...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. 

YOLO

I spent my day yesterday doing homework at the local gay coffee shop. After the coffee had gone through me, I headed to the bathroom. Upon my entrance to the Men’s room I immediately noticed the newest addition to the men’s room decor. Someone had taken time and effort to scratch YOLO into the stainless steel towel holder. 

So, you believe in the mantra of “You Only Live Once.” The concept that we have a choice of living life to its absolute fullest, seize the day, and do what makes you happy. Maybe you are picking up Henry Fonda’s vibe from the1937 crime drama that shares the same name, You Only Live Once. Henry Fonda busts out of jail in this classic after gunning down a prison chaplain. All for the love of Sylvia Sidney. Maybe this film noir, along with the hipster, Jersey Shore urban, modern take of controlling your own destiny drove you to use, no doubt, your laundry room key to scrape this well versed acronym into a gay coffee shop’s towel dispenser?

May I offer a bit of advice? There are a million stellar sights and experiences to behold in this amazing world. Biking trails in the Rocky Mountains, so amazingly beautiful they bring tears to one’s eyes. Discovering and unavailing unconditional love from another person. The pride and inner-strength of standing up for your integrity and morals in this corrupt society. I can not begin to see the edge of possibility in life. No one can. That is why it is so amazing. And some modern philosophers believe you only have one chance at it.  

No one has ever, nor shall anyone be able, to unravel the mysteries of life. So, yes you only live once, or YOLO. As individuals begin to explore the advancements and developments in their place in this finite life, great adventures take place. Go! Take it, Seize it!  You do only live once. And, in my opinion, that life should not be about defacing a f%$#king Dazbog paper towel dispenser. Ya’ nit-wit. 

Labor Day

The Labor Day weekend was just the kick off to my "Late Summer Staycation." For me this is a quiet time to enjoy the ending of the crazy summer and welcome the fall season. This breather seemed to be the only time I could crank up the tunes and strip down to running shorts to give a well-deserved hand wax to the car in the local gay park. Truly a great way to meet people.

Labor Day found me relaxing with friends having a barbecue; it was just a  cat dangling afternoon....

After the symbolism of Labor Day betokening the end of summer, my mind too thought of fall. Well, new athletic shoes for fall. Mostly because everything makes be think of new athletic shoes. This prompted me to finally organize my obsession. So I went to the Homo Depot and bought a cart of this...

I then, turned it into this..

It's been a pretty great week off. As my home projects are done; today I'm off to the mall. The reorganizing of my running shoes gave me room to buy a couple more pair.

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.

Down Time

This week I’ve had the opportunity to enjoy four days away from work and adult responsibility. The only schedule I had to keep was going to the gym and remembering when Adventure Time was scheduled on Cartoon Network. 

Yesterday a friend came over in the morning for an “all day” season/series 7 Doctor Who marathon. He only lasted 7 episodes before his brain (and writer hatred) started to boil. Leaving me to finish the remaining 7 episodes with just me, nachos, and the Shar-pei. Let’s just say that the dog doesn’t care for Steven Moffatt. 

With all this down time I’ve also taken to become a stalker to a fictitious television character on Twitter. 

The 1” square photo on Twitter indicates that he is a slim, trim British lad of proper breeding. As I have a massive thing for slim and trim British lads, I quickly became a stalker fan. The gentleman being complete fictional, truly had no barring on the level of my desire. Apparently. I started to follow the tweets of this British lad (or whom ever tweets as this trim, educated specimen) I soon found myself in the embarrassing situation with a crush on Sheridan Bucket. The proper, well bred son of Hyacinth and Richard Bucket. Yes, that Mrs. Bucket.  From the five year, 1990’s British television program, Keeping up Appearances. 

Yes, I know it would never work between us. Me being a forty year old male of dubious background, mostly comprised of flesh and bone. Sheridan, only existing on Twitter, and my mind, is most likely being a sixty year old married woman living in Bedford. I believe I might need to seek treatment for my anglophilia. 

Maybe all this down time isn’t such a good thing. Structure is what I apparently what I need. 

Camp

Now that the late Rocky Mountain snow has turned to rain. My thoughts turn to the summer and my favorite activity, gay camping. It’s gay, because it’s fabulous. 

This time of year I begin to look forward to some weekend get-aways up in the mountains. Quick weekend camping trips, with a tent, a fire, and all my cool camping technology. Gay camping is, for me, about the propane cylinders and electric ignition on the camp stove, the lanterns with the fragile asbestos mantles, and all those bendy fiberglass poles for the tent. I believe I enjoy the folding camp chairs with the extra large cup holders just as much as the rugged, pine forest and rock cliff encrusted scenery. 

You haven’t camped until you do it with a gay who truly enjoys his 15 piece, blue speckled enamelware cook set. It’s like All-Clad, for an open fire. This year I’ll be enjoying my new matching enamelware coffee percolator. 

I can’t wait for the first chance to get out and truly rough it. Lying under the stars late at night, listening to the campfire slowly burn out. The feel of the sleeping bag and 700 thread count camping sheets loosely wrapped around my naked body. Completely back to nature. 





Check out my Tumblr page for my camping themed photos at ntssb.tumblr.com

http://ntssb.tumblr.com

The Gay Flag

As I walked through the hotel lobby during my recent stay, I once again got the nod. That knowing affirmation that two men share when, in passing, they notice the signal that states that something is different. The subtle symbol of the elite club that sophisticated and distinguished gentlemen share. 

The modern day gay pride flag, the Atlantis cruise bag. 

If you’ve experienced the Christmas day like feeling of returning to your stateroom on the last day of your over-priced gay cruise, you know what it feels like to find that another Atlantis gym bag has been deposited, like magic, in the middle of your cabin’s bed. A collective squee can be heard miles out to sea as countless queens find their new gym bag has been left like a Santa filled stocking.  


From that point on, you carry your bag like it's Louis Vuitton. This is because in retrospect, it cost as much as a LV gym bag.

A smile. A nod. Maybe a “I have that bag” can start countless conversations. 

Turkey Week

It is American Thanksgiving week.

I am actually a little bummed because school is on “Fall Break,” meaning that I don’t have classes this week. Am I the only nerd that likes to go to class? I guess so. Last Thursday the professor, the one who said you can get AIDS from a soda can, announced that he doesn’t really want to grade anything, so he’s going to just divide up everyone who showed up to his lectures and give them “A’s.” I guess that the sixteen page paper on Martin Luther won’t really count for anything? Just sitting in the seat will score me an “A.” Well, I still spend any free time this weekend when I was not at IKEA clicking away at the homo coffee house to complete the pages before the deadline.
My highlight of the break will be spending free time with friends. On Wednesday Dalton, my Ex turned Best Friend Forever, flies in from New York. I’m very excited to spend Thanksgiving week with him. Ever since Dalton moved back to New York I’ve haven’t had anyone to go watch Gay Hockey. If it’s a week visit filled with Hockey or the Cooking Channel, it will be fun jus to spend time with him.

This week also spurs the call from the Mom asking me to come visit her. To be preemptive, I stopped by over the weekend. Her house looked amazing, not at all I expected from an eighty-three year old living alone. When asked about the up-keep she plainly stated that “the boys” come in once a week for cleaning and maintenance. She now has a parade of Mormon Missionaries come over every week and complete a long list of chores. When I stated that she’s using them as the help, like tie wearing, Book of Mormon thumping maids, she turned very defensive. “They like to come over. They enjoy helping me out!” She said pointing a finger at her cat, for some strange reason. Moral of the story, convert to Mormonism and get free maid service.

This seems to be the one time of year to just relax and enjoy friends. The stress and worry of life can wait for next week. Now it’s time to just plan the free time, make cheesecakes and get ready for the big parade on television Thursday morning.

The Femail Man

Sometimes I fear that since I so infrequently check my mail box that the femail man will someday call the cops to do a welfare check at my house.

Yesterday was a mental break day for me, Tuesday found me scrambling to completed a major report for work and today I have an exam at school. Yesterday was all about gym shorts and un-washed hair. Just one of those days where you spend hours going up every isle at Über Target throwing crap you’re your cart you’d never buy unless under the influence of the man fumes coming from your dirty T-shirt.

“Wow, they’re paper towels… but in a box!”

It wasn’t until late afternoon that I came to my senses and really started my day. This is when I was greeted by a month’s worth of mail at the mail box. And also Ted. Ted is a neighbor that would find fault in toast. The type of person that actually posts on Facebook or Twitter about how he doesn’t like any new formatting changes. “God, I hate the new Facebook blah, blah, blah” It was his anger over the femail man not lining up his mail that made me realize that I was in an exceedingly great mood. I guess the whole “recharge your batteries” thing, actually works.

Today I have paper towels in a box and my mail out of my box. I also feel ready to take exams at school and generally re-join the world.