Sometimes You're the Balloon...

I'm having one of those days...

Dining Room

It took the entire day. From 10a.m. to midnight, but I finally have my gay boy dream. A new dining room.


Around 10 in the morning we hitched up a U-Haul trailer and headed towards the blue and yellow of gay Mecca. IKEA. Home of flat packed fabulous.

Already aware exactly what we wanted, the plan was to get some breakfast at the IKEA KAFE, write down the numbers using their tiny golf pencils and load up the trailer of the couple of flat cardboard boxes. We would then whisk home for some hex key assembly so we could sit down for dinner on our new dining room table and six chairs, along with a sideboard to complement the look.

Plans are funny things. They’re so flexible some times. Did you know that IKEA has two-hundred, twenty-seven million dining room chairs to choose from? I did. So on during the very first trip I stated “Oh, cool! I love these chairs! Right here! These are the chairs we should get for our dining room?!” So, when we arrived in the dining room area of the store, freshly filled up on Swedish pancakes I knew the plan. Then, two hours later…. The homosexual life partner and I needed relationship counseling. That’s when we met Chrissie, the lesbian IKEA relationship counselor.

Chrissie helped us make healthy choices about our relationship. That coming to a 100% agreement on what type of chairs we want will never happen: that compromise is healthy. Chrissie taught us a lot that day. She taught me that when your partner is a complete wacked job and just can’t make a decision that maybe you should dump his ass in the department and go shop for while.

Every 15 minutes I would call him. At one point he had 10 dining room chairs lined up in the main isle and asked everyone that walked by, who appeared to have taste take a vote. My pick, won every time. After a long shopping spree on the lower floor I returned to find him with a total, final decision. Leather. It had taken four hours to decide, yet we were ready to leave. Then as we marched to the bins we pasted a vignette with my pick, the hive mind was changed.

After 5 ½ hours we loaded up the truck and headed home. Mexican food, a pizza and two trips to Homo Depot I had my new dining room. Around hour two the question was asked “why don’t we just go to Ethan Allen?” Now I know why we didn’t, if you work for something you appreciate it more.

Beware the Aberzombies

You learn life lessons no matter where you are.


My friend Tom just retired from twenty years in the Army. He has a wife and two kids. I met Tom, with his wife first through an event at church, then at their first gay pride parade. It was his first gay event other then bars and T-rooms. I wrote about it here.

The other night I was kicking back some beers with Tom, his wife, and his wife’s new boyfriend at JR’s. After coming across as a complete nerd explaining why our local gay bar is called JR’s Tom started to update me where he was in his transition to being openly gay, his new job in the private sector and what his plans where moving forward.

As we chatted, a small group on the other side of the table started to make fun of people coming in the front door. Most likely new to gay bars, a couple of guys seemed hesitant. They didn’t dress in complete modern up to date styles and did not in any way seem like Aberzombies. As one guy tripped coming in the gays giggled.

Tom stood up and in a military calm tone of voice explained that it probably wasn’t that long ago that they were stepping into a gay bar for the first time. That making someone the butt of your joke isn’t cool, in fact makes you look like an ass. Humor comes from wit, not judgment.

Upon sitting down and without missing a beat Tom continued to explain how helpful I was in supporting and helping him learn lessons about his new life. I was dumbstruck. “Yeah” I said “you learn from me?” That’s funny.

Cheesy Goodness

Yesterday was spent with my nose in a lap-top and my head in the fourth century.


Well from eight to two, anyway. After attending a five year old’s birthday party, by eight pm I was spent. Through, tired. Nothing was going to move me from my couch. Not even an invite to go to an impromptu BBQ with the gay street bikers and their amazing assortment of over the top, exotic side salads or their use of gorgonzola in the prosciutto topped burgers. They are a real bike gang, yet they need vests that read “SONS OF WHOLE FOODS” stitched across the back. Even their lure couldn’t get me to leave my Super-squishy, elle shaped sofa of softness.

Then, my stomach thought changed my mind.

The pizzeria/cell phone/gas station/quinceañera dress shop is right around the corner. So, really there wasn’t a reason to put pants on, a dirty T-shirt and boxer briefs and I was fine.

This was my justification until the pizza took ten extra minutes and I started tweeting in the middle of the gas station. This is when I discovered a local boy cruising me. At first I thought he was judging my poor choice in Calvin Klein sport wear, and then I realized he was wearing the new gay uniform. The black, tight T-shirt with paux-metal studs and metallic paint adorning crosses and skulls and other over-done tuff [sp] symbolism. Like a gay knock off of Ed Hardy. I will never understand why guys like this style, as it reminds me of the Kardashians or the rotating cast of the Pussycat Dolls, Why men wear these shirts is beyond me.

Please don’t think for a second that I don’t appreciate the irony of me judging a guy wearing a shirt that Cher would think was over the top, whilst I stood there in a ripped up wife-beater and stained Calvins. This realization turned me into the strange man who hangs out in the local pizzeria/cell phone/gas station/quinceañera dress shop in his underwear, laughing to himself.

Alexander the Great

My whole week has been consumed by Alexander the Great.


I have a ten page paper due in seven days, comparing Alexander’s campaign of conquering new territory for the propose of empire building to the founding of our modern government. Yet, I’m more intrigued by his sex life.

I eat this history stuff up, yet I’m having an ongoing issue with the Professor teaching this class. Here’s an example:

History Professor’s version:
Alexander the Great had a father named Phillip. He was King of Macedonia before Alexander and was murdered at his Daughter’s wedding.



GWM, swimmers build, ruler of empires,

Seeks muscle-bound bear, bodyguard type.

Must have large sword.  

Me: Whitney Houston, You: Kevin Costner.

No Persians

 

Textbook’s version:

Alexander the Great had a father named Phillip. He was King of Macedonia before Alexander and was murdered at his Daughter’s wedding by a bodyguard named Pausanias. Pausanias had been a lover of Philip, but became jealous when Philip turned his attention to a younger man; Pausanias got all Jerry Springer on the new boyfriend and became a stockerish creepy ex, causing the new boyfriend to off himself. The dead boyfriend’s best bar mate, Attalus, gets all possessive and gets Pausanias drunk and rapes his ass. Pausanias, with his ass still sore, goes and assassinates King Phillip.

Well, the textbook doesn’t say “rapes his ass” but you get the idea. But, the point is that my very conservative teacher, who also teaches at a Christian college, takes the time-old tradition of editing out the gay bits.

So, my paper does compare and contrast the differences between Alexander the Great and the US Constitution, but really will read like a Michael Tomas Ford novel. I do find it challenging to link Alexander’s own long term relationship with a bodyguard to the three branches of government, yet I did make a great simile in regards to when Alex’s lover dies, he forces an entire city to throw themselves onto Mr. Hotty bodyguard’s funeral fire to the Bush presidency.

Steve in a Vacuum

Last Blog Challange Question

I have finally made it to the very last question in the sixty-four blog challenge. It only took me six months, but we’ve come to the last question. And the toughest question:

The last thing that made you cry.

This is tough because it takes quite a lot to make me cry. The last thing that put me into tears was writing about my toughest choice question on Marches blog challenge FIVE DEGREES. You can read about that here.

I going to re-post it as well to answer this last Blog Challenge question:

In the pre-dawn morning I stood in the main terminal of LaGuardia Airport in New York City. My flight back to Colorado was departing soon. I had just helped drive a moving van across country ending in Dalton’s new life in Brooklyn.

There were a lot of tough choices to get us to this point. Some bad, some good, but the culmination of all these choices after four years together he was starting his life in New York.

In a way, that morning was the end of choices. We rode to the airport in calm silence. We watched the dark buildings of the strange city that would change what meant to be Dalton and Steve speed pass on the highway. The crushing crowd at the airport seemed to be move in slow motion. If only we had more time in our relationship…. Seconds ticked by…. Dalton and Steven as a couple where moments away from evaporating… I flashed to the smile on his face when he finally pulled his head out of his notebook at that coffee shop in Dallas. If we only had more time.

We hugged and he turned quickly. He disappeared into the crowd.

Five years have passed since that day and I wouldn’t change anything on the path since. Our bond is stronger today then even back then. We knew even on that day that we really would be connected forever. Yet choices had to be made to keep moving forward.

Our decisions define us; the tough choices define our character.

BIKE Shorts

I’ve started to work out at my school’s gym on the days I have class. I find that during that time of day I’m completely alone in the gym, other than Mr. Eller.




You want them to look like this...

Mr. Eller is the head of the athletic department and connoisseur of polyester coach shorts. We met a couple of weeks past when during my orientation to the gym explained to me what dumbbells are verses free weights. I feigned interest when showing me the emergency stop on the tread mills, I then expressed shared enthusiasm for making sure every plate gets returned to the correct place. Upon showing me the locker room and showers I was surprised when he didn’t demonstrate the proper soap lathering technique.  

...when they really look like this.

I have spent a lot of time since then thinking about gym coaches. No, not like you think. Okay, sort of like you think, but more about their style. I’ve been wondering about when a young man, fresh form college with a degree in physical training and education of athletics stops and says “I really need an ensemble that is comfortable, kicky, yet demands respect?” He then searches the finer magazines designed for the up and coming coach. CoachVogue and CQ (Coaches Quarterly) both point to the B I K E short. Not bike shorts or biking shorts, no. BIKE shorts. They’re comfortable, accentuate the upper thigh, and demand respect as they are cut in a maternity style under the belly. And every coach in the United States MUST wear them.

My new bud, Mr. Eller has a rainbow of colors in BIKE shorts. This has started me to think about my upper thighs. Have I denied showcasing my thighs to the world? I just might head to the sports shop and pick me up a pair. Get my polyester on.



Fall

I had to put on a hoodie this morning to take the dog for a walk.


When this happens, I am always reassured that Fall is my favorite season. This is due to the break in the weather. The long, dry summers of Colorado turn into cool autumns. The hot, summer storms end and crisp mornings begin.

Part of this love for cooler weather is the end to air conditioning. I can now open the windows for the first time in months. In the evening, I can crack open the window as I slip into my crisp, cool new IKEA sheets and duvet. A summer of hot sheets is now behind me.

I slip into a cool sheets and drift off to sleep listening to the outside world. The sound of the AC droning on and on is gone and instead I can start to hear the owls coming awake and starting their work day.

As I wrap my duvet around me, I’m thankful for the cool room surrounding me. I listen to the night sounds in our small fictional town wafting in the window. A train blows its whistle in the distance, I’m quickly asleep.

Life is Better then the Days Behind

The theme, it seemed last week in the blog-o-sphere was relationships. Relationships always need some sort of attention, if you’re still trying to re-tune your relationship it means you still care. And that is a good thing.


After years together two men can get into a routine, because men are men. If it works for them, who can judge the life they have built. If the routine is unhealthy, say… like why am I always the one man who cleans the shower, then the years of sharing a life together can open up communication as they have designed it.

Whether it’s a relationship where one partner flies off during the week or a relationship that works even though they don’t share a house, I’m sure if asked they’d say that the skin of a cookie cutter relationship wouldn’t fit them anyway. Because, life if better then the days behind.

The unwritten theme of relationships after being together for many years immediately made me think of a very old song. As much as I’m aware that posting a song in your blog to put in emphasis to a point is very “fan girl” I guess I’m guilty. I’m okay with that.

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.

LABOR DAY

The weather has changed.

The heat of late August has passed, giving me a cool morning as I take the dog for our early morning walk.  I think that Harley also senses the change as we walk along the canal that runs behind our house.

I try not to think that this is the beginning of fall because knowing Colorado, the dog and I will be met again with eighty degree temperatures soon enough. This morning autumn greets us.

Harley races ahead.

Our Labor Day will be filled with lounging in bed drinking coffee then a BBQ at a friend’s house. The morning it’s just the two of us wandering in the chill looking for bunnies to chase.  

   

DVD Challenge

I have an incredibly small DVD collection; this is probably due my obsession with Netflix.  My Netflix cue is a two page list of Godzilla, Dr. Who, and foreign films.  There are however two TV series I ravenously collect on DVD, Dallas and Absolutely Fabulous.

This week I’m feeling quite smart. The two TV series I collect both had announcements that they are returning to the airwaves. I’m quite the astute collector.

Dallas will comeback in the summer of 2012 as the next generation (DallasTNG?) The series on TNT will have JR and Bobby’s sons taking up the fight for Ewing Oil 33 years after Bobby walked back onto the ranch.

Absolutely Fabulous will return later this year with three specials to celebrate the show's 20th anniversary. Yes, it’s been 20 years of AbFab.

As you can surmise, I’m one happy homo.

I’ve shown you my DVD collection, now it’s time for you to show me yours. That’s right, I want to see what’s in your collection. Take a picture, and send me a link to somewhere on the interwebs I can see it. Blog it. Flickr it. Or simply send me the photo and I’ll post it. Just let me know your DVD passions.

*I categorically deny the existence of the movie Beaches in the above photo.

Blog Challenge

I only have two left. Just two more questions and I’ll be completed with the 64 question blog challenge.

‘member. The Blog Challenge. There has been some shifting here at Stevie blog, luckily I blog by weight not volume, I may settle during handling and shipping.

A lot of shifting about has happened in the last couple of months, “Look at me everybody! WordPress!!!! Oh, shiny!” Then “Grumble-grumble, blog roll won’t do…. the…. thing where it sorts by last update…” Downloads? Platforms? My own hosting software? “Uh, if you need me, I’ll be over at BlogSpot.”

“Look everybody, I’ve moved back to Original Coke.”

Now if I could just get around to answering the two last challenge questions:

62. Talk about the last “random act of kindness” you encountered.
63. The last thing that made you cry.

Right then, on to that….. Let’s knock out 62.

Yesterday I spent pretty much the entire day at my coffee shop. Although, technically not mine I spend a lot of time there to claim ownership. At one point sitting next to me was a gay couple with their stroller. An elderly woman came up to fuss over the baby girl inside. Upon asking the couple, one with beautiful mocha skin, the other with olive skin, what the girl’s name was they responded with beaming pride, “Cloey.”

“Jebus, why do all gay men name their daughters Cloey?” I thought as the grandmother peered in to the baby girl’s stroller. The elderly woman almost stumbled back like Rosemary seeing her baby for the first time. The baby could have been a poster child for Aryan propaganda. Beautiful blue eyes beamed up at her.

Confusion was turning into disgust on the woman’s face. The Dad’s tuned on the charm. They went into total “We’re not going to apologize for how we live, and you’re going to sit there and learn something” mode. By the time they were done, the grandmother was sharing stories of her history and asking questions about cloey’s sleeping patterns.

In my head, it was a complete “random act of kindness” to teach this grandmother that a family with a mocha Dad, an olive Dad and a Aryan girl can be just as normal as any other family out for the day.

Western Civilization

I saw the train wreck coming down the line. It moved quickly and suddenly I found it was my turn.

“Would you be interested in a Wells Fargo account?” The bubbly girl rambled off to me. “You can link it to the school ID and use that as a ATM card.” I had been standing in a very long line for a very long time waiting to take my turn getting in to the campus bookstore. I had attempted to complete the task of buying books in what seemed months ago but couldn’t due to one certain Western Civilization book being on “backorder”. I simply wanted to buy my book and get the hell out of Dodge City.

“No thanks. “ I said to Bubbles. She went on to explain that it will save time and help my student adopt independence. As she said this she was half speaking to me and half to the shell-shocked guy behind me. That’s when the Matrix cam went off in my head. The entire line was parent with kid, parent with kid…. down to me. Suddenly I had a son and I was helping to finalize his book list.

I bit my tongue. I fought the urge to scream “Look lady.. I’m not a parent.. I still sit up ‘till 3AM watching Japanese anima in my tighty-whities. I have a sub-woofer in my car. I collect sci-fi action figures. I listen to techno damn it!” I would of screamed that but, then the rest of the line would starts saying things like “Gee willikers, what‘s that old man yelling about up there? Bet his son is really embarrassed.”

Morning Run

Have you ever decided something was exceedingly simple in your head? Base jumping, easy! Periodontal root planing, easy! Smiling at a girl in the gym a little too long, then as the girl thinks that you’re flirting with her and comes up to move the relationship on to the next level trying to explain that really you’re a huge Mo and you were only staring at her because you thought she was your niece, easy!

I had been avoiding the conversations of “we should run together some time” from friends and family. My sister asked if I’d join her in a fun-run for charity. I turned my head and pretended I didn’t speak English. “Sorry. Nooo runy funy.” Sure, it sounded exceedingly simple in my head. Until I realized that I run like one of the hippos from Fantasia if right in the middle of the hippo dance recital they dropped a big game hunter loaded with a high-powered rifle. The Hunter giving orders that he will give me and the troop a three count head start then he was a-coming for some tutued hippo ass. I run like a hippo, in a tutu trying to flee for its life. Or, something like that.

It sounded exceedingly simple, and then I would imagine my tutu and decline. Until yesterday.

Yesterday morning I pushed myself further on a run than ever before. This was mostly due to a guy we’ll call Mike. Because I never got his real name. Mike didn’t give me a chance to say “No thanks, I’d like to go running… but I don’t speak English… and I’m a hippo you see… and my tutu might get in your way…. hippo…

As I had just completed a warm up lap, Mike came from out of the blue and started to match my stride. We ran for quite awhile without speaking, just ran in the early morning sun. Without realizing it, my tutu was gone. The mad hippo hunter was gone. I ran farther and with a better stride than ever before. Then, Mike was gone. He just uttered thanks for the run and turned out of the park.

Running with someone? Exceedingly simple.

College Boy

Yesterday marked a milestone in my so called life. College orientation. Again.

I’ve blogged in the past about my chosen career and its eventual fading away. I felt it was time to switch gears and as I approach forty to embark on another path. This led me to sitting in a large auditorium with hundreds of people just like me. Okay, a dozen people like me and hundreds of nineteen year olds. Smelly, texting nineteen year olds. I can say smelly because half way through the lecture on balancing your school work with your parents help and me thinking “my parents are eighty, and probably aren’t the best help on Calculus” the skate boarder next to me with the half bleached blond hair started to chat me up. He totally wants to like meet up and totally check out the gym. I responded that it would be totally fetch.

Our mascot is a wolf that looks suspiciously like a furry I saw at pride last year. I received a book bag full of freebies. The best was a window sticker for the back window of my car. Nothing looks classier than that.

My classes start next Tuesday. One is a creative writing class since I bombed that section on my entrance exam. This was exceedingly hysterical to me because 3,388 blog hits last month could have told them that.

Now I just need to bleach half my head blond, stop showering, and buy some skinny jeans.

Big Wheel

When I was five or six I wrote a letter to Santa declaring my love for him.


No, not that I would love it if he brought me toys. That I was desperately in love with him. Since he was the source of all things wonderful in my world I screamed like a Justin Bieber fan on Christmas morning when rushing out to the tree I found the love letter back from my idol.

“Santa” had received my letter and upon delivery of the big-wheel, wrote on the top of the box that he too was fond of me. My fay heart was reeling. It was akin to Zak Spears sending me a letter on scented stationary declaring that he wouldn’t know peace until I was his. But with a big-wheel.

Jebus I was a strange and effeminate little boy. But this may explain why I have a fondness of guys with beards.

When I was just out of high school I found another man that rocked my world in such a complete way as my big-wheel boyfriend. I declared my love for an amateur body builder named JT. Every glance was like Christmas morning. Every time he looked my way it was un-wrapping my big-wheel. But, like my favorite toy from my childhood the time with the body builder didn’t last long. Both were cheap plastic and within months broke. Leaving me broke along with the plastic.

Steve grows up into a well adjusted, contented guy. Who happens to wander around Facebook and stumbles upon his first love. No, Not Santa. The former amateur body builder.

It’s funny how what you yearn for, desire to have forever and ever is just temporary and you can look back grateful that what you wanted never came to be. If I could Say something to my 15 year old self it would be to live by the mantra: All things are in fact temporary.

I’m learning lately that happiness is not a state where you get rid or give up on your desires. Rather, you change your relationship with them. The ability to stay present and to remain open to emotions without getting "hooked" is something I’m learning and increasingly is carried over into my daily life.

All things are impermanent ...not quite the same thing as temporary, but similar. There is nothing wrong with thinking about the past or present or future ... but the goal is to not be hooked by thoughts, as well as to not be hooked by emotions.

Things To Do In Denver...

I came up with one of my genius ideas. Well, my friend DJ Gary and I have come up with a genius idea.

We meet once a week and go have an adventure in our fair city. One of us will think of stuff we always wanted to go do or see in Denver then actually stop the busy schedule for a day and go explore. So far it’s been a great way to spend the summer. I’m quite the gay urban explorer. Okay, so spending six hours in IKEA really doesn’t count. But, other adventures have been exploring and rediscovering Confluence Park, museums, and spelunking at pawn shops. And although Denver has gotten much better at securing their abandoned buildings, there might just be some visiting to “off limits” buildings around town.

Our next adventure will start as all of them, with Chinese food. Then it’s a bike ride around the Highland neighborhood to check out new bars and to scout out any…. off-limits structures to visit. wink-wink.

Damn You Bloggers

I read two separate articles yesterday on topics close to my heart. The first had a topic on the death of personal blogging; the second was on the death of podcasts.


It’s funny how magazine writers need to find a topic then try to exploit its possible fail to make a story. With both topics I’m not surprised that a corporate owned news company would say that two entities that cannot be controlled by corporations are doomed. But, the theme of this “personal blog” isn’t about how corporate news modifies our behavior. Its theme is a personal blog; I’ll keep my corporation paranoia to myself.

The suggested move to only write in 140 characters on Twitter and away from blog posts is overlooking that the early adapters to blogging are now just utilizing twits to just drive traffic to their blogs, it’s a PR move, not the next evolution.

The author suggesting that podcasting has no relevant role in advertizing is correct. That’s the point. The author also clearly isn’t gay. Or just doesn’t have great taste in music. I say this because on my iPod there are a dozen DJ’s podcasts with incredible music. More and more DJs are using podcasts as business cards, a way to demonstrate their mad skills in a way to also build fans. It’s brilliant.

If the theme today is akin to me shaking my rake at the neighborhood kids and telling them to stay off my lawn I’ll just ramble on to say that I think I might be over my WordPress blog. I soon may be moving back to Blogger. The reason? Fellow bloggers. Well, reading their blogs that is. After numerous attempts I cannot get my blog roll to sort by the Blogger’s last update. I can sort alphabetically or by some random order yet is won’t pull an update from the post and sort it by date/time. I’ve submitted help tickets to WordPress but this is equal to placing a sign reading FREE CAT next to a road kill tabby.

*shakes rake*

Cin City

The funny thing about going on vacation, especially when it's to an ordinary place is the reactions you get. The last couple of days where filled with people wrinkling their noses and asking why I was on vacation in their home town.

At first I would offer up explanations about the rich history and the architecture. Yet after the third cashier not buying my story, I said I was in Ohio for work. Funny how you can live in a city yet not know anything about it.

I soaked up Cin City like a sponge. I did every walking tour of anything historic I could find, I spent hours having the history of the art deco Union Terminal train station explained. My history nerd was in full force. At night I repeated the process but with Cincinnati's gay bars. I saw drag shows at Shooters and guys being flogged at The Serpent.




With all the walking and avoiding of drag queens the appetite I worked up was easily handled with local cuisine, like a four way. That's Skyline chili (Cincinnati's famous red chili), spaghetti, onion, and a mountain of cheese. It's funny how easily "Yeah, I'll have a Diet Coke and a four way" came off my tongue. If my palette wasn't satisfied with chili then there was an endless supply if White Castles.

To recoup my energy I spent my non-eating, drag queen dodging, man flogging time lying naked on a pool float at the newly-renovated lesbian Kentucky plantation.

There's something to be said about vacationing in a random city. Although don't get me wrong, give me the choice of London or Lincoln and you'll know my answer.

I'll Ink Myself

I’m totally going to get a tattoo. Really.




I said this once to a friend once who quickly rolled their eyes. I was then told that there are three types of people, ones who will never get inked, ones who are addicted to getting tattoos, and ones like me who keep saying that someday they’ll get ink done.



I guess in life everyone has their perpetual to-do list. The list of things we procrastinate about. Mine is a long list that begins with getting a tattoo, stutters around having a torrid affair with an Aspen ski instructor named Luke, whitening my teeth, volunteering at Denver’s GLBT Center, and flashing my dick on that London Eye Millennium Wheel. You know, stuff you would totally do if you just didn’t have to wait for the dishwasher repair technician, or have dinner with one of your less popular relatives.



When the day comes…really sometime soon… I’ll make the appointment and get that tattoo I speak of. I even know what I want, it’s not like I’d spend hours flipping through the photo catalogs just to say “yeah, I want a barbed-wire arm band, but make it unique. Something that represents my soul.” Or maybe some Chinese characters that some said means “Hope” but looks like Combo #2 Beef with Broccoli. Unless I could get 健怡可樂 on my forearm, that would make ordering at my favorite restaurants so much easier.



So, since most people who get tattoos do it just to show off that they’re all deep thinking persons of the universe I guess I’ll do just that. The unutterable name of G-d.



Having to read a lot about the big bearded guy upstairs I kept finding mentions to the power in writing his name in permanent form. The Hebrew translation cannot be written in any permanent form, it is forbidden unless strict rules are to be followed. Thus, it must not be destroyed nor altered but hallowed. Even though it’s acceptable to white the name on a computer, as it is considered non-permanent I hold the concept with so much respect I’d rather link to the page with the name on it. Although when I do finally get around to getting my tattoo there will be a lot of explaining to do during that part of the night out at the bar when guys start comparing ink.



“What is it?” The random guy screams over blaring Beyoncé.



“It’s the Unutterable name of God” I’ll scream.



“Udders of God? If you can’t say it how’d ya tell the guy to ink it?”



Since I’ll get this on my external oblique or Apollo’s belt I slowly lower my shirt. “It’s Hebrew for I think I’m all deep!”

Diner Talk

I sit alone at the counter. I’ve sat alone at this and other counters like it since I was old enough to drive.

For me, this is my most guilty pleasure.

When life becomes too much, or maybe I’m on top of the world I find myself seated at the counter of my local Japanese rice bowl, teriyaki quick dining restaurant. Sitting at the bar I enjoy the ritual of rubbing the frayed wooden chop-sticks. The slowly working my way through a chicken and rice bowl covered to entirely way too much pickled ginger. Doing this somehow puts the magnetic lines of the earth’s axis back into proper alignment.



All my grand decisions about life are plotted and re-plotted out here. My failures dissected and examined for their meaning and direction. My accomplishments are added to the listed Excel spreadsheet in my head. Each column growing slowly with each visit to the counter. Each Chicken teriyaki bowl somehow marks the passing of my life. Upon the passing of my Step-Mother and visiting with my Father in Boise I discovered that the old man did the same thing. Just with pancakes and coffee.



I most certainly don’t need to be alone at the counter to click the beads on the abacus. It just mostly works out that way.

Can’t Stand The Rain

It’s pretty much rained everyday for two weeks now. Around three you can spot the dark clouds roll down the mountains. If your office window faces the great Rocky Mountains like mine does you can watch as the rolling thunder clouds pour over the continental divide like Mount Doom spreading darkness over Mordor.


Yesterday was not different. Beautiful sunny skies helped me with my chores of GRL or gym, run, laundry then the lighting moves in and start the evening cycle. Since this is a daily occurrence you’d think I‘d learn and stay the flack home. But, no this is when I decided that driving around the tiny fictional town I call home would be a great idea.

The thunder and lightning started as I drove down Main Street. The dog, who was more than happy to sit in the passenger seat decided quickly that my lap would protect him from the thundering booms. Hail started to pound the hood of the car as I pulled into the covered parking lot of the local gas station/pizzeria/cell phone/Quinceañera dress shop/stereo/liquor store. The Shar-pei that was more barnacle then dog and I waited out the storm. This is when I saw the sign.

Hot Pizza. It kept flashing on and off right in front of the car. Yes, it would be dinner yet I could utilize it for another purpose. Dislodging the barnacle I dashed in my flip-flops to the store. Then gently strolled back to the car after my purchase of a flat cardboard pizza box umbrella.



The Shar-pei and me in dryer times



The Chinese Shar-pei has been bred over two-thousand years. Part of their breeding resulted in a complete fear of water. You won’t find the waters in the port of Shanghai teaming in feral Shar-pei (s-es-ezeese-ezzzes)



I thought of this only after adorning my pizza hat, grabbing my dogs leash and bolting up the drive way towards the manor house. I quickly was jerked back by a wrinkled boat anchor. This brings us to our protagonist’s final scene. Picture it: Stevie B. running up a wet driveway in flip-flops, a pizza in his head and carrying a thirty-five pound angry Chinese dog.

My life as it has been lived with dignity.

UNDER CINCINNATI

Well the ticket has been purchased. The mid-summer vacation will be the type where you go with your homosex partner to visit their old college town. Visit their old friends, eat at the old haunts and walk the campus again. The entire time with you agreeing, “Yes, this is the best chili ever eaten, No you can’t believe you worked in that random building.” The green lawns I be trudging upon will belong to the University of Cincinnati Conservatory of Music. In Cincinnati. The Cincinnati in Ohio.

The above paragraph may come across as sarcastic yet, I myself have dragged people across cities reminiscing upon the Good ‘ol Days. I once talked a flock of Mos into driving around Stratford High School in Houston, Texas to show the exact spot where fellatio took place between me and the Quarterback. When told that you’re driving next to a park where in 1995 Ty Herndon was arrested for exposing himself to an undercover cop, I understand it would be hard to feign interest.

On this trip there will be a large consumption of Cincinnati Skyline chili and Graeters ice cream. Yet I’ve discovered something that will make me burn off the calories consumed by eating bowl after bowl of chili infused copious amounts of cinnamon, cheese, onions, and spaghetti.

Abandoned subway system.

As you well know I love to dig around abandoned and dangerous urban infrastructure. Cincinnati built a subway in the very early twentieth century then ran out of money to finish the project. My idea of a vacation? Take tours of the abandoned rat infested subway platforms in the Ohio humidity.

I’m one A-list gay.

Other then the big, annual camping trip next week there’s nothing but work for the Old StevieB. Nose to the grindstone work.

THE 5th OF JULY

The Fourth of July weekend always has its own flair to it, a more relaxed summer vibe. The weekend started for me at a long table in a Chinese restaurant as the friends decompressed and set the tone for the upcoming three day weekend.

Saturday began with the ubiquitous trip to Home Depot then over to BFF Carl’s house to help him move furniture around. In the process of changing the living room in to the dining room, Carl likes to sit fifteen down to dinner at a moment’s notice. Before you could say Antique bone china it was time for a night hanging out at a local pub.

A night at the breaded boy bar equals a quiet easy starting Sunday of coffee and potato pancakes. This was followed by Puma and flip-flop shopping. By the time the thermometer reached the high 90s it was time for Beer Bust with the bears.

Yes. That is the BFF Carl in the background. Yes. He is doing that on purpose. No. I have no earthly idea as to why.

The Fourth was marked by the huge annual BBQ at BFF Frank’s house. It was a nice way to relax and enjoy the day as the heat subsided and the massive amounts of food and beer were slowly consumed. I made a couple cherry pies, finally giving up my high pure butter standards I broke down and made the crust with lard. The choice yielded the best crust I’ve ever baked.

Today is back to the spreadsheet game. I did however; go for a long run around our tiny village this morning to help burn off the weekend of over indulgence. Every street corner was littered with the burnt out shells of fireworks and scorch marks from long dead glowing snakes

JULY 4th WEEKEND

The calendar marks this as 4th of July weekend here in the states. This is our independence celebration to commemorate casting off the shackles of our Native American overlords and declared a free nation. True Americans mark this day by making delicious meals of buffalo and corn, not maize and shooting off fireworks to scare the evil Indians back to their palaces in Utah. Sorry, I told myself I wouldn’t cry….

The homosex community celebrates the great battles for independence by stripping down to cargo shorts and flip-flops and drinking a lot of beer. Well, at least I do. And no Mother Earth loving first nationer is going to stop me. On Monday the 4th I’ll attend a BBQ over at a friend’s house. Frank will be grilling pork spare ribs. We’ll sit around just wishing they were buffalo ribs.

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THE TIES THAT BIND

Jim over at Jim’s Stuff Blog talked today about his stuff. More precisely his closet, more precisely his ties. Jim posed the question “What’s in your closet?” I thought I’d answer.

I was about to say that I don’t own a lot of ties. Although I did have jobs in the past were I was required to wear them. Then I stopped and examined the photo. The flowery monstrosity was from back at University when I would dress in that tie, white dress shirt, threadbare ripped jeans and combat boots. This was to coordinate with my Flock of Seagulls hair.

Second from the left is my first Giorgio Armani. This was purchased for a wedding in 199something…. Big silver was for my commitment ceremony with Dalton.

I guess I hold on to things more than I thought. So, what’s in your closet?

DINING OUT FOR STEVE

Ever have a weekend where you dine out for every meal? From Italian themed buffets to Texas themed steak houses this weekend was about the food.

As much as I try to avoid chain restaurants that was this weekend’s theme. Especially Friday when we dined at a massive buffet designed with a Tuscany meets Vegas feel. The perfect place to go when you spent your Mom’s money on the prom limo and don’t really like your date. We lucked out because there was a transgender group sitting next to us, fifteen middle-aged ladies trying to navigate the endless rows of Italian cuisine filled chafing dishes in polyester. They’ve driven trucks for years yet can’t master a sensible three inch heal. One looked around when I greeted her with “Good evening Ma’am.”

A late lunch at PF Chang’s was my goal for Saturday. The mega corporation trying to look like a humble Chinese village that is PF Changs is another restaurant that I love and hate. I can only go between the hours of two and five. Any other time and it’s akin to eating Asian Fusin on a subway platform. Off hours and it can actually be a great experience. This was the point of my weekend where I rekindled my love affair with Japanese beers.

Sunday was time for some real authentic Texas steaks. Texas Road House is as Texas as Texas gets. And it doesn’t lose any of its appeal knowing that the corporate headquarters for this Texas institution is Louisville, KY and even if it was years before they actually opened up a restaurant in Texas they still know how to treat you right.

Now it’s back to my eighteen-hundred calorie diet. Then I’ll try to burn off the entire weekend with a long cleansing run and pushing plates of another sort at my mega corporation gym.

SUMMER time

I love the last weekend in June. Summer has arrived, it stays daylight until 9:30PM and I can walk the dog in just a wife-beater and gym shorts and enjoy the summer breeze. The jasmine in my mind. It has been blown.

Last night I met up with friends and sat in front of the local gay coffee-house until it closed. Sitting out on the patio I watched the night slowly overtake the trees in the park. As the little squares of light flickered on up and down each floor of the high-rises surrounding the park a real wave of contentment washed over me. Then just as I was in the wave of summer happiness I thought: Only seven more questions in the Blog Challenge.

T-minus seven is a repeat. This explains why there were sixty-four questions in the blog challenge, just repeat a couple, no one will notice. So, again A talent: I gave a lame answer to this question back on number thirty; I’ll give another lame answer this time. The last beer bust at our local bear bar I showed up sporting a skin-tight 2xist tank top, a white UnderArmour baseball cap, and khaki cargo shorts. I could tell it looked great because there was a much bigger built guy wearing the same thing down to the cap and shorts. Showing up wearing the same thing as a much better looking guy is a talent, of sorts. Not that I care about much about that, just throw me in a worn-out T-shirt and cargos and I’m good to go. This, of course will be the uniform of late June shorts, threadbare T-shirts and Pumas.