were pretty much nonexistent.  So I fear I have not found my soul-coffeeshop.

I have this fear that I'm just a dinosaur. A gay that's left over from an earlier age when hanging out in coffee shops was cool. Now, maybe there is no need. I don't want to think I live in the wrong city. That I have a mindset of writing in a coffee shop like a New Yorker, or a bearded gay in Seattle. Denver, please prove me wrong on both counts. All I want was is a coffee shop somewhere; with a comfy chair... next to a power outlet.

Monday Flannel

Steve in The Box

I have been attempting to eat in a healthier manner. This is a far cry from the back-lash of my stuff-everything-into-my-face-hole policy I employed after the Speedo clad cruise in February. There has been an increase of dinning on the Caesar salad at restaurants, and finding myself heading to vegetarian / Vegan place to dine. On my own. And enjoying it.

This is of course not calculating my dark, deep secret. My addiction.

I have been hiding this addiction from my friends and family. My complete chemical addiction to Jack in The Box. An addiction that I am powerless to conquer. As an example, I'll will give you last Friday: For lunch I ate my healthy prepared salad to get me through evening. I then left work after ten p.m. and made a straight path for Jack in The Box for a teriyaki bowl and three egg rolls. Which, I ate sitting in my Jeep in the parking lot of my gym.  After happy egg roll time, I did go have a massively great work out, so there is that. After the gym I headed to the bar which I then closed. As I'm friends with the entire staff, I hung out after closing to watch a series of strange events, including a round of  "foreskin shots. " Better if you don't ask. I was neither the shot glass, nor the drinker.  But, I finally, in my life, feel cheated in that I don't have a built in shot glass.

Around four a.m. I headed towards the ranch. On my way I stopped off at... you guested it, Jack inThe Box. Consuming a front seat full of horrible, tasty items like a bear eating a small goat. If the bear drove a well-apointed, yet dented Jeep.

So my secret is out. I require my friends to help me kick this self-destructive habit. A habit I'm powerless to stop.  Jack. I'm braking up with you.  I know you bring me instant happiness. I know how much you love me, yet it's a calorie filled empty love. You're just no good for me. 

Monday Flannel

Summer Squeeze

The problem with summer, if there are any real problems other than the fear of not fitting into your Speedo that you rocked after weeks of crash dieting for a cruise, is that you attempt to cram all the gusto of enjoyment for the season into a short amount of time.

I have, for the most, pushed the limits of sane and sensible fun-ness that one gay man should partake in summertide. There has also been some bumps. Literally. As you know, due to my ad nauseam Instagram photo stream (instagram.com/nice2cstevieb) I bought a Jeep in June. A Jeep that was then quickly christened by a retired pharmacist whilst running a red light. My own personal Andrea Doria. No vehicles were lost, yet my heart sank. This will lead to two weeks in August of Stevie in a rental car while the Steve-Jeep gets “work done”. Now, how am I going to impress the Bro’s in a rental car??  Seriously cramping my style.  Cruising the gym parking lot in a Camry.

Still, I can continue to squeeze summer out of summer in a rental car…