'Better Work

Yesterday marked an amazing and scary change in my life. I emailed my boss and turned in a two week notice.

This action was the end result of four weeks worth of interviews for a great new position with an exciting company. It was an unexplainable catharsis to click send on the email.  A moment of feeling the heavy iron shackles beginning to loosen around my ankles.

The irony of the situation was when, hours later, my boss called me. Instead of discussing the email, he laid into the insurmountable pile of work he had lined up for me that day. When he finally finished his lecture on time management, I simply asked if he checked his own email.... The pile of work disappeared, upon his reading out-loud of my gifted mail.

On to bigger and better things. But, as the goddess of irony gives; she also takes. My first week on the new jobs is right during finials week at school. 

Travel Time

Have you had a dating relationship with someone from another city? The typical long distance relationship. I wonder how this style of relationship works, the actual mechanics of attempting to establish closeness when the other person lives in another town.  I have, of late, attempted to pursue this style of relationship. Trust me, it is harder than it looks.

As I have grown older my tough-guy, no hugging, "I need my space" policy has worn away. The idea of having a boyfriend whom lived a plain ride, or even a car ride away seemed perfect for my younger self. To see and date on a regular, yet infrequent timetable.  I am finding lately that I have unknowingly changed this demeanor.  The ginger-swimmer from last fall lived almost two hours away, the Spaniard before him lived in San Francisco. Now, I am finding that a relationship is the little things. The stupid stuff we do together when there is not a time crunch. Dating is not the hot sex. It is the hot sex followed by wandering around the supermarket together, afterward in search of food. Maybe grabbing coffee and just wasting away a morning. Together.

I would never shoot down a hot boy that actually wanted to take on the bag of neurotic strangeness that is me, just because he lives an hour north of my town, it is not a deal breaker. It just seems I am scratching my head at the extra time it takes to build that level of closeness when time is so limited. 

The Name Game

Could date a person with the same name as you? It is an odd question that truly applies to LGBT people. Could you date a guy or a girl with the same name. If I was chatting up a guy named Steve, I'm unsure how I would feel. Yes, there's the lame joke about screaming out your own name during sex, but seriously? I think I would really have mixed feelings whether I could ask out a guy named Steve.

What about dating? Would we be known as "The Steves?" Like when inviting people over to a fabulous dinner party one host would turn to their partner and ask, "Should we invite The Steves?" Or, when you are living together, a telemarketer calls and asks to speak to Steve. I've know Kathy and
Kathie, like the "y" changes things. I've known a Jim and a Jimbo, and a Mike whose handsome life partner was Mic.  I really am curious how these couples know what Christmas stocking to grab on Christmas morning. How narcissistic would it be to stand around at work on Monday morning talking about how much fun you had with Sue.  "Sue is soooo great at rock climbing. Sue is such a great cook, Saturday Sue made Spaghetti alla Carbonara."

What about dating a person with your Dad or Mom's name? Do you really want to quietly whisper your Dad's name into the ear of someone who passed out on top of you after hours of sweaty sex? My Dad's first name is Wilbur , so.... no trouble with that. I've never chatted up that hot bro leaning against the bar to find out his name is Wilbur. Would it be okay to be sitting at Thanksgiving and telling the family your new partner is also named Linda. "Linda and I are really romantically compatible."

Is it a deal breaker?

Come on Spring

The weather here in Denver has been teasing us the last couple of days.  It has been giving us full Spring time realness. I personally have been picking up what Mother Nature has been laying down. Yesterday, after hand washing my Jeep.... well, holding the spray nozzle to one spot as I watched a shirtless dude detail his Porsche. Slowly caressing the fenders, with his massive hands. Leaning over in his gym shorts-sans underwear... Uh, yes. Washed my jeep...

After that adventure, I took the shiny 4x4 to Cheeseman Park, for some of my own shirtless time. This marked the first time for 2015 where I was able to relax in the park. My summer plans consist of as much of this activity as possible. Bring on Spring. 

Chasing Shakespeare

I have discovered that taking a Shakespeare class, online is not the best idea. In fact it's right up there with grocery store sushi, or trying to date a straight guy.

I say this, the online Shakespeare part because no matter how hard I try to focus on the meaning and depth of William's plays, I'm finding it impossible to focus. Now, I have taken a lot of Literature classes in my time, even some involving that English playwright. Reading and understanding the guy when you're sitting alone in a Starbucks is different. And, I am finding the class very difficult.

I don't hold up much hope for making it until the last day of class, May 9th. I might chuck the whole idea. Or, it is possible I just may fail the course. I have never received to a bad grade before. Ever. But, my last grade on my, what I thought was a great paper, was "F." I was shocked. Every detail that I was marked down on, were legitimate issues. But, hyper critical in their execution.

Guess I will just try my hardest to get the remaining points I can. Shakespeare or bust. In the mean time, I'll chow down on some day old Sushi, and wait for the straight guy I had plans with to show up. 

Glassy

After buying the shiny new Jeep in June, I already have to replace the windshield. Let this be a lesson; when you get a chip in your car's windshield, have it filled/repaired.  It's a cheaper choice than buying new glass. 

Jeeps are strange contraptions. Their windscreens have the Jeep grill logo embossed into the top center, as a sun blocker. There's also a tiny Jeep in the corner, just in case you forgot you owned a Jeep. This honor drives the price for a new windscreen up by three-hundred dollars. Yeah. That's right, proprietary parts. Thanks Jeep. 

They do make other, "non-branded" windshields. These are exactly the same, without the cool factor. So, for three hundred less dollars, I'm getting the generic version. But, if you know me; you know I'm a huge label whore. So... Here's the deal. I found after-market stickers that mimic the Jeep logos. I can apply the knock-off stickers and Viola! Jeep branding!  I'll always feel like I am wearing cheap Pro Wing tennis shoes from K-Mart, but they'll look like Pumas. 

The Second Date

I am getting amazingly talented at first dates. A second date; however, is seeming to be an elusive near impossible act for me to obtain. That is to say, that I can take a guy out to dinner, act like a gentleman, talk for hours, and at the end of the date really feel a connection. Yet, even with plans made; date number two simply never comes to pass.

Last week I sat at a coffee shop and made a great connection with an amazingly hot and funny guy. Both were the youngest of a huge Mormon family, both had Texas roots, both of us were seeking what, I thought, were clear and honest ideas. In a strange twist we ended up playing together and were very compatible. Then came the discussion of the elusive date number two... He instigated the endeavor. As I have decided to let the other party involved set the tone for this act. He set the date and time. I was to pick him up at this house.... I showed up at the arranged time and place.... Nothing.
Just me on a strange doorstep, ringing a doorbell. A text was then sent to me stating that he couldn't go out.  Date two ended before it started with me texting my BFF, Mike declaring I hated boys.

Another recent turn in my dating life was when my excitement crescendo[ed] upon making plans at the end of date one, to spend date two seeing an IMAX movie. No one ever has ever wanted to go see IMAX movie with me before. So I got all excited. An actual real-life boy wanted to sit with me in 3-D glasses and watch the discovery of Space Junk or Amazonian Trees. In 3-D IMAX coolness. I felt just like when I was five and anticipated getting stuffed Ernie and Bert dolls for Christmas. Christmas found me without Ernie, or Bert. The thought of my second date drought didn't even enter my head. After all we definite plans. I sent a text to confirm, only to receive a  text hours later that they found something better to do. When asking the boy where my adult version of Ernie and Bert Christmas presents were, I was told not to be "a dick about it." Funny, that is what my Mom said on Christmas morning.

I present this strange phenomenon to you not as a problem. Just the opposite really.  A humorous observation on dating life. I am un-second-dateble.  Some day, I will get that obscure date number two... some day.

At The Car Wash

Saturday or Sunday morning, which ever day I don't work, you'll find me at the car wash scrubbing down my Jeep. It's a ritual in my world. So much so, that if the weather is going to be horrid over the weekend I still think about washing my Jeep. Of course the ice and snow would splatter up upon my shiny fenders the second I leave the car wash bay.

Last Saturday was one of those days. I got up early, stopped for a venti Toffee Nut Latte, and headed towards my favorite car wash. The Jeep was especially mud-caked due to endless snow.... and a prime muddy lot close to a friend's house that NEEDED to have my spin in circles, over and over. But, the warm weather and sun shine brought out everyone with my same idea. Saturday morning car wash.

I am not apposed to having a professional carwash, the type where you stand and watch a crew rub down you car; they just seem to never get my car clean. The drive through style of car wash are seemingly designed to be anti-Jeep. The fenders and back come out dirtier then before the flashy lights and soap streams of the water tunnel. So in my cleanliness OCD, I end up at the self-wash car wash.

I am so thankful for times like these. Complete Steve quality time with my Jeep. My headphones blasting, coffee in one hand, and a spray nozzle in the other. Washing away the grime of the week.

Let it Snow

Snow day! I love unexpected days off. The thrill of not having to go to work, yet no scheduled plans of going to the bank, grocery shopping, or any thing else grown up. Just time to be a kid. 

My work took me up to mountains yesterday. The drive home was right at the beginnings of a massive snowstorm. The Jeep and I slowly creeped down the highway as the wind battered the line of semi-trucks attempting to make Denver before night fall. The trucks and I failed. 

This morning I awoke to voicemails hoping that I didn't head back to the mountain project. Snow day!!! I sat in bed thinking what fun things I could possibly do... First was to get the hell out of the house. It was truly meant to be a personal fun day as every friend I called that might be free, wasn't. I even went down the list of boys in my "little black book" to no avail. It truly is a Stevie quality snow day. 

First stop was the gym. I let my iPod choose its own music, meaning I did shoulders to The Vally of The Dolls soundtrack. Picture it: sweaty Steve cruising a 22 year old doing squats as Dionne Warwick sang about getting off.  Lunch was a vegan chicken club, followed by hours of reading at my Starbucks. An easy dinner with Mike (from the Mike 'n The Mechanics blog)  and I'll plop into the middle of the bed to stretch out with the dog. 

Good day. 

Petting the Wildlife

Flirting for awhile, I finally got the invite.  That invite. The one that says it is time to limber up, stretch the hamstrings before heading over. Don't want to pull a hammy, you know. Sexy underwear; check. Tight shirt; check. Teeth brushed; check. He opened the apartment door and the hottest guy I ever imagined stood before me. Smooth Jazz began to play softly in background. A soft glow about his face. He might as well of been holding a fuzzy bunny-wabbit in one hand, and new Jeep high output air intake system in the other. 

He grabbed my hand and yanked inside. "Come spank me!" He said. "Finally, I get my Birthday wish!" I said out loud. 

Shirts and jeans flew everywhere. And as the real excitement started a door slammed. "Shit! My roommates!" He jumped to his feet and listened like a Impala in the wild. Cranking his head to hear any movement from the living room. He slowly closed his bedroom door. "I thought it was okay with your roommates to have guys over" I calmly asked. "Yeah... but you're older... they'd ask who you were." As I grabbed for my shirt I watched the sexiest Impala I ever got to pet, squeeze into his skinny jeans. You think Ashton Kutcher had to sneak Demi Moore past his roommates? 

Dressing quickly I thought of what could of been, the heat. The passion. The cuddling after. One quick kiss at the door and I was handed my hat. I wandered 

out into the midday sun. Still dizzy from what just happened, the smell of his hard body and expensive cologne covering me. 

Everyone Into the Pool

I have not been in the dating pool since 2001. I know, I am surprised when I stopped to think about it as well. On a sunny afternoon in late 2001, I approached a tall bald man frantically scribbling away in his artist pad. I asked for a date. This continued until the week I started blogging. My first blog post was about his move to New York, to start his new life. What seemed a millisecond later, I stood in the Denver Eagle as a leather-clad Italian man shoved a crumpled piece of paper with his phone number on it into my hand. After all of that, I'm dating. Me. dating. It goes without saying that the last time I was casually dating there were no hook-up sites held in the palm of your hand. There was, if I remember back that far, websites to post fake information about yourself. I feel I was more of an "early adapter" to technology, rather than to say I was a slutty whore.

The major difference between 2001 and now isn't the technology. It is me.  Obvious to say there are massive  and obvious changes from the twenty-nine year old to the forty-three year old me. Muscle mass, credit rating, patience and courage, and Need verses Want. Back in the day, attempting to find someone was a need. A desperate pit of need. This stemmed from not being comfortable in my own skin. That state that is so common in one's twenties.  I noticed this last night as I sat across a table on what would be considered a "first date." The driven attempt to be liked and desperation to do and say the right thing wasn't there. The so common pit of desperation prevalent during my last round of dating was noticeably missing.

Things have changed a lot since my last round of the dating game. It is faster and more convenient to find the nearest frat guy of your liking. I; however, am thankful that I am diving into the crazy dating pool now, after I have aged to a point where become comfortable with me. Making dating a Want, not a Need. 

Tom's Diner

I am truly unsure why we deviated from our normal Sunday diner regimen. Yes, the group of homosexuals I run with, live by the motto of “let’s try something new.” So we are always open to checking out new restaurants in the fair city of Denver. Maybe, I am still in mourning over my beloved Denver Diner; attempting to replace the closed restaurant in my heart. It must of been this longing to eat in a truly colorful diner that made us decide to ditch our normal Sunday plan and check out a diner that all the kids have been talking about for some real diner realness. Old school style. 

The diner we chose was the famous, or should I say infamous, Tom’s Diner on Colfax Avenue. Now, in theory it should be an amazing place. An old seventies diner in the heart of Capitol Hill revamped to look like a hip… seventies diner. Where kitsch style, meets hipsters, meets the chic-homeless.  We didn’t mind that the parking lot resembled a broken up asphalt lot one would find in front of a topless bar. In Waco, Tx. We were a sleuth of urban bears, we wanted grit, damn it.  Being ignored by every member of staff as we stood next to the “please wait to be seated” sign was charm. Like asking a strange man sporting a raincoat for help on a New York subway ride.  Finally, a waitress told a guy to seat us. At this point I felt like Patricia Nixon being asked to make the tie-breaking vote as a judge of the national felching contest.  Mr. maître d escorted us  to our table, sandwiched between a fighting family and a un-chic homeless brood. As I turned to my friend Mike and declared we should give up our dream of being seen out with the hip breakfast set, the maître d scoffed and stated that if it’s the table they could give us their very best booth. The friendly chap then began to school me on how to find a table in restaurants. Stating “when you’re in a restaurant, and you don’t like your table, just tell ‘em.” 

We barely tripped on the broken chunks of asphalt as we ran across the parking lot. I have always been sure that one thing would happen in my life time. Besides Princess Diana rising from the grave to kill us all. It is that I would finally find a diner I could not enjoy. 

Free Time

So much for the fist annual blogging convention hosted in Denver this weekend. It has been cancelled as all the invited participants became ill. I feel like DisneyLand after the measles outbreak.  Alone on the plasticky and tacky Main Street USA without my best friend and Small World boating companion. I do hope that Patrick survives his cold, lives to vacation another day. It's only a matter of time before  Jenny McCarthy takes up a controversial and idiotic stance on common colds. How the common cold is linked to a plot of ruining fabulous vacations. That lunatic will talk about anything if it helps her dead career. 

On the other hand; I do have five days off to bum around on my own. And I do mean on my own. 

Ad hominem

I have turned into that old man that loudly talks about current events in the next booth at Denny's.  You know the one, he talks loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear his thoughts on Obama. On Taxes. On cars being made of plastic. On why they needed dancing sharks on the Super Bowl.  He speaks in a tone, so that everyone can hear what he thinks. He wants to express his option, but I believe if you challenged his thoughts; he would not listen.

This morning, awaiting for my Krups to brew some French Vanilla, I read an article on Republican Rep. Trey Radel who pushed to make food stamp and other government aid recipients take drug tests, got busted on a charge of cocaine possession. This sent a massive Schadenfreude moment down my spine. The pleasure derived from the misfortunes of others; hypocrites, makes me happy. Especially on a topic so near my heart. Making restrictive laws to push people away from government help is just fundamentally wrong. But, that's not my point here.

I don't normally thump my chest about what I feel is fundamentally wrong. Yet, the first thing I did is what every person does, that can't sit in a Denny's and yell their opinions at others. I posted the story on Facebook.

This comes one day after Joch, the hottest and best bartender at the Denver Eagle, had a long debate over debates on Facebook. The debate on debates could of been intelligent and courteous. Yet, the term "ad hominem" had to be thrown into a heated debate. Facebook has turned into the village square. You stand in the center and shout your beliefs. Until someone shouts you down or tosses tomatoes at your head. The only benefit to Facebook is then you can unfriend and block the produce pitcher. People, and by people I include me, post their wild opinions via links to web-posted "news" stories because of lack of any other outlet. Facebook has made it easy to disconnect with interaction making us like the lonely man sitting in Denny's desperately attempting to get his voice heard.

If you need me, I will be sitting at the Denver Eagle discussing and debating the latest topics with Joch. 

Beard today, Gone tomorrow

School has begun with fervor and abandon of all personal time and space. Week one; just as an ice breaker saw our hero write a paper on Shakespeare's tragedies focusing on Macbeth. Fun. And, over in history class I researched the debate of the native people living amongst the American continent before 1492. Although nothing should get in the way of blogging, my life quickly came to developing the new habits. That part of life, the establishing of new habits, always throw me for a loop. One professor wants all work turned in on Mondays, the other on Thursdays. I'm pretty sure I have it figured out, now.

I did find time to shave off the beard. Although I couldn't possible work up the courage to shave completely. A radicle trim had to suffice.  On my trip annual visit to a local museum I snapped the last known photo of my 2014 beard....

Then later that night, hanging out in the boyfriends bathroom I trimmed down my face like a sheep being trimmed in early spring....

A year of beard, gone. Meh. No big deal. Time for 2015 and more follicle frivolity

For The Love of Blogging

My blog roll, or "Stuff StevieB reads...." section got shorter today. I purged dead blogs left and right. I also disconnected and unlinked with blogs that I haven't read in a while.  I did find that some blogs were hard to unlink.  I had to finally lay to rest "blog crushes" I had carried for quite a while. The ex-Navy corpsman and I were never meant to be anyway. The gay Architect living in London, who only blogged for a year off and on, was never really mine. It is time to move on.

I did; however, begin to seek out and add new blogs to my list. They're not new, just new to me. Fearsome Beard is new to me, and I reconnected with Jeph's Spot blog. There are a host of Gay Mormon blogs out there, and I have decided to find as many as I can to connect.  In These Gay Mormon Shoes has been blogging for years, yet I haven't taken the time to notice. Or, Gay Mormon Southpaw blog. Gay Mormon and a leftie... I'm this bloggers complete target audience.

So 2015 will be about re-igniting my love and connections in the blogging world.  Please get in touch and let me know any blogs out there that I should follow.   

The Semester is Before Us...

Monday is the first day of class for the Spring semester. Oh, how time flyes. This semester will be different, as I will be taking all online classes. So... more time for Steve to hang out at the Starbucks on Colfax Ave. This morning I showed up to School, as I always do, to stand in line to buy my books. I was surprised to see there wasn't a line in front of the book store. I hardly had time to cruise Grindr before heading into the store for my annual book buying spree. My head filled with the thought it always does upon entering my college bookstore. " I should of just rented the book online, and saved all the money the nose-ringed hippy girl is about to rip from my hands."  Yet, every semester I forget, as school exits my little brain as soon as my final assignments are handed in.

Last year's Medieval History class went great online, so I thought, "Why not? More Toffee Nut Lattes for Steve."  This round we're taking  "Literature of Shakespeare" and "American History 355."  The Shakespeare class I'm excited about, as I'm attempting to go for a Diamond Rating in neardom. To pass the competency exam you need to either know computer code, or choose the oral exam of reciting Shakespeare Sonnets. I can't understand computer code, so I am going for the Lit-nerd certification.  The American History class is the one I dread. It's the last history class I will need for my degree, and I have avoided it for years. It's "America! from foundation to reconstruction." I find nothing more boring than this topic; other than the attempt to make that American Sniper movie resemble anything near the truth.

My head was filled with dread as I pontificated over the reading on the topic of rich white people owning poor black people as I walked through the stacks of over-priced books in the bookstore. Then I discovered something odd. My class don't require textbooks. What??? Yep, they're completely on line. 

We will bestow ourselves [to not] read on this book. Clearly an undiscovered country for Steve. 

I left the bookstore with a spring in my step. Looking forward to the new semester. 

Groovy American Gay Bloggers Convention

It just may be official. The Groovy American Gay Bloggers (GAGB) convention has been announced. Gay bloggers from around the pan-Americas, and the world will be descending upon Denver, Colorado over the Valentine's Day holiday. It's going to be huge!!! There are some event details that are still to be announced. The host hotel hasn't been released. But, stay tune for updates. 

The event should be huge... well... as to today there are only two members of the groovy gay blogger group... that I just made up; but, it's going to be huge. As founder and Grand Marshal of this just made up group I'm would like to welcome the other... so far one member of the convention, Patrick from Pac's Pad blog to the convention. 

There is still room in the event, but hurry space is limited. Don't miss out on the 2015 Groovy American Gay Bloggers convention. 

Beard Challenge

You know what's fun? Taking your twenty-three year old boyfriend to the grocery store so you can buy yourself some beard dye.

As of writing this post, there are only eight days and fourteen hours until my beard dies. I'm going through a mourning process as of late. I glance into the mirror and I'm overwhelmed for sadness over my furry little friend. When I declared 2014 the "year of the Beard" I never thought I be just eight days away from my year challenge saddened to see my face return form it's hairy internship.

The original rules of my challenge may have to be amended... I honestly don't think I can go to a clean shaven face on the 28th of January. The shock may kill me. The shock may also send the parent company making Just For Men beard dye into finical ruin. With the amount I have using to attack my grey beard, just to cut off the supply so quickly... it may destroy the supply line. All the truckers moving fright; all the grocery store shelf-stockers. I need to think about them and their families.

2014 was also the year I stepped into my Daddy status in the gay world. Can I really continue to pull that off without a full regiment of fuzz? Guess we'll find out in only eight days and fourteen hours.

Grumpy morning beard.

Denver Diner

 I have realized, with age that I'm getting more and more like my father. I guess it's normal for people to realize that apples, really, don't fall far from their trees.

My realization about this is in my love of diners. Greasy Spoons. Genetically the paternal line of my bloodline is unexplainably drawn to eating in diners. Sitting for hours, talking with friends, or simply alone with a cup of coffee. 

Denver does not disappoint in this area of fine dinning. From Greek-owned diners staggered every couple of miles in the heart of the city, simple truck stops, to the hip trendy diners filled with bearded dudes and chunky-plastic jewelry wearing dudettes. Denver has what I need. 

I am saddened that my favorite, The Denver Diner, is still sitting dark. It was on the first real date with the Ginger Swimmer, after midnight, that I had a heaping stack of flap- jacks served in front of me. Suddenly a screamed call to get the hell out broke my dream-like state. We watched from safety as flames jetted through the roof. 

Still the diner sits dark. My very genome  wanting it to be open; so I may sit and drink coffee. Like every male in my bloodline before me. It is what we do. Until it reopens, If you need me, I'll be sitting in the back booth at that Greek diner. Drinking coffee.

A Hard Awakening

It's been eight years of living in my house. Yet, I can not still remember which shower door goes on which side as to create a seal and stop water from gushing onto the floor. The dog; however,  loves to stand at the unsealed door and lap up the fountain. 

I bring this up because there has been a couple of strange occurrences in the last fortnight that fall under the category of "Steve wakes up hard" wait. Let's name it " It's hard for Steve to wake up" 

Still mostly asleep, I peered down today to see a large Alien-like creature pressed against the shower door. Slimy and pulsating I felt like Ellen Ripley, (Her last name was Ripley...I like to be didactic) with a face hugger attacking through the shower. After wishing I had my flamethrower with me, I realized it was just Sharpei tongue. 

Last week, I poured the entire carafe of water into where the coffee grounds should be placed in the coffee maker.  Hilarity ensued as I attempted to understand why my feet were wet. 

There's been putting on of Fuzzy's jeans that are two sizes smaller than mine, the losing of my phone, until I realized I'd slept on it. Making it adhere to my back muscle/fat. But, the best was waking up and leaving the house before realizing it was my day off. 

These are all indicators that I'm way too destracted as of late. I need either a new job, or just a vacation. 

Blogging

Some say that the personal blog is long dead. A generation of bloggers whom in their day strutted and fretted their hour upon the stage, were then heard no more. Their blog pages dark. The last post, sometimes thanked readers for visiting, indicating that Twitter and other shorter attention span genres would be the next chapter. Some bloggers just walked out one day. The last mundane post to be their legacy. Social media commentators found it easy to declare the death of the personal blog, raising a brow and calmly explaining that blogging was just tales told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. Somehow glossing over that 140 characters limits communication, other than the most shallow and vapid of ideas. 

I being one of those idiots, have kept blogging into my eighth year. I still encourage others to do so. When my niece had her first child, she toyed with blogging. I urged her to do so. When others have not blogged in a while I send messages to them, explaining that they are missed. We are a band of brothers. The few; the proud. Bloggers, the ones that still blog, are like hipster vinyl album collectors.  This makes readers of blogs the few people that hear the difference between compressed Bluetooth music, and the rich sound that only comes from vinyl. 

That is why I was so excited to see one tiny blog from the blogging gold rush, come back from the dust. The Mutton-Chopped Mutant. Kez from Melbourne, how we've missed your daily life pressed into vinyl. Stay strong buddy. Your blog never left my reading list, and it never will. 

If there are others out there, that you know of, please let me know so I can add them to my reading list. 

Beef or Cow?

On New Years Eve, Eve I finally got to have dinner with my close friend, Frank. It was one of those "catch up" dinners between friends as life has not allowed us time to hangout.  We met at Chilis after work.  Seeing out 2014 over chips and salsa.  

I ordered their famous chicken enchilada soup and a turkey burger.  Not that I don't eat beef burgers, I just am rarely in the mood for it. As our food came, I jumped into my stacked high turkey burger.  A couple of bites in, I noticed something strange. Mostly, a beef patty. As the waitress walked by I casually mentioned the mix up. I joked that it was beef; and icky. She seemed deeply concerned. "Oh my God!  Are you vegetarian?"

Blink-blink. I stared up at her. 

"Well,I did order a turkey burger." 

Blink-blink. She stared back at me...

After what seemed an eternity, she apologized for serving me meat. I attempted to brush off the mix up as no big deal. And as she left the table I started to question if maybe I was vegetarian. Since I only eat turkeys, chickens, the occasional fish, and frat brothers. 

My New Year's resolution? Eat strictly vegetarian. Meaning, anything that's not a cow. 

My Resolution for 2015

As I turned onto the interstate I felt the wheels of the Jeep slip on the ice. Not enough to startle me, as after the night I had nothing possibly could startle me. The slipping wheels simply moved me to automatically reach for the metal leaver next to the shifter and pop the 4X4 into its four wheel drive. I gunned the accelerator pedal and up the ramp on to northbound 25 I went.  Into the frozen night.

The highway was empty. I wasn't surprised as everyone on the planet was somewhere else. It was the one night when it was dictated that individuals should gather in groups. I, on the other hand, was speeding on an icy road.  On thin ice. Blurred lines matched my blurred mind. The things you said. Words that set me out on this cold snowy journey.

It was timed almost too perfectly. As I approached the city sky line the fireworks began to blossom. Over the towering buildings, explosions of light began. Instant massive bouquets of fire and flame using the joyous rapture of the city as their nourishment. As it is dictated that people gather on this night, I could sense the wonderment of the mere mortals of the city enveloped in the explosions on this first night. I turned back to the road. Faster and faster up the snow packed highway.

I'm not sure where I drove. Eventually the first night of the year gave up and let the first morning over-take from the East. I had driven until it was time for me too to give up. Completely healed and excited about the future due to the cathartic drive I finally exited the highway. The two exit lanes heading to the tiny street of home. The outside lane seemed wrong. Somehow.  Even if it was the lane used to exit to my house. I signaled and swerved into the inside lane. SMASH!!!! A  truck sliding full-on slammed into the car that I was just behind. The full force of the impact sent both cars into the intersection. Broken glass flew through the air like fireworks.

Sometimes life gives you signs. Loud, twisted metal and broken glass signs. Signs to remind you that perspective is needed. That is my Resolution for 2015. To seek out and pay attention to these signs. 

  

Beard Challenge

There are only thirty-two days until the end of my 2014 beard challenge. Some days it can't come fast enough; other days I'm saddened by the dictated loss of my furry friend.

I read a tongue-in-cheek article on line about how guys with beards are just compensating for a much lacking personality. In a way, I agree. I am my beard; as of late. It's how I'm described, "the bearded one." It's how I'm classified,   "He's all beardy, he's cool."  I have also been boxed and classified as the alternative manager at work. The one employees go to when needing to talk. Not the straightlaced uptight one.

We will see how the views change when the beard gets shaved.

Christmas

I attempted to ignore Christmas all-together this year. There were several reasons I grabbed onto in my hopes to justify this stance. The annual tradition of decorating the house and shopping for the season seemed insurmountable for many reasons.  My panic of not passing my classes this semester, the stepping away from unhealthy friendships in 2014, in addition, Fuzzy was studying to take the Real Estate Exam to become a realtor at the beginning of December. The last thing I needed was to attempt to erect a pine tree in the living room with  Mr. Grumpy all wigged out about National tax assessments in the real estate market.

Twilight on Christmas day

I found an easy excuse to avoid the annual cookie baking day, an event with my friend's Frank and Michelle, due to the moving to Denver of the Olympic swimmer. As you may have read earlier, I have started to date a Ginger. The Olympic swimming Intern. He completed his internship and landed a choice position at a local University. Meaning, that he was able to move to Denver and begin to date this beardy old man. Not sure why, maybe he's working out bad karma from a previous life. But, he's my puppy, and we'll see what happens.

All this being said, Christmas morning was insanely surprising to me. I had shut out any expectations; any belief that joy would come this season. Not that I was negative about the topic; not at all. Just blocked it out of my view, and consciousness. A perception filter allied to avoid let-down. Yet, Christmas found me anyway.  Fuzzy and Jim, the Ginger-Swimmer and I had what I will remember as the best Christmas ever. The focus was not on gifts, nor the forced march to families houses. It was a peaceful day, of unconditional love surrounding our foursome.  We never even turned on a television or other distractions. We played with our gifts and watched the late afternoon snow fall.

I am the most jaded homo you'll ever meet. But, yesterday was the gift I truly needed. The gift of re-igniting the pilot light to my faith in friends and friendship.

Schools Out

It was a close call. My grades this semester, that is. After bombing my history mid-term, I began to doubt my ability to even pass the class. Thankfully, the final exam was more in tune with what I had been studying, and what I knew already. The final had an essay question, "Name the two major architecture styles of the high Middle Ages?" Every gay-nerd worth their salt can easily answer that. It's the sub-text to every Masterpiece Theater costume drama ever shown on PBS. I wrote of the Gothic style thinking of Pride and Prejudice, my very first classic I watched in my bedroom at ten years old.  Where as, writing about the Romaneque architecture style brought me to the Mystery! mini-series Cadfael. 

Nerdy and gay, awarded me a passing grade, on the final, and the class. That was a close one. As much as I complained, I learned more in this class than any I've taken in the last twenty years. Just name a Pope and I can spew forth what dickish ass-hattery he did to destroy countless lives in the world. Now that's the kind of parlor trick that will get me invited to countless holiday parties this season. 

The Annual Christmas Rant

Ahh, December 7th. It’s time to gather around and listen to Uncle Steve’s annual Christmas rant…..

WHAT THE F*#K DO PENGUINS HAVE TO DO WITH CHRISTMAS!?!?

Have you seen the inflatable, glowing Christmas crap that everyone displays on their front lawns? Big billowing snowmen, elves, and insidiously happy penguins. Seriously, What the heck to penguins have to do with Christmas?

At night it’s quite a cute little scene. A winter wonderland all blown up and bopping around to the forced air whooshing up their butts. During the day it’s another story, driving through any upscale neighborhood it's a reenactment of Jim Jones goes to Christmas town. Dead, flat elves and snow people scatter the lawns like a mass suicide cult hit the North Pole. A massacre of merriment. One half-inflated penguin dragging its self off the lawn coughing out,  I only live in Antarctica and parts of South America why am I even here?

Aaaaaaaaaghh!”

World AIDS Day

What should you do today?

No seriously, what could you do today?

I've had several conversation with my young employees after hearing comments about the police officer killing Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri. The comments came from a place of having no perspective of involvement. One young girl, didn't even know a black person. She asked why "they" don't just get over it. I challenged her to read Dr. King's  Letter from a Birmingham Jail If she read it and could have a conversation about Ferguson with me, I'd take her to lunch. We'll see. 

But, I was that girl. Even with the "+" sign around me in my life. I woke up today with out thinking what I was going to do to honor World AIDS Day. That's why I challenged myself. What am I going to do about it? Well, according to a Google search, World AIDS Day.org says it's an "opportunity for people worldwide to unite in the fight against HIV, show their support for people living with HIV and to commemorate people who have died."  So I will start with remembering my fallen.....

OUR FUTURE

Ron Moore

Then, I will go hug my "+" loved ones. What are you going to do?