Friday, July 31, 2015


Sitting alongside a date at Watercourse, Denver’s premier vegetarian restaurant, I ordered the Chicken and Biscuits. The “chicken” being thick slices of Cauliflower. This is when I pulled out my best English Nobleman voice and asked for all white meat cauliflower. Thinking I was hilarious, I broke into laughter. The Server, served up a courtesy laugh. I looked over to my date and quickly remembered why I never get second dates.
Back when the earth had just finished cooling off, and slightly before the mightiest predator ever to roam the earth, the Spinosaurus was king, I was a gay waiter at Denver’s then premier vegetarian restaurant. I would imminently despise any jerk that made “Dad-like” jokes in my direction. They might have felt my rage in the fine act of armpit toast. That was a specialty created by my fellow gay waiter, Nick, whom created the recipe. It was an easy recipe to follow; while gathering the table’s food you would place their toast into your armpit. Then, serve hot.
Flash forward 97 million years, and there it was. I have turned into what I most despised; the type of guy whom makes jokingly flirts with Servers. My father has always flirted with Waitresses. His Father flirted with Waitresses. I am trapped in a long linage of males whom work out their joke material on unsuspecting wait staff.
I would like to take this opportunity to give an open apology to all Servers that have endured my people. While I’m at it, I should also apologize for anyone who ate at The Harvest Restaurant in Denver, Colorado from 1991 – 1994. I am sorry for making you eat my armpits.

Monday, July 27, 2015

To Sleep; To Shop

I find it funny actually, when I wake up, and after my morning routine, I struggle to find my wallet. 

Today was one of those mornings. Upon, dressing for work I noticed my wallet was not next to my keys. This prompted an eye roll and a groan of "what did you do now, Steve?" I searched through my already made bed. Then, under the bed. There it was, my wallet tossed down, with my favorite credit card laying next to it. 

When this happens, I know that something crazy went down. I woke up in the middle of the night, and by "woke up" I mean, just got out of bed, and shopped online. Yep, I'm a sleep shopper. Before realizing what my pattern was, and identified it. I had quite the well outfitted lien closet. Every pattern and every style of sheet set imaginable would show up at my door step. It was a while before I realized that it was me shopping. But, seriously after canceling an order for a Kitchenaid mixer three times, I began to suspect it was me. I kept two pairs of Pumas. Because even asleep, I have great taste in running shoes. 

Safeguards had to be put in place to stop me from ordering household goods whilst I dreamed.  I guess, now the sleep shopping has returned. 

I rushed to check my emails. This was to confirm an inbox filled with Order Confirmations. Just one. Wheeeew.  High end memory foam pillows. I didn't cancel. I trust my sleeping judgement. 

Tonight I hide my wallet from myself. God forbid I wake up to an Apple Watch. Hmmmmmmmm. 

Friday, July 24, 2015


Can you believe that it is almost the end of July? What happened to the future plans of summer? I started to ponder this the other day as I daydreamed; looking upon clouds in the middle of Cheesman Park.  Reclining on a blanket with my face looking upon the clouds. The clouds and I shared a lazy agenda, to waste an afternoon. Their plan was to slowly creep across the huge blue sky. My plan was to watch their paced path.
It is funny how, upon the first breath of Spring, the plans for “everything you want to do this summer” become laid. The long path of warm weather. A chance to enjoy. The scheme of being able to look back in September and recite to the class, “How I Spent my Summer.”  
Here we sit at the end of July. How has your plans come along so far? This is fair warning to the end of fair warming. So, maybe the roadtrip to Mount Rushmore isn’t going to materialize for this summer. But, a road trip somewhere will. Get out there! There isn’t much time.

There isn't time, there isn't time
To do the things I want to do,
With all the mountain-tops to climb,
And all the woods to wander through,
And all the seas to sail upon,
And everywhere there is to go,
And all the people, everyone
Who lives upon the earth , to know.
To know a few, and do a few,
And then sit down and make a rhyme
About the rest I want to do.

-Eleanor FarjeonEleanor Farjeon


Friday, July 17, 2015

First Dates

First dates are… awkward. Not in the bad sense of the word. They are just odd, mostly because you are spending time with a complete stranger. One that, in this day and age you have spent a lot of time already chatting with online. Maybe even trading naughty photos. Maybe. I’m not saying that I do this… maybe.  Nevertheless, after seemingly endless amounts of time, you are now meeting, face-to-face. No hiding behind emoticons.

Last night, I had a first date. With a Swimmer-turned Gymnast-turned Aerial Acrobat.  I'll just let that settle into your brain for a second... I thought of how strange first dates are when upon driving down Colorado Boulevard, a jack-rabbit, frightened out of its fluffy mind, ran out into the street. Being the strong-tough Daddy that I am, wanted to scream like Caitlyn Jenner at a Talbot’s sale.  I contained myself for some reason, roughly barking “stupid bunny.” Why would I curb my over-riding concern for all things fluffy bunny? When it’s common knowledge that if you know Steven, you know his bunny-loving personality.

First dates. In case you’re interested in the dating life of the Common StevieB, it went well. Very well, if I say so. But, I have a tendency to believe that right before I don’t get a second date.  See my posts on being the One Date Wonder.

Sunday, July 12, 2015

Get up Swinging

My long relationship with waking up, covered with sweat, standing in the middle of my bed has been rekindled. There is nothing more exciting than not knowing when my Sleep Terrors, decide to begin again. But, apparently they have come back for a visit. 

It certainly makes inviting someone to share my bed.... awkward. With the great possibility that I will bolt upright, eyes open, with a look of complete panic on my face. Screaming or barking orders is a whimsical bonus. How would I explain to a boy I like that there is a chance that I will begin punching and attacking in the middle of the night. "Uh, I really like you, so please don't run out of my house just because I begin to physically assault you at 3 am." 

My roommate, The Mechanic, casually mentioned at breakfast the other morning about whining and crying coming from my bedroom. He debated whether he should have attempted to wake me. Fearful of coming into my room might make the situation worse. Which it historicity has. I really feel like a whiny werewolf. Without the fun of turning furry. 

I might need to buy earplugs for The Mechanic, and maybe a lock for my bedroom door. One that locks form the outside. This is due to the events two nights ago; when I woke up to find I made a full Chinese Chicken Salad at 3:30 am. And ate it. Who sleep walks and makes a salad? Seriously. 

I can only hope they go away soon. Guys do not buy flimsy excuses about not wanting fall asleep with them. 

Friday, July 10, 2015

Super Squishy Elle Shaped Sofa of Love

It is back. After years of banishment, I get to announce its return. The return of the Super-Squishy-Elle-Shaped Sofa of Love.  

Back in my blogs from the 09-10 blogging season, I wrote a lot about having an "L" shaped sectional sofa that I loved to lounge upon during my free time. In 2010 the homosexual companion partner declared that the couch I loved, christened the Super Squishy Elle Shaped Sofa of love needed to go away. Its replacement was a leather set that was not comfortable, was not fun, but was high style. Ever since saying good bye to my super squishy lover, I have had a hole in my heart.

That hole was filled last weekend. When The Mechanic and I brought home a new Super-Squishy-Elle-shaped Sofa. It was love at first sight.  I proverbially slammed a champagne bottle against its bow and christened it the new sofa of over delightful squishiness. By eating pad-thai upon its loveliness.

I would like to introduce to you... my new friend...

God bless her, and all that sail upon her. 

Wednesday, July 1, 2015

Haters Gonna Hate, Hate, Hate

Grindr can be a fickle little app. If you don't utilize the hook-app known as Grindr, I'll explain it to you in the briefest terms I know. It is like Christian Mingle on your phone. But, for Homosexuals with anything but Christian acts in mind. It is best utilized as a homing device; as the phone app has a proximity alert built into the app. This takes your location and broadcasts it to other homosexuals on the app.  The easiest way to locate your closest gay.

It; however, has been over-wrought lately with spammers. These are fake profiles attempting to get you to give your phone number for their diabolical use. Canned sentences are given in hopes that you respond, all to say "hey, let's text? What is your number?" I, with apparently too much free time started to give the Focus on the Family main telephone number. This got boring fast. Then I did this...

Every spammer got lyrics to John Cash's Folsom Prison Blues.  I got through the entire song before this one asked for my phone number. I'm sure the reception desk of the anti-gay, faux-Christian Lobbing group,  Focus on The Family, is swarmed with telemarketer calls right now.

I  also changed my profile to state that I would not respond to any Chat Requests unless a code word was given.  Any line from any Taylor Swift song. What happened actually was quite funny..

Some guys really got into it...

It was kind of amazing how many guys just wanted to give me a Taylor Swift line.

 Others.... not so much.

Then there was the perfect response...

So if you are ever on Grindr, hit me up. But, only if you like Taylor Swift.