"Have a Nice Life!"

It is funny; how relationships work.

The more relationships you have, the more you have the opportunity to learn. Learn what works, what does not, and test in action how developed you are as a human. You also have the opportunity to repeat bad behaviors that only serve and self-protection, but create more harm.

This week I reconnected with a friend, completely by accident. And, by accident, I mean by me stepping out of my comfort zone.  Monday, July 4^th Independence Day It was 7 am, and I didn’t want to wake up the boyfriend next to me in bed. I was clicking away on Facebook, via my phone. Grumbling as I always do, about how I should just delete my account, as it serves to only one good purpose. That being tormenting my roommate by posting inappropriate photos on his timeline. Truly it’s my life’s work, teasing my best friend Mike.  My mind wandered to how important he is to me, that we will be best friends for ever… then I started to roll back my life to other times I thought that. The feeling of safety that comes from have one friend that will never leave you. Then they do.

Jamie was the closest person to me for most of the nineties until 2002. Late fall, 2002. We decided to move to Dallas together, we lived together. We were inseparable.  But, a lot of dark stuff began to happen. It was as if a black velvet shroud came to envelop him. Pulling him from my reach, grasping for empty air were he once stood.  My Jeep Cherokee was packed and waiting as I sarcastically barked at him from the driveway, “have a nice life!” fully believing that he might be dead soon from drugs, or men, or both.

When some relationships end, a gaping hole seems to be the only evidence left where the other person is torn from your life.  You have to function in your day-today tasks, picking up Chinese takeout, waiting for your number to be called at the DMV, all the while, this dark red wound is there, slowly scabbing over and healing. It took by brain and body so long to heal, it was just a couple of years ago that I opened my eyes and discovered that Mike was going to stand next to me, regardless of the weather. Soon, forgetting the pain of any past relationship.

I thought about my relationship with Mike, how oddly adult is was, treating each other with respect and using open communication, when I suddenly wished I had those mature skills back in Dallas, late fall, 2002. I entered Jamie’s name in to the Facebook search bar. Almost automatically, my mind not realizing what my hands were doing. In seconds his face popped up. “God… I thought you were dead?” I sent a message, “Uh. Hi there.” I am so not eloquent with the written word.  Within seconds he responded with an avalanche of messages. Quickly we were speaking on the phone. We were Jamie and Steve again. But this time around, fourteen years later, it seems we have the maturity to function.

It is funny; how relationships work.

It took Mike to teach me how to be a friend, and I have taken those tools to heal a broken relationship from my past. But, Jamie seems to have taken my advice, he is having a nice life.

The Down Comfort

On my Christmas list I had several things, the first thing I added was, “a high-end and high-quality down comforter.”  This was not because I thought that my lifetime companion-partner would cheap out and buy an inexpensive down comforter, it was that after seven years, I know how he would feel walking into the bedding department of the local Bed, Bath, and Beyond store. Scratching his head through his Hemi engine themed ball cap he would like to just point to my scribble of “high end” and the salesperson would get the hint.

I desired a new down comforter because the one on the bed was fourteen years old. It had traveled in my move to Dallas, then back again. It saw every life event in the last fourteen years and was now just a shadow of its former self.  In the last year, if you moved it just the wrong way a cannon of feathers would shoot out. A cascade or tickertape parade of down that would cover the dog an anything else the multiple holes were aimed towards. Parts of the ghost comforter where completely empty of down, just sad yellowing cotton held together by my determination.

I was odd how easily the request topped my Christmas list, as the ghost comforter did; at one point; mean the world to me. 

In the fall of 1996 I was planning to set up house for my first, real relationship. We had decided to move in together and were scurrying like happy, gay crabs to collect things for our first home. Both his and my leases happened to end at the same time, until then we would shop for what we would need. Growing up with out the simple knowledge that bedding wasn’t all animal themed acrylic blankets, I loved that our first purchase together was “a high-end and high-quality down comforter.” The future seemed so bright snuggling warmly under that down comforter.

As life sometimes happens, he became ill. We, and life abandoned our plans to live together. Soon his family stepped in to help.

On a sunny day in June, 1998 I wandered through a garage sale. It was on a well-manicured driveway of the sister who stepped in to help six months earlier. The items were nothing exciting, just your average garage sale stuff. The kind owned by single man who had succumb to a non-disclosed disease. Maybe cancer. As I walked through the discarded household items, I could feel the weight of the entire family burn into me. When the sister had organized the clean out of his house, my cries that some of the items belonged to me and somewhere jointly purchased, had fallen on deaf ears.  After filling a bag with my own clothes I picked up a down comforter lying on the cement.  I quietly shelled out $50 borrowed dollars and walked down the drive to my truck. Even though it was June, I wrapped my newly acquired blanked around me and hopped into the cab and drove away. 

For the next fourteen years that cotton bag of goose down was my remembrance of what had been and what could have been. It was a memory filled and my prized possession. As life sometimes happens, the cotton turned yellow as it aged, and holes tore in the fabric and my memory.  Holding on like a gay Miss Havisham I clung to the comforter as if it actually held the memories of my long dead relationship.

Material items cannot possess another’s memory. If you fall prey to this fallacy you create your own Great Expectations. I will always have my first love whether I cling onto an old blanket, or have the possibility to make new memories cuddled up in bed with my new down comforter, with someone I love.  

WELCOME TO DALLAS

I moved to Dallas, Texas in the fall of 2000. I made my partner of four years an Ex, tossed the dog into the truck and head back to Texas. I was excited because this would be the time for Steve to stand or fall on his own. That and three and a half years of cheating, drugging, and pure crazy was finally coming to an end.

I moved into a former high-end apartment complex built around a former Dallas mansion at 4810 Cedar Springs Road and quickly took my place drinking coffee and cruising on Cedar Springs, the center point for the Dallas Gayborhood.

Within a month I had been “Reno-vated” Texas style. It was early spring when sitting either in The RoundUp Saloon wearing a perfectly starched and creased pair of Wranglers or in JR’s wearing a perfectly starched rugby shirt that I met Brian. A tall lean mass of muscle. tight abs, large forearms and a look that was either part Asian or part Swedish. Either way he filled out his wife-beater in a way that made me want to strap on my climbing gear.

A native Texan he reeled me in with his cool low southern drawl. We had a date planned. Steve’s first real date in over four years.

I ran home a put his card on the middle of the dining room table….. Then I put a rock on it. So it wouldn’t blow away…. After the appropriate “God I’m not needy” number of days, I called Mr. Brian and listened to his drawwwl as we planned our night out. Which came to pass the next week as we met in the parking lot of my former high-end apartment complex. Brian’s pearl snaps strained under the pressure of his chest as we climbed up into his F-250.

Just as I got settled in a way that the skin tight Wranglers to not cut off blood to my feet, I turned to see Brian pick up a small hose attached to a tube coming from a blinking black box wired to the dash of his over sized truck.

Time stopped. I turned my head sideways like your cat as she’s watches intently and tries to decipher why you’re shoving stuff up your butt. That look. He stopped in mid-blow. “Yeah, It’s something my parole officer makes me do.” He calmly rolled out like James Dean in Giant.

If I would have had my IPhone with me on that cool spring evening of 2001 I would of Googled “blow into device before car will start” and found out it was a court mandated alcohol monitoring device used after a DUI conviction. Several DUI convictions. Those Swedish Asians can drink.

IRON CHEF STEVIEB

I have no idea when I started to enjoy cooking; it’s really been a recent development. I guess there comes a time in a guy’s life when he comes to a crossroads of chicken nuggets for eternity or making stuff that he actually likes. Last night it was Thai peanut sauce with stir-fry.

Dalton introduced me to Vietnamese and Thai food when we lived in Dallas, we would make a weekly trip to The Green Papaya restaurant on Oak Lawn. If you’re ever in Dallas, check it out. The spring rolls are the best I’ve ever had. This is where I started my love affair with Vietnamese/Thai and peanut sauce.

Aaaaaaaghh……spring rolls.
(To be said out loud like Homer Simpson)

I was a little embarrassed when I discovered how easy was it was to make this incredible sauce. Just peanut butter and a couple of other easy ingredients, and within twenty minutes I had a veggie stir-fry I was pretty frickin proud of, and the better half was able to scarf down. Now spring rolls….that may take a quantum leap for me, but it’s next on the Stevie food challenge.

A TEXAS STATE OF MIND

What’s a Metroplex? Out of the blue a co-worker came to my clubhouse of a cubical and asked. Well…trying to remember my Texas past. A Metroplex is the name coined for Dallas and Fort Worth, Texas to describe the scope and vastness of the metropolitan area. It’s now used for other huge cites where other cites and suburbs have merged into one area.

The remainder of the day I sat homesick for Texas. Weird. I couldn’t wait to move away from the Lone Star State and here I was “homesick.” Maybe it started a couple of days ago when Dalton and I were at a restaurant and the table next to us was talking about their home town of Beaumont, Texas. Just up the road from Dalton’s Port Arthur home town. Maybe it has more to do with my recent addiction to season seven of Dallas the TV show. Probably.

No matter why, today I’d give anything to be standing on Cedar Springs or Montrose avenue. Just saying.

MISS ELLIE HATES ME

You’ll be glad to hear that I sent a friend request to Ellie Ewing on Facebook.


I've been waiting days for a response, yet haven’t received confirmation of our friendship. I’m beginning to think that maybe she doesn’t want me as a friend, sad but true. Just the thought of this makes me want to toss my muscular body onto my bed and sob into my pillow.



Now, this isn’t a fan site for Dallas the TV show or a Barbara Bel Geddes group. This is actually Miss Ellie Ewing. On Facebook. Huh, I thought. As you well know, the fictional Miss Ellie left South Fork to travel the world with Clayton years ago. This is why I found it odd that she popped up on Facebook. I’ll keep you updated. Sue Ellen Ewing hasn’t responded to my friend request either, but I understand. She drinks. Maybe she’ll see that I belong to the JR’s bar in Denver and Dallas Facebook groups. Because you know, she drinks.



Don't you just love that she's reading War and Peace in the above photo?

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Are you friends with J.D. Hoodie on Facebook? You Oughta Be! He’s just the coolest hooded, sweat shirt you’ll ever be friends with…… Uh….Um…..

See….He’s a hoodie that’s traveling the world. You can follow he’s travels, and even chat with him. If you’d like you can sign up to host him. Show him your town and take pictures of the two of you on adventures.

Ooooooh fun hu!?

He’s Down under now hanging out with the Mutant. Check him out.

Which Dallas Character Are You?

You are Sue Ellen Ewing! Always the center of attention, you are constantly setting new standards for others. Despite your occassional boozing and infidelity, you remain a pillar of the community, and queen of the social scene. Bitch.

Well, are yeah surprized at all? I mean really. You wanta find out who you are?

My Result?

THE ADVOCATE'S TOP 10 C&W BARS

The Advocate.com has released their Top 10 Country Gay Bars. Can I get a Yee-haw? Number One? The Round Up Saloon, Dallas.


Man, I have spent way too much time in this place. Standing against a wall wearing perfectly creased Wranglers with a wad of chew in my lip. And, as you will know it was used in season two of Dallas where Lucy Ewing was force to sing country.

Charlie’s in Denver was number five.




Wow, I have not been to Charlie’s forever. Do they still have two bathrooms, one to piss in and one for me..I mean people to fuck in? Find out where your favorite C&W bar ranked.

MANLY CITIES

The Associated Press released a story that ran on Denver's 7news.

No IKEA, a high level of sports teams, and monster truck rallies? Sounds like a nightmare to me. So, the AP just called me unmanly. To which I say:

“Get Her!”


Here’s the list of the Top 50 Manliest Cities:
1. Nashville, Tenn.
2. Charlotte, N.C.
3. Oklahoma City
4. Cincinnati
5. Denver
6. St. Louis
7. Columbus, Ohio
8. Kansas City, Mo.
9. Indianapolis
10. Toledo, Ohio
11. Memphis, Tenn.
12. Richmond, Va.
13. Columbia, S.C.
14. Orlando, Fla.
15. Dayton, Ohio
16. Salt Lake City
17. Milwaukee
18. Minneapolis
19. Cleveland
20. Detroit
21. Jacksonville, Fla.
22. Phoenix
23. Birmingham, Ala.
24. Grand Rapids, Mich.
25. Tampa-St. Petersburg, Fla.
26. Harrisburg, Pa.
27. New Orleans
28. Las Vegas
29. Pittsburgh
30. Philadelphia
31. Louisville, Ky.
32. Atlanta
33. Providence, R.I.
34. Dallas
35. Buffalo, N.Y.
36. Rochester, N.Y.
37. Baltimore
38. Boston
39. Houston
40. Seattle
41. Sacramento, Calif.
42. Miami
43. San Diego
44. Oakland, Calif.
45. Washington, D.C.
46. Chicago
47. Portland, Ore.
48. San Francisco
49. Los Angeles
50. New York

Who knew? Apparently having too many home furnishing
stores like Ikea in your city is a sign of being "unmanly."
At least that's the conclusion of a study released Thursday by Sperling’s BestPlaces that ranks "America's Manliest Cities" on criteria such as the number of professional major league sports teams, popularity of tools and hardware, and frequency of monster truck rallies. Denver came in fifth, New York City finished last out of 50
of the largest U.S. metropolitan areas.

IML

When I first moved to Dallas I had a roommate that was a bartender that the Dallas Eagle. I was a morning person and he, a night owl. He’s plan was whomever was left at the end of the night he’d bring home to get plowed by. One Sunday morning I was in the kitchen making coffee in my Calvin’s. I just needed some caffeine before heading to church. The bathroom door opened and a random guy staggered out and said good morning. As I say morning to him as he comes in for a kiss.
“Thanks for last night you’re a pro” he grins.
Uhh.. That wasn’t me. That was the roommate. He’s the pro.”
A puzzled face came and went.
“Well, I have time. If you wanta…….” he plainly states.

Have you ever had one of those whole body shivers but can’t show it? Like when a homeless man tries to touch you or you find yourself shopping at PayLess.

I calmly state “Thanks, no. Coffee?
“Come on! I’m an IML title holder!”

I smirk, “been there, done that. Got the T-shirt.”

Marcos' Italian Restaurant

At dinner Saturday night a couple of us were discussing how bad our waiter was ignoring us. This, of course led to the “when I was a waiter” conversation. It seems funny how many gay men were waiters while in college or just starting out.

This drew me back to my last stint as a gay waiter. Back to Dallas. Back to Marcos Italian, off Cedar Springs Road. It was a part time job to pay for a lift kit on my jeep.* It was mostly pretty fun. Right in the center of the gay ghetto, I met some really cool people by slopping bad Italian food in front of them. A fellow floor whore was Dave, he was your waiter for dinner and your “anything else” if the price was right. One night Davie and I were making Marco’s signature Bellini. In a five gallon bucket and a stick we found in the alley. As I was jabbing at it with our “sterrin stick” Davie complained that his washboard abs itched. Lifting his shirt he rubbed the dried cum off his muscular belly. My head cocked at an angle to watch the dried man snow drift into the bucket.
“Huh. I have no idea whose that is?” Dave wondered out loud.

My last week at Marcos was pretty bad. I had decided that I really didn’t need a lift kit. That’s when Cher walked in. Not the Cher, but a Cher. Damn good one too. She was scheduled to perform at the Village Station later that night, but was hunn-gree. There was the typical drag queen flack. But soon enough I got a plate of lasagna in front of her so she’d stop saying “Ooooh.. Can I swing on your arms?”

Half way through her meal I decided to go smoke. But as I turned to leave I heard a scream. “EEEEEEEEEEEEEECK! Owie, Owie!” Let’s just say that Cher lost some cheap dental work. If you’ve ever been fingered as the cause of a drag queen losing a paying gig. You know, it’s not pretty.

I quit the next day.


*Wow, that sounded butch.

Randomness

All the boys met at Pappadeaux Restaurant for lunch. Kind of the last time over stuffing on seafood before Dalton heads back to New York. I got stuck in the cubical. Eating this.....



Square California rolls. Never buy sushi out of the back of a truck. Since I’ve eaten every two hours since last Thursday, I need to lose some weight.
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Last Friday Denver lit up the lights at City hall.....


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I think I hate Facebook.

Every time I log on there's another hot picture of hot Steve Meis.




He's a guy I "sort of" dated before Dalton when I lived in Dallas. He just gets hotter and hotter. You think back and wonder what did ya do to screw that up?

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Look!
Fuzzy found "elegant" glassware at the Kroger.


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Now, how about some Bagdad Cafe?

IKEA

On Wednesday there was a press conference to announce that IKEA is coming to Denver. I have not had an IKEA near me since I left Dallas. Just take a minute and try to imagine living in a city without an IKEA, it boggles the mind. About six months ago Fuzzy and I were looking for bedroom furniture. We hated everything we saw in showrooms here in Denver so we ended up ordering our new set from the IKEA store in Utah. At a pretty price to ship it here. The news that my IKEA is on its way means that this back water jerk town is growing up. Yippy!
They plan on breaking ground in a year’s time. Okay, so I still have a freaking long time to wait, but look out, I’ll be the first in line for some meatballs.

4

Day four of waiting for the little gay ATT&T boy to call me and let me know that the little digital third to my and Fuzzy’s relationship is here. My cute little IPhone, It will be here soon to share our bed. In the meantime I‘ve transferred a lot of crap from by old phone to ICal and my Mac address book. I have found an amazing amount of junk on my phone. Like the phone number to Pei-Wei on 3001 Knox Street in Dallas. Now, I don’t NEED this number but you just never know. I may be back in Dallas and have a hankering for Asian fusion. Or The Leather Man a leather shop on Christopher St, NY. I believe in putting a number my phone and walking away. I have 3 James…. I don’t know any James(eses.) It goes to show if you give me your number I will never lose it. I may lose knowing who the heck you are, but I’ll have your number. Or if I get sent back in time to 2003 and need to call me ex Dalton at work, I’ll have the number. Then I can amaze him with my “PHONE FROM THE FUTURE.”
Until Mr. Gayatt&t calls I've made my own Iphone:

Dallas

I was walking down the sidewalk to our house coming home form work. As I crossed paths with my elderly neighbor she smiled and looked at the bouquet of flowers in my hand. “Making up for something?” She said knowing that Fuzzy and I live two houses down. I started to respond when she said, “ Your both still going to go the hell ya know!”

Two things went through my head at this point. One is that Fuzz feels bad that I refer to her as “the used vacuum cleaner bag.” The second being that I call our house SouthFork. Yes, after the show Dallas. No, not because it looks anything like the white ranch house that Sue Ellen pined away for. This is due to its geographical location to the city. You would have to be a Super-duper hyper gay nerd to actually know the geographical relationship of Southfork ranch to Dallas. I am just that gay.

In 2003 I convinced Dalton to go on a tour of Southfork ranch. This met with same response as if I said I wanted to cover him with blood and walk out into Galveston Bay to feel around for sharks. But at least at Galveston Bay we would get some sun. When we arrived at Southfork I casually noted that the weather was just like in Winds Of Vengeance. Dalton casually noted that if we made it out of there I should conceder myself dumped.

Just in case you didn’t already know, Southfork ranch is about 25 miles northeast of Dallas, as is our house is from Denver. Which makes it hard sometime to consider myself a gay-ghetto gay. What with the commute and all, but still if the man friend wanted us to sell our cute little bungalow and move to Castro, boystown or Chelsea it may take me about a nano-second to grab our flat screen tuck the Shar-pei and run. I was thinking of running out of this burb as the words the vacuum cleaner bag were still blurting out at me sunk in. “You need to find Jesus, young man.”
My response was “Who do you think the flowers are for?”

Hamburger Mary's Alfresco

They say that Denver is behind “real cities” by up to five years. I began to believe this, since I left Dallas I’ve lived without a lot of things that I believe are essential to being a slim, trim modern gay guy. This weekend however we’re starting to be a major Mo city. Yes, Hamburger Mary’s is opening their patio. I have not chilled on a Big Gay Patio since I wore Z Cavariccis. Well, maybe not that long ago.
I think of myself as an eclectic kind of gay, I just may be the last Mo in Denver to really like the Eagle. Sorry, It’s a great bar. I get great service and cool freak watching. While everyone is whining that is “Not good enough.” They will soon being whining that there’s not a Leather Bar in Denver.
Use it or lose it.
But back to the patio, Denver needed a real gay patio bar. Now ya might be thinking “But Steve.. JR’s has a patio?” Okay fine, whatever.
I have to admit that I hate JR’s. this is mostly due to the time spent in the real JR’s in Dallas. Let’s just say that there was a bartender that had my credit card number memorized.
But just go hang out at Mary’s and you’ll love it. It is like living in a real honest-to-goodness big gay Mecca. You can sip on a Martini, then walk down to the Wrangler and get your Bear on. GRRRR!
Next thing you know and we’ll get a gay coffee house, real gay Bingo and then sometime after that gay marriage.

5 DAYS AND COUNTING

It’s been 5 days since I said goodbye to Chester.

Chester was my Chesapeake bay retriever. He was also my best friend and companion for 12 years. He was with me when I left Jeff and made the move to Dallas. He greeted me when I came home. He made every strange apartment I’ve had into a home. After a long time struggling with arthritis and hip dysphasia I finally came to the realization that his quality of life was slowly sinking. On Friday the 14th I gave him up. I picked up my best friend and loaded him in to the back of Frank’s Xterra. I scratched his head while I told him how much he meant to me. I whispered in his ear that I loved him and that I’ll see him soon. I let him know that he should be a good boy until then. I quickly shut the door.

True friends prove themselves almost effortlessly, by their actions they express how much of a family you’ve become. This came through clearly when Frank and Fuzzy drove away. The three of them had an appointment at the vet. I was told they sat talking to Chester while the vet inserted a IV needle into his back hip. As Fuzzy scratching Chester’s ears he told him what a great boy he was as he drifted off to a peaceful sleep. I have to believe this, and that he stared and Frank and Fuzzy happy that he had his people around. I pray that he did not wonder where I was.

JACK IS BACK

When I left Dallas I left behind the only man I ever loved. Well, the only fast food man I’ve ever loved. It was a tough decision to leave Dallas and Jack. Jack in the box is pretty much the best fast food on the planet. Did you know that Jack actually invented the drive through? Smart guy, when I left the bar I really didn’t want to have to get out of the Jeep in chaps just to get some food. The drive through was invented just to save the general public form having to see my 2:30AM bare ass.

When Dalton and I left Dallas it was with a heavy heart. I knew I was coming to a place that didn’t have Jack in the Box. Yes, there really was a place. A city that had no yummy Breakfast Jacks or 99-cent tacos. Now Denver had Jack in the boxes back in the 90s. But then they released their e.coli burger. A flesh-eating bacterium on a bun. After that they pulled out of the state. I had to suffer in somewhat silence all this time. That was until I was perusing through the Denver Post and found and article that my man was coming back to Denver. I felt renewed, like my man was coming back from war. Some sort of fast food war where they fought with sweet, sweet ketchup. The only problem was they didn’t have a grand opening date. So after five times of driving across town, did I mention that it’s completely across town? They finally opened and I am now reunited with my yummy breakfast jack and my sweet antenna ball headed man, Jack. If you want to go hit me up I’ll go any time. Or you can find me there with a tray of jack’s burgers and sweet ketchup on my chin.