It took forever to get my grades from the Fall semester. To be honest, I did horridly on one of my my finial papers. I’m not just saying that, like a sixteen year old after theater tryouts. I really just plagiarized and patronized poor Karl Marx. This is a new level of classes. The whole semister was depended upon only three major papers. No “class participation” no “extra credit” just my questionable writing skills to make the grade. But still...
Thursday, December 28, 2017
I have been thinking about buying a new car. Although it seems I just bought my Jeep Wrangler, it’s been four years. It boggles my mind to type that four years have passed since my Jeep was brand new. I love my Jeep, but the itch for a new vehicle grows larger with each passing day. I mean, I would keep my knobby tired, super cool friend forever. But, change is also good. What is catching my eye, you ask? Well, something that is the furtherest thing from a Jeep; a VW Wagon. The Alltrack, actually. But, yes. It’s a station/estate wagon. About half the size of the Wrangler.
For some odd reason station/estate wagons appeal to me. The sport ones anyway. There’s this cool. I don’t care what you think vibe. Kind of like a Jeep. Just in a different direction. Other than the Douche Bro. aspect people attribute to a Jeep in traffic.
I guess I should go test-drive the Alltrack again and make sure I can live the next four years sitting so low in traffic. And whether I can give up that butch feeling that comes over me when I enter Chessmen Park in a 4X4.
Wednesday, December 27, 2017
I broke down and bought a new phone. No, not the IphoneX. There’s something unsettling about the face recognition thing. But, that is a delusional blog post for another day. I really had to buy a new iPhone because of the huge mistake I made upon buying my old phone. A 6S+ with a tiny amount of storage. Dumb I know. This meant not being able to have any apps on my phone, like the Blogger app. After a daily pop-up stating I couldn’t take a picture because my storage was low, I went to the Apple store. Now I’m all about the 8+. With the largest storage they offer.
The hardest part was the giving up on Michael Phelps.
See... back during the London 2012 Olympics, I saw American swimmer, Micheal Phelps for the first time. Every time he casually entered the swimming facility, he was sporting Sol Republic head phones. I ran out and bought a pair. I’ve been wearing them ever since. But..... the new phone doesn’t have a headphone jack for the cord; It’s all Bluetooth. Yes, there’s the adapter. But, it’s not the same. Also yes, during the Rio Olymics, Phelps wore wireless headphones. But, the impression was already made.
It’s time so say goodbye to my Sol Republic headphones. The era has passed. Goodbye old friends. I’ll sport wireless Bluetooth and think of the glory days.
Tuesday, November 14, 2017
The most important thing to pass along to you in this blog post is that, yes; it is widely known that Socrates liked his guys young. Real young. But, in Protagoras, by Plato I have learned that Socrates was not a Pedophile. It is clearly written that Socrates’ latest boyfriend has a beard. Stating that his taste in men is when the beard first grows in on the face. But, heaven forbid you bring this fact up in the middle of class! This Professor sure likes to box up the world’s strongest and most quoted philosopher as a boy licker. Lasers shot from my eyes. In my mind.
Okay, this isn’t really the reason I want him dead. It is because I wrote an eight page paper on the concept of Akrasia. You know, the state of mind in which someone acts against their better judgment through weakness of will. I stopped myself from using example of dating dudes ten-fifteen years younger to explain this concept. Instead maintained a professional tone. At the end of this project I submitted a paper I was really proud to complete. I got a C. Okay, a C-. I would share with you why I got such a low grade, based upon his full-page hand written tear down, but I cannot possible read his handwriting. I can make out “I know you can do better than this…” What??? You don’t know me!!! Jerk. Upon my failure to read his comments, he then announced that he will not review any student papers. “Not my policy.” He stupidly announced.
Saturday, November 11, 2017
My very first entry, ten years ago today, was set in the wild frontier days of online life for humanity. I wrote about ending a relationship; the one I thought was going to last forever. Since that first post about the last of that relationship, I have met that person's forever-forever and danced at their wedding with a guy who is the best thing that has happened to me.
So blogging was just a mere fad of the 00's. And yet, there seems to be a new generation of bloggers. Twenty years needing an outlet which is deeper than Snapchat and Instagram. Like they invented it. Back in my day we had to log into our tower desk top G4 Apples to blog. Not as easy as just telling Siri what to post on an Apple ten.
Happy anniversary to me. Ten years and I am just as cool as the post-Hipster generation sharing life as they begin to explore the world. Me? Yeah I too feel like I'm ready to explore the world. Or continue to explore the world.
Thursday, August 17, 2017
Monday, August 7, 2017
During this time, I like to sing. By this I mean, since I’m alone on my own time, and there is all the tile around the acoustics are amazing. So why not sing? Well, there is anendless amount or reasons NOT to sing. My song book is limited, along with my talent. The only song I really know is Lady GaGa’s Bad Romance. It is not because I particularly enjoy Lady GaGa; in fact I can’t stand her. The only reason why I sing Bad Romance is thanks to my Ex. Yes, it was a “bad romance” but, mostly because upon the release of this song, he spend countless hours attempting to teach himself the tune on our living room piano. For hours at a time…. Hours upon hours.
I don’t know the words to this song any more than anyone knows the words to The Battle Hymn of The Republic.This doesn’t bother, nor stop me as I prefer to meow. Like a cat. Not sure how the choice was made. Like the meowing is more musical or fitting to the song than say…. barking, or hooting like an owl. Sitting in my bathroom. Meowing.Bad Romance. At full volume.
Friday, August 4, 2017
Thursday, August 3, 2017
Last week I went with Becca, and the Boyfriend, Naveen, to get mani-pedis in beautiful downtown Boulder, Colorado. This is a standing appointment we have as friends on a semi-monthly basis. As this time it was in Becca's town of Boulder we ate Indian and wandered over to the nail salon. Now, when we do this Becca gets her toes and hands done, Naveen gets a pedi and polish, and I get just a pedi. Every appointment I see the ritual play out. Becca and Naveen approach the polish wall and debate the best and cutest colors for their soon to be pampered fingers and toes. And every time I decline to join the fun.
It is not that I am against men having polish, I am just against me having polish. Take yesterday as an example, in the gym’s locker room. Bright orange polished toes popped out of a work sock and my first thought was, “Really?” a grown man with painted toe nails. Not that I am attaching any feminine verses masculine traits. I do not believe that a painted nail is a feminine and should not be associated with manly-men. I just about standing out. Being a peafowl at my age. Twenty years ago I would do anything to make my uniqueness stand out. Bottles of Sun-in Hair Lightener Spray came to their end in my hands. But, now I content with eight versions of the same grey tee-shirt folded neatly in my dresser drawer. So it still shocks me daily since our last trip to mani-pediland. Yeah, know… since the bright orange toes are mine.
Monday, July 31, 2017
Monday, July 24, 2017
In life, you do not need to bring up in conversations how smart you are. As in, how much education you have received. People do not need to know your diploma status. These things are self-evident. If you have a Masters in the Social Sciences this knowledge will gracefully glide across the table. No one needs to be beat in the head with a diploma. This also holds true for being a friend. Friendship, or being a good friend cannot be forced. Well, it can, but it never ends well.
This was the case of Kyle. From Fall until early Spring I struggled to enter his realm of friends. Although Kyle and I would occasionally hang out, and I thought we had fun together in the eighth grade level of buds; I spent countless amounts of energy blending in with his other friends. I acknowledged they were way above in my social standing, but, boy did I try. There were many times I begged my Mother for new cable knit sweaters, as Kyle’s buds had already seen the twelve I had. Every move was calculated on how I could force my person into group social situations. I was sure that Kyle and I were solid, but yearned for him to put a good word for me, so I could join their table in the lunch room. Still I sat with my collection of freaks in a six-month old knock-off Ralph Lauren sweater.
And this is when I first learned about being a friend verses being a good friend. It is the actions taken by someone you trust when you are not around. I never talked to Kyle again. The funny thing was that he never missed it, missed my friendship, and never approached me. The funny thing was, within a week that group of guys I sat with lunch noticed how much more fun I was to be around. The rest of the school year was pretty memorable. Hanging out at the mall, going over to friends’ houses. Just enjoying the short time I had until the end of eighth grade.
Wednesday, July 19, 2017
Since February I have been re-reading the Harry Potter series. From "Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much." All the way to "all was well." Several times through. I would continue this cycle until my phone gets replaced with some new technology that doesn’t support audio books, or I die. Whichever comes first. Oh, did I mention that when I say “read” I mean to listen to audio books whist I drive, or when I should be sleeping, but I am not. So, really I need a new book to hear.
Monday, July 10, 2017
Now the Alpine slide, if you have not done, is a cement track down a perfectly good mountain, in which you place a low-cart like mechanism. It is like bobsledding, but in the heat, and upon a rash causing concrete track. Mike and I attempted to take a ride on the area’s local slide; also nick-named the Tooth Chipper, but they had closed the week earlier. The whole creepy Christian themed amusement park was being bulldozed for condos. Now the closest slide is WinterPark, or Steam Boat Colorado…. About a three hour drive. Which is fine. Perfect weekend drive / adventure.
Friday, June 30, 2017
Tuesday, June 27, 2017
Monday, June 26, 2017
Friday, June 23, 2017
Thursday, June 22, 2017
Wednesday, June 21, 2017
Friday, March 31, 2017
Saturday, February 4, 2017
Saturday, January 28, 2017
Friday, January 27, 2017
Thursday, January 19, 2017
You'll ask how I am preparing myself for this epic race to celebrate my 45 years on the planet? Well, I have had pneumonia for the last couple of weeks... so no training yet. But there are 147 more days to get prepared. Step one; take the first steps and get running shoes on and take my first steps.
Sunday, January 15, 2017
Never heard of Bronski Beat? Yeah, it's truly a generational thing. Bronski Beat was a band starting in the 1980's British synthpop scene. Never heard of synthpop? Yeah. It was just one of the most distinctive subgenres of new wave. A sound heavily influenced by David Bowie. During this generation, a trio achieved success with their distinctive sound and lead singer, particularly with the 1984 No. 3 in the UK chart hit "Smalltown Boy." They made a video for "Smalltown Boy" and it was late at night when a twelve-year-old me, watched it for the first time. It was a message in a bottle washing up on the shores of my deserted island.
All members of the group were openly gay, their songs reflected this. It was pop music with a commentary on gay-related issues. In a generation of subversive and double entendre messages, Bronski Beat was clear in message.
Pushed around and kicked around, always a lonely boyIn 1984 I was twelve. I had already come to terms with being gay. What I could not comprehend, nor functionally comply with was how to operate on a rural ranch outside of a small town in the middle of nowhere. Within a dysfunctional family with Mormon ideal. I was failing to cope. Then, late at night, as I sat crying, the Bronski Beat video came on television. It was a bolt from the blue. I could. I had to wait, but I would get out. I would have the life I wanted. The life I needed. Thank you Larry Steinbachek, rest in peace. You saved my life.
You were the one that they'd talk about around town as they put you down
And as hard as they would try they'd hurt to make you cry
But you never cried to them, just to your soul