Life Altering Truths

When my high school BFF and I fought over the same girl, it wasn’t out of jealousy of him, it was jealousy for him.  It wasn’t about the girl, it was about him wanting the girl and not me.  This is the same guy I boinked all summer.  Physical fighting scared me only to the extent of the damage I could do to someone.  When he hit me with a right hook to my left cheek, I hit him back and threw him into the lockers.  He picked himself up and looked at me and in that moment I knew he hated me.  The look hurt worse than hundreds of right hooks.  I never did figure out the wisdom in avoiding the straight guys.

My grandpa was a Mormon bigot that never accepted me and my adopted brother because we weren’t “true blood” (we pre-date Potter by decades).  Mother, the soft-spoken yet implacably obstinate and incredibly stubborn protector to us, taught me that elders are not always right, nor should they automatically be granted respect.  At a family picnic, Grandpa once hit me for something my cousins had done with his sanction.  I didn’t even think about it – I hit him back.  His face turned red and he raised his hand to strike me and he stopped and stared: my mom was standing behind me.  He pointed at me and bellowed that I was an evil child and how dare I hit him back and that he was going to punish me.  My mother calmly asked if he was also going to punish my cousins for doing the same thing?  His face went even more red and he stood there with fists clenched until he turned around and walked away.  She squeezed my shoulder and gathered my dad and brother and we left the party.  I learned that we can’t choose our family, but we can choose the people we care about.

Online experiences of the internets have changed the last few weeks.  A cousin went born-again apeshit on me on Facebook, taking various posts personally and saying I was “so negative” and why did I “have to be so prideful about being gay,” wherein I had to respond that my status updates, or Yahoo or Second Life profiles weren’t about her.  All my posts or profiles were meant to entertain, provoke, satirize, and stir things up, and failing that, they were simply mine to express or not – if she took things personally that was her business, not mine.  This evidently was not good enough and she sent a long email to me – she wanted the cousin she knew of her youth back – the young and adorkable and closeted best friend/cousin that wasn’t gay or certainly wasn’t out.  I learned that people will read what they want and make assumptions, no matter how clear or unclear one’s writing is.  I learned that “‘goodbyes” are a bluff I’m willing to call because I have no time to be someone she expects but doesn’t see.  I’ve also learned to use filters on Facebook.

Congratulations to a fellow writer

I made a few friends at the Big Sur writing conference and I found out tonight that one of them got an agent with the Andrea Brown Literary team.  I’m so excited for her and her first young adult novel!  At the time of the conference I got to read the first five chapters and I was impressed with her writing.  She was one of several there who motivated me to do better with my own writing.  Keeping in touch via Facebook and email was a great way to check in with each other.

I know the path to publication is a long one, but it’s invaluable to see a writer at the start of their journey.  My own journey is still in the making, but it’s more like I’m at a rest stop than on the road.  I intentionally stayed away from the NaBloPoMo gig this year – I wasn’t going to commit to anything beyond work, Jennifer’s visit, and my masters program that starts on November 24th (delayed two weeks).  Creative writing isn’t a priority, but I still remember the blog and still get out a few times a week and post here, blathering or no – I do write daily, but not in any format or of any content that would be shared for the masses.

I’m glad for my writing friends who are writing, getting agents, and moving through publication.  I’m at the point of comfort and confidence with myself that I can appreciate their path without being jealous.  I could get used to this aging and maturity thing.  I could be mistaking it all for a sense of zen and the two glasses of wine, too.

We Be in SLC

Our roadtrip has taken us through all the western states except AZ, CO, and NM.  As of this afternoon, we landed in Salt Lake City, Utah.   Internet experiences from each of our stays have ranged from spotty to slow – which means major suckage, regardless.  This is my first opportunity to sneak in a Talk Thursday topic, as well. 

We’re staying with Julz and Bill.  Midas is getting along with their dogs really well.  We will see Neener and her family tomorrow and we’ll be seeing their new baby, Brox Donavan, for the first time.  Sunday is Lynski’s birthday party, and Monday by noon we’ll be heading back towards home. 

Right now it’s a really nice feeling to be sitting down and not moving.  Don’t get me wrong, we’ve been through some of the most beautifully scenic rides throughout the whole world, but there’s something to be said about living life on the road and each stop adding to the postcards of our life.  Friends and family really are what it’s all about.

Pussy Caps

TLC (aka Tom), the wonderful host of Beanie Cap Guy, is having a faboo sale on his Pussy Caps.  His models are gorgeous, by the way.

Run.  Do not walk.  To your nearest credit card.

Imagine.  Hand-dyed yarn.  Hand spun by artist Lisa Souza.  Yarn so soft that you’ll want to rub the cab over every inch of your body.  If you’re single, you won’t need a date for the weekend, and if you go out in your Pussy Cap, you’ll be screamin’ ‘hawt hawt hawt’ with attitude and style.

A year or so ago I purchased one of his creations – I LOVE it.  I would include a picture, but I would then be tempted to take someone up on a dare and be inappropriate and risque, and these days I’m the model of decorum.  Besides, I don’t want to make anyone’s eyes bleed.  No.  Don’t tempt me.

Go see Tom’s stuff and get thee a Pussy Cap!  You know you want one.  If us gay guys can have a Pussy Cap, then you straight folks need to step it up and get one.  Now.  Sale ends on February 15th.

On Family, Friends, and Weddings

The trip was eventful, memorable, and relaxing.  I drank more in several days than the last few months combined.  As I’ve learned as I’ve gotten older, there are limits on the things that can be done when returning home.  (Yes folks, you heard me say it – I do consider Utah my home – one of them, any way.)  It’s impossible to see everyone, whether they are friends or family or both.  It’s frustrating for everyone but that’s the reality.  The times I’ve come in “under the radar” are for very specific reasons, and I’ll leave it at that in case anyone makes me responsible for their one feeling getting run over.

Julz’ wedding was beautiful.  There was a thunderstorm earlier in the day, but as Utah weather goes, it blew in and out quickly.  The officiate was eloquent and I love how she informed those in attendance how Julz and Bill met and how they came to know and love one another.  Call me a sucker for guys crying, but seeing how Bill openly loved Julz really moved me.  They both looked splendid – glowing – alive.  Once the ceremony was over,there was time for photographs, meeting people, talking, excellent food, alcohol, more alcohol, dancing, more dancing, more alcohol, more dancing.  Somewhere in the evening I gave a toast to the lovely couple.  The toast went something like this:

“Hi everyone, I’m Don, Julie’s gentleman of honor, not her bridesmaid, because I’m not wearing a dress, so get over it.  I met Bill 20 months ago at a New Years Eve party, and since then I’ve had the chance to get to know him and his wonderful family.  I’ve known Julie since the early 90’s when we worked and went to school together at Westminster and travelled to Greece and drank lots and lots of wine together.  (And I realize now that I neglected to mention her own wonderful family, specifically her mother and sister, Kim.  No idea how I segued into it, but… then I said…)  There are families that we’re born to.  There are friends that we choose into our lives.  What is magical is when the friends we choose become family, which is what Julie and Bill are to me.”

Don at ceremony

Fantastic public speaker I’m not, but I got a few points for poise, a hot tux, and a receptive (alcohol enhanced) audience.

Shake and Bake

Funny thing, earthquakes. When you’re right in the middle of one, you try and find a focal point for stability. The sound is sort of like a giant train going by under the house. Friday’s earthquake lasted about 7 to 10 seconds. I was in the front bedroom sitting in a chair and Midas and Kiwi were on the bed, sleeping. Scott was in the living room watching television. The drawn-out roar from far away coincided with the house shaking and moving. Midas lifted his head and looked around, his eyes big, and about that time Scott yelled out “Earthquake,” but I didn’t say anything because I was sitting down and looking at the room, my one brain cell trying to figure out how much the room was moving. As I was wondering if the shaking would get worse, the house-creak noises subsided and then the roar underground faded. Scott jumped up and we met in the hall and hugged quickly, then he ran into the office to get online and check on the US Geological Survey site. I ran out back and the water in the pool was sloshing and making small ripples. We couldn’t believe that it was “only” a 4.2, later downgraded to a 4.0.

***

An old friend of mine from my Westminster days was in town over the weekend. She came with her one-and-a-half year old daughter and her husband. The last time I saw her was at their wedding in 2002 in Salt Lake. Since that time, she’s changed jobs, had a baby, and life is good for their family. We took them to dinner at one of our favorite Italian places on Saturday night. Appetizers, entrées, wine, dessert, coffee… and a round of food orgasms for four adults. I’m so glad they got to meet Scott and see our home. There are times when I really wish I lived closer to my friends in Utah, but at the same time, I’m happy we have a home that friends from far away can come to and visit and be comfortable… and be themselves.

***

The temperature got up to almost 100 yesterday. We did our usual weekend thing of going our for breakfast and running errands. Back at the house, Scott worked on his car until the temperature in the garage was baking… and I downloaded the newest driver for my video card all by myself. We said the magic phrase of “swim swim” for Midas (who got so wound up that he barked at us while we were undressing). Scott’s more bashful – he wears swimming trunks. I’m not bashful – I don’t. The water was 84 degrees. 84. Pools at the gym are typically between 78-80, but there’s something so right about 83-84. Especially with the afternoon sun beating down and you’re throwing the dog toy for Midas and he does flying leaps that cover half the pool. Or when you’re swimming with your partner and he “accidentally” loses his trunks. Or when you float in the water and look at the yard and overlook what needs attention or at your dog who’s proudly running his victory laps… you know that life is good.

Happy Birthday SML

This is for Sister Mary Lisa who I talked to just a few days ago and I remembered I had seen the very funny picture below on Upright’s site.

Lisa – I wish for you health and happiness.  You are a wonderful friend and I wish only the best for you.  (Note to self to update my calendar with SML’s birthday so that I’m not such a late lame-ass.)

Triple Dog Dared

Julz dared me to “post something” from an email I wrote her today. The first sentence started her dare – everything else was never uttered and never happened.

I had tears in my eyes, streaming down my cheekbones and my clean-shaven cheeks, falling into a pool of sparkling brilliance. I hadn’t laughed so hard in weeks, not since an old guy stood at my counter berating me and pointing at his erection that hadn’t subsided in three hours. This time I was laughing because my co-worker shared the unfortunate event of a night at the bar, tobasco-soaked peanuts, and her boyfriend’s changing moans to howling screams while giving him head and licking his balls. She knew the best brands for topical burns. I told her about the time I exchanged a roommate’s bottle of lube with the “extra hot” variety and we laughed again, holding our stomachs.

The tears melted into the fabric of my pants and I remembered the last time I cried. Yesterday. The woman in line for her high blood pressure collapsed and couldn’t be revived. One of the paramedics was her son. A fireman held him while he cried. We all cried. I thought about riding with them to the hospital, to help, to do something. My boss wanted to know when we could get back to counting pills. The main checker called him a douchebag on the loudspeaker.  Customers who’d seen and heard everything cheered.

The face of the paramedic has been with me since yesterday. His eyes. I don’t want to remember, but I don’t want to forget him either. I have no words for his loss.

**Your turn – take the last sentence and start your own short story/post, either on your blog or in these comments. You have been triple dog dared.**

Fulfilled

The birthday festivities started on Thursday when my sister Tracy and her friend Crystal arrived.  Scott had left Rudy, his mannequin, sitting on the toilet in the new bathroom, which we all discovered when I was giving them a tour of the house.  (Off topic, but I had threatened him with bodily injury if he ever used Rudy to scare me, especially after he’d told me the times when he’d had family stay at the house and there’d be screams in the middle of the night when people got up to hit the bathroom – funny, sure, but don’t do it to me!)

Lovely and delightful and new and lifelong friend, Calista, joined us for a dinner of Indian food and adult beverages.  Later, Julz and Bill (her fiance) arrived from SFO.  Much later, Eddie arrived.

Friday:  pick up Lynn and Jenn via caravan (the Infinity and white convertible), then a whirlwind tour of SF in the late afternoon:  pics at the Painted Ladies (don’t google that one, folks), cable car ride, pit stop at Pete’s Coffee, Lombard street, insanely steep hills, Golden Gate Bridge, north Bay headlands (with incredible views of the GG Bridge and SF skyline), then meandering through traffic back to the East Bay.  We did pizza for dinner.

Saturday:  I screwed up breakfast and ended up with mashed potatoes with sautéed onions, scrambled eggs, green chilies, and lots of cheese.  Gah.  The rest of the day is a blur because I was drunk early on before the party because the pool had heated to a decent temperature and I’d been downing drinks with vodka and a blackberry brandy mix like it was punch… it was certainly sweet enough.  So there was swimming (with swim suits), riding the beach ball, and then I tried to get in a nap before the party started.  I got 10 minutes.

The party was all about friends and family from near and far converging in one place.  It was about good music and more than enough alcohol.  It was about music that was all over the spectrum.  It was about people I adore most in this universe.  It was about mingling and mixing and talking and not drinking my normal quote because I was paranoid I’d drink so much that I’d lose someone’s name out of my head.  Call it aging, but I kinda dig a party where I go to bed sober, and I especially love waking up with no hangover.

Yesterday was filled with goodbyes and airports.  Enough said of that.

I had the day off today.  Leisurely breakfast with Lynn and Jennifer and Scott.  More goodbye’s (I do not like goodbye’s).  Then I went to Fremont where I did some consulting which garnered a nice chunk of change.  In the afternoon, my massage dude gave me a birthday massage (translation:  FREE).  The evening we spent with Mark and Rommel and I kicked the drinking up a notch and had four glasses of wine.  Dinner at their place was pure heaven, and I came home and tried to blog intelligently, but I’ve been burning off a buzz for the past several hours, continually distracted by other blogs and other posts.

I’ll sign off with this, not because I’m drunk (because I’m not), but because there is something I rarely say to people in my life (outside of my life with Scott) which I feel I should say, so pay attention:  I love you.  Forty feels fan-fucking-tastic.

Half Time

I watch the Superbowl for the commercials.  And this year because of Tom Brady.  We’re at Mark and Rommel’s.  Hors d’ourvs, drinks, drinks, more drinks.  Vodka with a splash of “X Rated” liqueur for me – I’m on number 3.  (I chatted briefly with Sacred on google chat – Hi Sacred!)  Three.  Count them.  Three.  Vodkas over ice.  Three.  I’m buzzin’ better than a vibrator.

Halftime was decent.  I like Tom Petty.  I really hoped that they’d get Janet Jackson and Justin Timberlake back for an encore performance.  **sigh**  Maybe next year when we have a Democrat President.  Maybe next time Justin will get his pants ripped off? 

I think football is the gayest of the major league sports:  tight ends, wide receivers, lots of body contact, Oilers, Packers, muscles – did I mention tight ends?  And there’s not a damn thing wrong with that.