end o' year bs

So once more we come to the end of a year. What does it really mean, this forcing of time constraints that we allow ourselves? It really does seem a lot of bullshit, but as humans we seem to like to be able to note beginnings and ends.

What have we seen and done this year? Some bloggers like to look back at their old posts and remember, perhaps by month, what the past year looked like based on what they wrote. Some people like to use news stories to remind us of where we've been and what we've seen.

I'm just going to take a couple of minutes and try to remember. I have a bit of coffee left, and I really need to take a shower. I have to be at work in about an hour and a half. I have no idea what comes after that, hopefully me on the torso of a hot young man.

But seriously folks, let's try to remember. Last new year's eve saw me and Momma and the boys sitting at home, sampling a bit of sparkling wine, watching television, waiting for the ball or the apple or the peach or whatever to drop.

Soon into the year it became painfully obvious that I needed to find work. I was still announcing for the roller girls. I wanted desperately to find a man, and I did find a couple, but nothing lasted there beyond a couple of hours.

I found a job at the sushi bar days before Momma was fired, and I didn't return for more than a check after that, three days pay was nice to have. Shortly thereafter I took a job for three weeks cooking at my default bar. The hours were shit and the pay was equally shit, so when Momma talked to the boss at the gpub where she is still employed I jumped at the chance.

Nothing of note happened for some time until at a friend's girlfriend's party late in the summer I met a nice young man, much younger than I, but really that's neither here nor there. We seemingly couldn't get enough of each other, and within a week he asked if we could be boyfriends.

I jumped at that as we seemed such a great fit. I'd never had a boyfriend before, and the next couple of months were full of wonderfulness and weirdness. My kids thought he was great, and he was willing to hang out and enjoy my kid's company. He still has a Paper Mario game saved that he will never finish. Then suddenly, while I was still a great boyfriend and a great guy, he was just not into me, and that quick it was over.

In the meantime, Momma met a guy, another friend of a friend, and they seem to have hit it off. I have mixed feelings about the guy, but he's not my boyfriend, and my only real concern is Momma and what is best for her.

In the middle of all of the above I lost my job at the gpub and spent nearly two months searching for another. I finally did find one, making slightly less than at the gpub, but I'm infinitely happier with this place. I like nearly everyone I work with. I like the food mostly, and even though I seem to seldom leave the dish room, I am happy.

And now we are at the end of the year, and I have to go to work, and then I don't know what I'll do next. I have an invitation to a party from a friend of a friend. Momma has been invited to this same party by the girlfriend of the guy who invited me. She'll be their with her boyfriend, and I'm of two minds about my own attendance. I want to do something not with Momma and her boyfriend, but at the same time I'm sure I'll know lots of people at this party, and I do love hanging out with Momma. Chances are I'll end my night near where I work, possibly with workmates, probably not with a cute young man.

And we'll ring in the new year with shouts and cheers and drinks and I'll try to kiss someone who won't want me to as they will likely not be into boys. I'll deal with it, I'll come home drunk and depressed, and I don't have to work tomorrow.

That's really all I have for now, so I'll proofread this beast of a post, and then it's off to take a dump and a shower, though not at exactly the same time. Also I still need to brush my teeth.

So, from the deepest and warmest nether regions of my stone cold heart I wish each and every one of you exactly what you deserve. I hope you all find twenty dollars on the street and send it to me. I hope you all can come to my town for a visit and bring me all your gays. I need a car and a place to live, and that's how I'll begin my new year, searching yet again.

is seven the lonliest number? meh

Suddenly I'm just not sure what to think. At this moment I'm thinking it would be nice if the boys would actually pick up some of this crap left over from our busy Christmas time. Yes, there is still some trash and lots of toys and toy parts laying around. If not a hugely extravagant Christmas, it was still a messy one, as usual.

Next on the thinking about agenda would be my new reader. In the line of brothers I am number five of seven. Number two has been a reader for some time, but I learned last week that number six is now reading, having gotten my info from number two.

Number six found himself mentioned in a recent post, probably the one in which I referred to my family's still pending Christmas celebration as a possible nest of vipers. He emailed me to explain a bit of new family history among other things. I was immensely happy to hear from and a bit disconcerted to learn that he was my newest reader. Then I grew to find myself less anxious as I replied and soon enough got a reply in return.

So it seems like another brother will be willing to discuss things in a reasonable manner. Did I mention he's read both blogs? I'm certain I haven't included anything too lurid at the other place, though that was a huge reason for having another place, but even with the other place, I find I personally am not comfortable with too much lurid.

It's good that I learned of his presence after he'd been around for a bit. I can't imagine how far back he has yet read, and he's quite welcome, of course, to read as far back as he wants. I'm just happy that I don't feel too great a need to cover my ass or to change what and how I go about blogging since he's bound to see me as glorious as I tend to get. This of course brings up the lurid blog, because if he's going there then my tales of all the sexual misadventures I'm not actually having any of may not ever see the light of day.

So, welcome to the ol' deskfull number six. It's good to have you. Feel free at any time to throw a comment this way, especially if it might add to the discussion. Also, I will be emailing you soon enough, but I have workshirts and socks in the need-to-do laundry, a measly pay check to deposit, and a headlight to purchase followed by work. I'm also hoping to get out tonight and see the band of a couple of friends as they have their our-guitar-player-is-in-town-for-three-days-let's-rock reunion show.

shelled nuts

I almost wrote a post about this being the eight hundredth post, and then I wrote some nonsense about my last post, and I couldn't remember when that was. There have been interesting incidence of things happening since late on the eve of Christmas eve, and then there's been a variety of whatnot since then.

I did end up looking and realized I'd added a couple of drafts and that I can actually just click on published posts if I really want to know. So if you care, that's why this isn't about being any sort of number representing something. Just so you know.

It's not as long and sordid a tale as it could be, but it certainly has it's moments. Christmas was fun enough. I won't mention that I got cash and some English Leather gift set sort of thing with four little bottles of cologne, most of which I never heard of and all entirely useless to me. Who wouldn't rather a man just smell like himself, preferrably a recently cleaned version?

We hung out with MIL on Christmas eve far later than we should have and then visited Momma's dad's family, showing up when most of us would have been leaving in past years, or so it felt. Momma and one aunt, then eventually the other aunt, ended up in the kitchen shrieking and laughing and being girls. I sat with the men and sort of tried to see the t.v. from where I really couldn't. I tried to be nice to everyone as usual, made what I felt were appropriate jokes at the appropriate times.

We came home and put the boys to bed. Momma and I drank beer and sat up late and wrapped Star Wars Lego and Littlest Pet Shop. We placed this year's haul of used books between the two meager piles. We drank what might have been the very best gift, Momma having brought home a bottle of Tanqueray, we had gin and tonic most of the night as we perfected the pint glass gin and tonic.

She's still my favorite person to sit up and drink perhaps a little too much with. I can't help as I think this but to consider 2009 and what it's going to be. But that's a whole other post.

Christmas day broke warm and sunny, the best we could hope for considering the rains we've had lately. I really shouldn't complain, as usually the worst some rain is going to do to me is make me do the crate walk across the basement to the pump so I can jiggle and/or stir it back to life. Then I wait to relight the water heater. I have to remember to show Momma this or get a rain soaked call sometime next year when someone's shower stopped being warm slowly.

It was my first Christmas waking on the couch, and all the coffee was shitty Eight O'Clock beans. Blech! But I soldiered on and greeted the day with at least a smirk, toning down my usual sneer. Our usual Christmas morning, the boys check out their stockings and anything not wrapped that they have reason to believe might be for them. Either Momma or I will be making coffee at this point, and as the coffee enters the room and is settled away from where it represents a danger, the boys finally look to the wrapped gifts.

We were lazy for the majority of the day. Eventually Momma decided that it was time to visit Grandmother, though we knew a set leaving time as we'd invited friends over after a certain time. Dinner at Grandmother's was fun. It was several of the people from the previous night minus one, plus four. And then it was back home.

A few friends stopped by, mostly families, the kind of people who know what BYOB means and don't care that you've obviously thrown some shit together as an offering to their kids when we realize at the last minute that they got our kids stuff. But it was cool. We drank beer. We stood outside and smoked. The kids behaved mostly, and now that her mom finally took her too cute little boots home we now have a darling child's too cute tiny pink glittery shoes when they finally turned up. Next year we'll save up all the shoes she leaves here and give that to her for Christmas.

And to make matters odder, there was a child's birhtday party at the place I work recently, the daughter of someone in the family for whom I work. After the party, as everyone was getting up to leave, I spied the birthday girl, and she wearing a pair of fuzzy pink butterfly wings, and a certain part of me saw those wings and fell in love. I kind of want my own butterfly wings.

And eventually I went to bed. I worked the next two days and was then off today. Very little happened between those two days for me. I went out for drinks one of those nights and had a very serious discussion with Momma that was not about me. There may or may not be news on that front soon enough, but that's all of that I've got for now.

finally this season's christmas song

Let's not pretend the spirit of the season ever did fully enrapture me, but I did spend a fair amount of the day on the youtubes finding Christmas music I thought the kids would like. I was playing The Nutcracker that we usually welcome the season with when one of the boys mentioned one of the songs and was remembering The Brian Setzer Orchestra's Nutcracker Suite from the Elf soundtrack.

That started the video-go-round, and eventually I settled on yet another top Christmas song to add the aforementioned (in another post) top favorite Christmas songs. The search for more wasn't hard, and I was reminded of another top favorite that I have posted about, but I don't think I've shared the other slightly funnier version. This is definitely not a list of the videos we found, but since most of you won't bother to listen to the songs anyway, I'm only adding two.



Starting with the new fave that's actually an older song we have Buck Owens singing Santa Looks A Lot Like Daddy. I love Buck.


Number next on our list is Rufus Wainwright doing his song Spotlight On Christmas. It's a good enough song by itself, but add in French and Saunders, and it's like a parade of awesome.

maybe more feeling?

This post is for Molly because I did something Christmasy with the kids, and she commented recently that I should. We had hot chocolate and popcorn and watched A Christmas Story, one of my all time favorite Christmas movies.

We are planning more holiday movie watching that will involve one of the other greatest of the genre, the almighty Elf. There will be more hot chocolate, but instead of popcorn, or maybe in addition to, there will be peppermint ice cream. Also Momma will be in attendance. Our schedules require that we plan a bit more than on the day of.

Also, while we will be visiting the part of the family that I really, really would prefer not to, we are making plans to bail early with some lame, possibly made up excuse. We might make cookies as well, though that might be pushing it a little for me. We also may attempt to invite friends over in which case there will be noise and beer and other children.

In light of her comment, I'm less sure how I should feel about this whole thing. I don't want to force myself to pretend things I don't, because I've done that for a long time. I get that making oneself smile can actually act to lighten one's mood, but this kind of goes beyond that.

In the interest of not liquefying the already beaten dead horse I'll end the post here. But I do want to make it known that, in my smallish and lame way I'm sort of trying. I'm at least trying to do what I feel is right.

Also, let me point out that my links are Christmas colors. I usually just make them all red, but in some amount of spirit of the season I've added green as well.

dreamz with wings

I met Zophia very recently, and I've only hung out with her once, at a Halloween party, but I already have some amount of respect for her, especially for the work she does.

I want to post about her because one of her current projects deserves to be highlighted, and she deserves any help that finds its way to her. Her medium is metal and fire, sculptures built with found and recycled metals through her studio, Burning Art.

Her website is HERE where one can see some of the amazing work she's done. But what I really want to tell you about is her Dreamz with Wings. I don't know the whole story, but if you go HERE you can learn more for yourself. I do know that she is creating sculptures and selling them to raise financial support for a friend who is battling cancer.

I've seen her work up close and am happy that, though I barely know her, I do know someone capable of this sort of thing. I hope that my brief mention here can bring her support as well as new admirers. It's a worthy cause, so please at least visit the links I've provided.

And when you visit the Dreamz page, make sure to check out the cat with wings. I was taken a tiny bit aback upon seeing it because it reminded me of a tattoo idea that's sort of in the back of my head

oh no he dituhn

Remember a few days ago when I explained the real problems with Anakin Skywalker's epic battle with Obi-Wan Kenobi? It was a great post, and it basically contained my arguments in regards to the fail that George Lucas created by allowing both these characters to live. The post came about due to a late night and possibly slightly drunken discussion/argument with my friend Franklin who you should by now be aware of.

This conversation was reenacted with slightly different points made a couple of evenings later, and Franklin has now posted on his own blog with his sorely misguided counteraregument. Yes, I do indeed intend to not let this die.

One mistake in Franklin's post is his contention that the younglings took no effort to kill in that they are in fact younglings and have not had the same training that a true Jedi or even a padawan would have had. He seems to miss my point in this instance, though in general I find that he and I have equally valid points assuming one accepts the difference in the Star Wars univers and reality.

I'll point out that I accept the difference in created fiction and reality, but at the same time, no matter how much suspension of disbelief one allows for, one also has to accept that, given the similarity in physical laws evident there are some things one has to accept.

First to the younglings argument. My point has nothing to do with their lack of skill and training. Of course they are young and weak and untrained, but it's just that innocence that Anakin so wantonly destroyed that, in my opinion, allowed his use of the dark side to grow. It's the difference between killing uniformed soldiers versus decimating a city block with anonymous bombs. The willingness to face the soldier versus the willingness to kill with no regard allows one side to accept that there are no limits to how low one will stoop. It's the difference between slapping a man in the face as opposed to sneaking a kick to the nuts from behind.

Now, on the the next bit of the debate, that raw power can never equal skill. Anakin was highly skilled and well trained to the point where he should have been given full Jedi Knight status instead of being held back. I'll use Franklin's judo argument. As he points out, one skilled in judo will easily be able to use his knowledge to defeat a much larger and powerful opponent. However, given the same amount of expertise and training in judo between the two opponents, the fight will most likely go the way of the larger and more powerful of the two. Add on to that skill and training the willingness to accept no limits and the larger opponent becomes that much more formidable especially if the weaker opponent is willing only to work within the set skillset percieved to be true judo.

I'm more than willing for any other points to be argued. I'll listen to anyone nerdy enough to join this exchange. I'm pretty sure that of my couple of readers I have some scifi fans with an opinion on this subject, and I welcome any points of view.

feel it or not, here it comes

There's every chance I've mentioned this by now, and perhaps over the past couple of years I've made similar points, but this is Christmas season, and I suppose I could make the point again.

This one is different though. I may have hated Christmas in the past, but the combined efforts of Momma's love of the season and my own desire to give my children some of the assumed magic of the season has worked to make me less of a Scrooge.

I'm not feeling the exact Scroogely leanings I may have in the past, but I'm just not feeling Christmas at all this year. I did take a couple of minutes earlier today and found the two songs that almost always work. And they basically failed. I could almost feel a little glimmer of the light as Little Elf sat down in Santa's chair, almost feel a spark of the joy as Run, DMC and Jay found Santa's wallet and returned home for Mom's chicken and greens, but even Christmas in Hollis wasn't enough. I'm not sure what I expected from The Ramones other than getting to hear one of the greatest bands ever, and really, Merry Christmas Baby isn't the most inspiring of songs when it's the cheer and joy of the season you're after.

We have a tree. I had no part in choosing or decorating it. Last week in my little town was warm enough to have gone out any day, but Momma worked most days, and it rained every day. She broke down and bought one from the hardware store to avoid missing out. It was decorated while I was at work.

The tree story doesn't really bother me. I wonder if I'd been part of the picking and putting and related decorating if I'd have begun to get the feeling, but I don't really regret not being part of it. It isn't really bothering me. On top of that, the remains of the decorating, the unused ornaments, the various baubles that are not tree bound decorations, still sit around in the floor, taking up space. The kitchen is a wreck and has been for days. The recycling is piling up, empty but rinsed beer cans, rinsed and flattened milk jugs, overflowing paper bin, roasting pan in the sink filled with disgusting grease water and various other dishes that have found their way onto the pile.

With the separation of Momma's and my finances I've been unable personally to purchase any more than one gift and that for The Boy. I did help Momma pick our usual pile of books, but she paid for them. The other gifts for them she went shopping for, and my only help there was reading off, over the phone, the list she'd made and forgotten.

I'm sure the financial situation is not helping. My first check from the new job was for most of a week, and my next check is due the day after Christmas, and I'm not really getting the hours I need to make it a reasonable size. Giving Momma money to cover some of the gift load will help me feel that I've helped purchase gifts for my children, but I was only actually present for those I've mentioned. She and I haven't discussed gifts between the two of us. I don't know what family plans there are, and I don't know how she plans to work her boyfriend into any of this.

So I'm back to the just not feeling it this year. That it's only days away doesn't have the same creeping yet suddenly there feeling of years past. I kind of just want it to be over. January promises to be the month of change as I look forward to moving out. My own family is getting together a week and a half into the new year for our annual family get together, and my mother would very much like for us all to be there. There's a whole nest of potential vipers in that one brother has a new wife this year, one brother apparently just left his girlfriend to return to his wife, and one brother (me) has finally told the family that he's gay. I almost don't want to bother with the possible situations and discussions I can only imagine. And will Momma and I be able to coordinate our schedules and money to be able to make the drive south?

I just want all of Christmas, every single last little bit of it, to go away. It's not so much that I want it to be over because that suggests getting through it. I don't want to bother with having to do the stuff that Christmas is so much as just want it to go away.

I'm not celebrating an interstellar entity coming to earth to fornicate with a human woman and recreate himself in human form who is both father and son in one divine package, and solstice, though it celebrates the return of the light and the growing day always just seems like another lie as we actually look forward to more winter and colder days and nights. I hate the cold, and I'm already tired of my feet being cold and my fingers being clumsy and stiff. I want spring and renewal and a new love.

But, as the time honored saying suggests, I can wish in one hand and shit in the other. I think we all know which one will find itself fullest quickest.

random killa-whatsis

There is no argument that will sway me. No matter what you bring to the table, and I like to think I've heard it all, but there is nothing you can say to change my mind. And I only mention this because it came up tonight, and I feel I must preserve my opinion in blog form for posterior's sake.

Simply put, once Anakin had opened himself up to the whole of the force that the dark side represents, he was operating on such a whole other playing field from Obi-Wan that nothing Obi-Wan could even have dreamed of doing with the force would have stopped Anakin from killing him.

The absolute and only reason that Obi-Wan lived was to provide continuity between the light and dark sides of George Lucas's Star Wars. We can all accept the originals for the brilliance they provided, but I personally find them overshadowed by the crap that eventually gave us the origins of the conflict.

And to cap it all off, we have to sit through that final battle scene. I'm sure I've had something to say about it, because I'm quite certain I covered these movies when I finally was bothered to see them. I really did put it off for a good long time. Again, it wouldn't come up except that it already came up once tonight. Posterior and all that.

Okay, you want my reasoning? You want more of my point? Because it always seems like people tend to disagree with me, and I have to bring up the younglings. Remember when we see the aftermath in the secret Jedi headquarters? Remember everyone being dead? Yeah, Anakin, fully embracing the entirety of the force.

Somewhere awaiting the epic battle we have Obi-Wan, eventual nearly hero. He does help Luke focus on the force, but now we know it's just a bunch of meta-chlori-someshits in the blood. I'm not even getting into the fail that this is in being instrumental in ruining a great story line.

The real point is that, Obi-Wan, being the good little Jedi, was trained to only accept some part of the force as being good. He's only willing to use a certain amount of this power. He spends a lot of time learning how to use this narrow bandwidth of force.

Anakin, on the other hand, has also been training in that one part and has proved himself adept. He also has been drawn to the greater power of the entire force, including the part that lies outside what his current associates are practicing.

I can see no reason for Obi-Wan to have survived. Anakin should quite successfully have killed him a number of times in the final battle. He has the reason that seems valid to him, and he's accepted the whole of the force by being willing to destroy entirely anyone he feels stands between him and his goal. If nothing else, his destruction of the whole of the Jedi temple, and especially in light of the younglings killed, he was willing to accept such power as to be unstoppable. The very limits Obi-Wan and all the Jedis accepted and forced on themselves were their downfall.

And really, that is my youngling argument. The power it took for him to destroy all the Jedis and allowed him to accept the destruction of the younglings was more than enough "dark" side for him to easily finish off Obi-Wan.

The only reason Obi-Wan survived, given all that, was, he had to. Which to me means some sort of George Lucas director fail. I don't want it to be that, and I don't wishe Obi-Wan dead, but given what I've seen, I just can accept the outcome. It's almost as bad as Jar-Jar. Period.

And seriously, this post wasn't part of my night a very short time ago. I really didn't mean to come home and blog. I haven't even taken my jacket off or even smoked since I've been home. It's all posterity. I had to record it for time imemorial. You'll thank me one day when you find yourself citing this blot post to justify your dissatisfaction once the Lucan canon somehow becomes scripture and we find ourselves justifying ourselves based on that, Luke and Indiana competing for our obeisance and offerings.

not to put too fina a point on it

Via Box Turtle Bulletin

Yes, the representation that gay people will have at the inauguration will be a gay marching band included among the couple dozen bands that will march down Pennsylvania Avenue after the swearing in ceremony.

Make sure you go to the Box Turtle Bulletin link, because they say it really well. Then put them in your blog reader. Pay attention to why we are not as gay(happy) as we could be.

I get a preacher who compares me to perverts given the privilege of representing those like himself, but to actually represent me? Yeah, a band, one of many bands.

I'm happy there will be fags, and I love marching bands, but seriously, once again, fuck you Obama.

And, not to hammer the point home, but this is pretty much what I've come to expect. If I want gay in my life I have to go out of my way to find it. I don't run across gay just living and being. I don't see me represented on t.v. or in movies unless it's to make a point, but I never seem to just see plain old people who happen to be gay and are represented as normal. Okay, there's Michael Chabon, an amazing author, and there's specifically gay stuff, but where am I represented as just plain ol' normal nondescript me?

Seriously, I'm getting fucking fed up. At this point I'm just trying to live and make sense of my world. I would be sooo fucking happy to think I had a chance at finding love, a chance to make some progress, a chance to just be me and be okay. And once again I'm tossed a hand full of shit and expected to choke it down with a smile.

I want this to end. I want this to stop being an issue. I want to be okay.

does it ever stop?

Here begins attempt number two to get my thoughts in order, to express the feelings swirling in my head right now.

If, like my other reader, you don't live under a rock, you probably know that Rick Warren has been invited to give the invocation during Obama's inauguration. If you know this, then you probably also know that, according to Warren, as a gay man, I am no better than a pedophile.

I'm not linking to all the sources I could. As a blogger I probably should, but as a blog reader you can very easily google that shit and find it. It's been covered by plenty of other people by now. I'm just not bothering.

I'm angry and I'm hurt and I'm sad. I've dealt with hurt and sad so much lately that it all turns back into anger, and I end up back where I started.

If you've been reading here then you know the story, you know the years I've spent denying myself that tiny bit of freedom that being gay is. I hid my truth for years, hid from you, from me, from my wife, from my friends. I finally gave myself that little bit of an opening and came out. It has caused hurt and sadness and anger. It has forced my life to change, and working through that change is yet more hurt and sadness and anger. And really it's all just one gay man's attempt to try to work toward making his/my life what it's supposed to be. It's just me trying like hell to find my way in this world.

And even when I think maybe I'm done, maybe I'm on my way to a better place, it feels like getting slapped in the face. I voted for Obama, and now he is willing to have a religious rite performed during his civil celebration by a man who compares my very existence as a gay man to being a pedophile.

Really, all the response I have right now is a middle finger and a "fuck you" to both Obama and Warren. I feel like I've been played. I feel like, once again, gay people are only worth what you are willing to take from us. Vote? sure you'll take that if it gets you where you want. Equality? Acceptance? Basic civility? Respect? Is it really so much to ask?

first book review-ish in ages

Moments ago, sitting in the garage to avoid the rain, mostly enjoying a cigarette, I finally finished reading Watchmen.

The version we currently have is the collection of the entire story borrowed from Momma's boyfriend. He loved it. She loved it. Friend Franklin loved it and has been waiting for me to finish so he can talk to me/us about it. COD read it recently and apparently loved it.

So where should I start? I suppose I should just go ahead and admit that Watchmen left me feeling somewhat underwhelmed, especially in light of all the praise the book has gotten. Apparently I'm the only one who read the book and failed to leak a little into my pants.

The story was decent. The characters were mostly cool, and I did really like Rorschach. I liked the idea behind the costumed adventurers. It was in parts a fun study of what the world might have seen had these old style heroes been real, or perhaps it was a fun study in the reality of the lives of those people had they existed.

The art never did capture me. In my pre-children days, when I could afford comics, I was very much into a title or two, but like every other art type thing in my life I tend to go more for individual artists than genres. As an example, I don't like most country music made since sometime in the sixties, but I will listen to anything Dwight Yoakam does. I like even less hip hop, but Tribe Called Quest can do no wrong (maybe a little) in my book. With comics I've always been a fan of Frank Miller even if the movie version of Sin City did almost quite suck a lot. Paul Pope is also worth checking out if you like that sort of thing.

I wanted to enjoy it. I wanted to get and to feel the hype. In the end, the story ended up being kind of a let down. The plot was non existent till the end, and the pirate story? I get how the survivor's mental demise works in, but it and the text only pages almost seemed to exist to make the series longer. The end of course was the doozy, and that really just pissed me off. It almost felt as if the artist and writer suddenly realized they were only getting paid to write so many of the funny books and theyn realized they could either figure out a way to end it or write a few more for free.

As mentioned, Watchmen left me underwhelmed, non plussed if you will. I would probably recomend it for fans of super hero comics, but for fans looking for a little more out of their comics I would suggest they keep looking.

Next on my reading list is a book pressed upon my by Franklin, a book COD may well have an opinion on. I'll be starting Ben Bova's Privateers, probably within the hour. I can't guarantee a review at the end, but I'll try.

comment blog fodder

Recently, in a comment to yet another post about coming out, good friend and blogger Franklin had the following to say.

I would like to post more comments on your blog, its difficult and kinda not needed when they are about self realization and discovery. Let's get some opinionated content in here so your readers can participate.

p.s. I'm surprised you are still having awkward moments coming out to folks, I imagined most posts of this nature would be other people having awkward reactions. You touched on it in this one which was interesting to read about.

The earlier days of this blog contained more opinionated content, and it was likely more easy to comment. I've thought about this myself, as I enjoy several blogs for both the content as well as the discussions likely to happen in the comments.

Over time, as the life changes began ripping up and down the street at all hours, I found myself mostly unable to blog. Now that I'm back I feel different posts forcing their way out, and often I do fall into the self discovery track. It isn't that it's easier, because often it's much more difficult both to open up and to write a post I'm happy to give to the public. As I've mentioned a time or two, I'm not a life-as-open-book sort of guy. At the same time, while I'm not always uncomfortable opening up, I don't want the same whiny rants I'm afraid almost became my m.o. for too long.

So for Franklin and for myself I'll try to think of more things to say. I'll try to get back somewhat to the good ol' days, the days when I could fire off a whole post about my disdain for Robin Williams. See last night's anti Hardee's screed for the newest.

Now to the second part of the comment. Franklin doesn't think that it would still be awkward coming out to people. In a sense it's not. My point in coming out is generally to find a way to get it over with, get it out of the way.

Most people don't really see it coming. I don't scream gay in general either through my speech patterns or my mannerisms, unless of course you see something I don't. I didn't suddenly start acting like a different person when I came out, for the most part.

It's not really awkward to me for people to learn that I'm gay. It makes it easier to interact with people when I'm not having to feel as if I'm hiding something or being less than honest. And once I'm out, though I still don't scream gay in a general way, I am in fact a pretty much out person. I'm not going to hide or pretend things that aren't true. I'm not going to take most heterosexist norms into consideration. Maybe it's just a typical out and proud sort of way to be, or maybe it's the fault of years of hiding and pretending pushing me to over compensate. Hell, maybe I'm just not smart enough to keep my big mouth shut, and I think we've seen some proof of that in the past.

The awkwardness, when there is any, is just in letting people know. Franklin will remember a recent night that he and I went out to a local club. As we stood outside in the cold chatting with the doorman, a club patron left with some friends. I'd seen this particular fellow inside and commented to both Franklin and the doorman that I found this fellow attractive. It was exactly the sort of thing the two of them might have done (and likely did do) when spotting a girl they found attractive enough to mention aloud. It's one way of coming out/being out, but how could I gauge the likely reaction of the doorman? In this instance I decided that I just didn't care, but that didn't make any less sort of weird.

I guess my whole point is that it doesn't have to be awkward to come out. It is something that happens repeatedly. It's something that, as attitudes change, will likely become easier. But it is something I'll probably always have to do. Non gays seldom have to alert people to their sexuality as it's assumed about all of us to some extent, while gay people must constantly decide who and whether and when and where and why to tell people. If nothing else it's always a little awkward because of that.

real men don't what?

Have I told you how much I hate the newish Hardee's commercial? I'm sure you've seen it, a bunch of really guy guys sitting around watching t.v., what we are led to believe is some sort of Nascar like event.

They are verbally noting their opinion of the race as it takes place, and they are most likely bonding in a male-centric sort of way. It's quite likely the sort of thing guys do when they're left to their own guy ways. There are certainly no chics around to kill their collective buzz.

And then another friend enters the scene, approaching the real men with a pan of biscuits we can only assume that he himself has just baked. For some reason his biscuits appear formed in a fast food restaurant; they just have that look about them, but I suppose we are not meant to notice that. And it isn't really part of why we're here.

The friend offers the guys a fresh baked biscuit, and they all turn to him with a sort of astonishment in their eyes. It is quite obvious that we are supposed to agree with them, to wonder why their friend is offering something like biscuits.

And then the voice over cements our opinion by telling us that, "Guys don't bake." And of course it becomes clear. "Real men" don't make biscuits and offer them to their friends. That's the sign of something not man like. We should now doubt the masculinity of this biscuit offering man shaped person.

I have the following to say to Hardee's:

Fuck you! I'm man enough and make a damn fine biscuit. I do in fact enjoy making biscuits, and I'm quite proud of my ability.

So, in conclusion, fuck Hardee's. Biscuits=good, and hot guys bringing biscuits=also good.

contacts

For far too long I've not really made a point of making friends. The Cute Ex pointed this out to me one night when he was discussing a time when he planned to hang out with some of his friends.

I should point out that it was the same conversation when he discussed that he didn't like his boyfriends becoming friends with his friends. He felt there should be some sort of understood line between the two parts of his life. I disagree, but that isn't the point.

His words at the time had to do with the fact that I didn't seem to have my own people, that Momma and I shared our people. It's pretty much how we've always rolled; we share our people. I'm not sure how it works out, but we've never necessarily had our own friends. The people we meet and befriend away from each other have always become friends with us both.

In a sense I've tended always to not have a lot of close friends. As a child I always felt that my younger brother was somehow always stealing my friends, and all too often it did feel like people who were my friends for whatever reason always liked him more than me when he was around.

Some of that sort of thing may have bled over into modern life in that I've tended to see people as being my friends because of my association with Momma. I've only recently begun to accept that maybe some of those people also like me in addition to her as opposed to because of her.

All of this comes on the heels of my trying to open up to and be less of an anus to many of the people in my life, often people who I've assumed liked Momma as a friend in spite of her association with me, or people who I would have liked to be friends with but that they were Momma's, and not really my, friends.

It hasn't stopped being weird. This whole opening myself up, actually making attempts to befriend and be nice, is somewhat alien to me. I often feel exposed in some way that I'm not sure how to consider much less explain. And there's some amount of discomfort in all of this.

It's all part of my new plan of self discovery I suppose. It's all part of having created this facade of me that wasn't really me, but over time, as you build the facade, eventually you forget entirely what's behind there. In the case of old western buildings, there was nothing behind the facade more than an attempt to make your shit little town appear bigger than it really was. In my case the facade was an attempt to hide, even from myself, who I really am.

So, self discovery and all that, good for something, not fun always but sometimes. I think we've covered it all for now. There's certainly more, and I could get into the intricacies of what I've self discovered, but at some point a girl has to keep something to herself. There's got to be at least a hint of mystery.

accidental away

Tonight was my big going out night finally. I had a couple of bucks in my pocket thanks to finally having a job, and I now can't type thanks to having enjoyed some beers. Any mistakes I make are due entirely to inebriation.

I did in fact go out tonight, to a local bar with a bit of a dance party thing going on tonight. I don't actually dance, but I do love to stand up on the third floor and look at the boys down below as they dance.

Actually, I tend to find one in about twenty of the boys worth watching dance, but I'm sure part of the fun is trying to spot the good ones. Sometimes it seems worth it, but they all too often seem to end up straight in the end anyway.

There was one girl sexy enough to catch my eye, but it ended up not being a sexy girl so much as it was a really hot dress. It wasn't something I'd wear, but there's a part of me that kind of wants to look that good in something that hot. I'm not sure what that's about. Sounds kinda gay if you wanna know what I think.

That was pretty much the whole evening. The only other thing that really stands out was the really, really hot, but fairly (a lot) young looking fellow. I watched him for some time as he danced, dancing in a way that at some points made me laugh perhaps. Eventually I was able to see, from my vantage point, that he was quite attractive if a bit young. On one of my trips to the bar I passed him and a number of his female friends. I'm quite convinced that he winked at me as I walked past. I'm taking it as such and assuming it was well intended.

The next time I go out though it's going to be my old home bar. I haven't been there in ages, and I really do miss all the old faces I'm sure to see. I almost went tonight, but in the end, I stand by my decision. But damn soon it's back to the ol' home place.

cash money ya'll (in check form of course)

Two thirty in the afternoon has just slid by while cuppa number two is still too full to want to take in the car. The boys have finished lunch, yes we're late types around here, and they should have finished making their beds.

Big Brother is searching for socks, but from the sounds coming from the other end of the house he's probably not searching so much as he is playing with his brother. The Boy doesn't need socks, or so he claims, and he hasn't worn them in . . . um . . . I don't know. He's also been wearing a pair of plastic rain boots for weeks, having picked them as his shoe of choice since the weather has been ruling out sandals.

Seriously, plastic rain boots with no socks, and no I don't argue. I care, but I don't.

I'm trying to time my day so that I can get downtown for my check and get it to the bank in time to get back downtown in time for Momma to get off work in time for me to go to work. I'd rather have too much time than too little, and I'd prefer not to be late to work over all this. But I also don't want to have time to waste waiting for Momma to be done in time to . . . yeah, we covered this.

I'm happy today. I get a paycheck, or I should. The restaurant world tends to require one to wait till after two o'clock to pick up checks on payday, and knowing this I've waited, plus all that other stuff I already said. But seriously, folks, after over a month and a half of being broke, I'm getting paid. It's a damn good feeling, though it will be for just under a week's worth of work, and my next check will arrive the day after Christmas.

I'm not letting my lame broke-ness bring me down in regards to Christmas. I'll try not to spend too much as the big day approaches, and I'll think of something I can get the boys. Momma may be mostly out of luck as far as gifts from me are concerned, at least until after Christmas, and I do plan on blowing some small amount of my newly earned scratch on some light going out and having some drinks. We'll wait and see how that turns out.

And that's where I leave you for today. I'm not getting into the troubling aspects of Christmas, at least not just yet. You can wait around and hope for it, because I'm sure it's coming. I do have a smallish issue nibbling around the edges of my brain, and it's due its own post, but that isn't today. Today is for good moods and happy thoughts.

Like a scene in a movie, though admittedly a probably crappy movie, I took matters into my own hands. I needed and wanted it done, and I've grown tired of waiting. The good days were too few and too far between, and they weren't really that good. Something about tonight just finally pushed me over the edge. It was time. It's my time, dammit. And I need to stand up and take it.

My original plan did want to involve my electric clippers, the ones I haven't used in a number of years. The problem there is that even the biggest guide was too small. I tried taping two of them together to get something I might like, but then the clippers wouldn't work properly, so it was on to plan b.

I can only see so much of my head even with two mirrors, and I have this problem where I can't judge distance or direction as well when using a mirror. Once we add more mirrors it gets worse until I'm just cutting air somewhere near my head.

But given about an hour, a fair amount of patience, enough not giving a shit and a sharp pair of scissors, you can indeed cut your own hair.

Mine, while walking through a store I thoroughly detest earlier today, kept getting stuck in my jacket collar. That was the spine busting straw. Also, I've needed a change, something I can do. The hair was a bit of a point of pride, because as mentioned, on the good days it wasn't bad. It has a way of curling that, if I get it just right, and if the weather is just right, and now it just doesn't even matter.

I love my new short hair, and I know exactly how bad it probably looks. I can guesstimate how much I missed, and I can only hope I can con Momma into giving it a peek, sometime next week which is probably the next time I'll see her for more than a few minutes.

So, like a scene out of a previously admitted bad movie, I'm the girl that needed to take control and did so by cutting her hair. I won't be doing anything different with my makeup but will continue to opt for a natural look in that department. I do want some brown shoes because I've decided that I don't always want to wear black anymore, but that's a lot more money than a free hair cut.

Now I'm going to roll myself a cigarette and go enjoy the cold night air before crawling into bed. Momma is at her boyfriend's, so I get the real bed tonight.

yeah me!!!

where'd teh gays go?

As I'm writing this, it's rather late. Most people are well into their night's sleep, and by the time they read this it will be tomorrow, or at least it will be tomorrow from where I sit on the presleep side of the day.

Anyway, as you read this, perhaps you don't know that it's Day Without A Gay day. Perhaps you do already know if you have those damned militant homos calling in gay at wherever the hell it is you work.

I won't be calling in gay. I can't afford to, and I certainly can't afford to put my sudden newfound employment on the line for something so simple as the desire to eventually be able peacefully to make sense of this huge part of me that I wasted many years denying to the detriment of myself and most everyone and everything around me.

But, as of now, I do plan to wear my gay tshirt.

That's right. I have a gay tshirt. It's black and tight fitting and has the word "recruiter" in rainbow letters.

I hope that as many gays as are able to decide to call in gay tomorrow/today. I hope that people realize how empty their own lives are when certain people are denied the chance to just be themselves and find their love and live their life as so many non gay people take for granted.

Sitting here making a point of thinking about it I see being gay as the part of my whole that it is. For many people it isn't as easy as it is for me, while for many people it's so much easier than it was or is for me. That's gay for you, and it would really be nice to finally one day know that it doesn't matter.

We sit next to you in your cubicle and coach all the kids when ours play soccer on the same team as your kids. At the grocery store we both want to find the perfect package of chicken parts for whatever it is we're cooking for dinner. We want, just like you, to park as close to the mall as possible, because we don't want to waste any more time at the mall than we have to.

Of course some people like the mall, both gay people and not gay people. I personally don't, outside of the almighty Chic-fil-a, but that's really neither here nor there.

In the end, don't expect too many people to notice that their day might not have included as many gays as usual. Most people probably won't notice at all. But I'll be at work, and I'll be wearing my shirt, and if you ask I'll tell. Hell, I might tell anyway.

out, durned gay

With the new job I'm meeting lots of new people. There is one guy, a gay no less, that works within the family of companies I'm now a part of, and one of his bests friends is also a best friend to Momma and me, and they both know about my own faguality. There's also a bartender down the block, also part of the "corporate" family, and I told her just a couple of nights ago. The cook with whom I drank beers and got high after work one night last week now knows, as it came out as we were partaking in the drinking and smoking.

The cook in question didn't believe me at first. He kept asking if I was serious, if I was messing with him. He pointed out, perhaps a couple of times or so, that he didn't care, that it didn't make any difference to him. After expressing his surprise and finally being convinced that I was in fact serious, he seemed to try to play it off. He knew, he told me, or was pretty sure. Something I did, some way I acted, perhaps a mannerism, something indicated my gayness to him. Then it was my turn to be increduless (a new word that means almost incredulous but not quite actually at all) and wonder what I'd done.

I started this post several hours ago. It was actually a growth on the side of my most recent post, and my self editing brought the monstrosity to my notice. It isn't that it's a monstrosity as a post, but as part of that last post it most certainly was. So it became it's own post. I copied it and pasted it into a new blog posting window, and now I seem to have gotten back to it.

Coming out I think, somewhere along in there.

Without trying to narrow down the place I work to any local readers, I will admit that I can see some people ice skating when I'm at work. Tonight there were some guys from a local hockey team. They were wearing their jerseys, and I wouldn't really have noticed except that I smoke and I went outside to do so and saw him.

Of course it was not to be, the jock on the ice isn't going to notice the aging gay punk guy skulking around checking him out, but I did mention it to one of the servers in a "hey, did you see number blank out there on the ice?" sort of way.

"I'm not really into hockey players. I like skinny nerdy guys," she answered.

"I do too," I said, "but that number blank is awfully easy on the eyes."

I also complemented her on her tights later in the night, but only after she pointed out how one leg was completely twisted, and they really did look great with her jacket. That's got to be a little gay. I don't know that she's figured out that I'm gay, but in trying to be me I find sometimes that I'm kind of gay.

Then as the night ended, as I sat outside waiting for Momma to show up, drinking a beer and enjoying a cigarette while chatting with one of the managers, it really happened.

I've mentioned Momma and/or the kids as one does at one's job. She asked me first about the kids, probably their ages. I told her and showed her the picture of them that is my phone background. She asked how long Momma and I have been married.

And then it happened.

"Well, we've been married for a bit over ten years . . . but . . . well, it's pretty much over," I say, or something very like this, in answer.

She can't help but wonder, "wha . . .?"

An answer I've used a couple of times now, "yeah, coming out will do that." And I'm met with some amount of incredulity. I'm used to it, and really, it's to be expected.

And really, the only thing holding me back in a general being out sort of manner is that knowledge that not everyone knows, and it's not something you go in proclaiming. At the same time I'd be so much happier if everyone just knew already. I'm already over it and am just ready for everyone to deal with it and let me know how they plan to deal with it, so I can deal with it and know how things are going to be.

sorta weird

Anyone around the ol' deskfull that knows anything probably doesn't need the whole coming out story. It's been a little over a year now, and while lots of things in my life have changed and are changing still, there's been a somewhat constant sort of thing.

Momma and I are still legally (technically even?) married, though at some point that will likely change. We will always be parents to the boys of course, and though we have put each other through some shit lately, we have discussed that our friendship is extremely important to us both and that we both have to work to keep it so.

That of course raises some questions, and the aforementioned shit we put each other through raises some doubts sometimes. Our attempt to remain in the same house is a huge part of the issues/doubts that we've had lately. For similar but different reasons for us both, it seemed at one time like not a bad idea for me to stay here in the house. Turns out, it was a somewhat not good idea.

Having come off the three years of being a nonworking stay at home dad, getting back into the business was easy at first, almost like riding that bike you never forget, but it was also a little odd. I've mentioned the three days making sushi and the three weeks at the bar. Add in the four months at the gpub, and all of this in less than a year. It's like my early work history all over again, back when I was a dumb smart ass punk with an attitude a mile long except that I've been reeling in some of my douche-ier side in favor of being less of an ass.

Really though I began this post with a whole other point. Out of force of habit I refer to Momma as my wife in daily, random encounters with people I randomly, daily encounter. And as mentioned it's still at least legally a fact of our lives. But she is essentially just a very close friend at this point, our husband and wife days being somewhere behind us.

Ex wife sounds a little cold, and it doesn't do justice to the facts of our recent past or current relationship. Baby momma is just out on obvious grounds. And from there I've pretty much run out of options. For people that know us in real life of course there is always her actual name by which I can refer to her, but then there are people that I know or meet that she doesn't.

I haven't really talked to her about this. We have a habit of saving discussions up and letting them all out at inoportune times, partly I'm sure to continue to save each other some amount of hurt and/or bad feelings. That I need some new way to respectfully refer to her is just another sign of the ongoing change, and the change just keeps being this huge thing looming over us.

I suppose some of this is a bit melodramatic. It really isn't such a huge change, and whether or not it's really looming as such is almost debatable. It is a fact of life for us, and it is a fairly big thing, and it does color so much of what we do and think and feel and . . .

So into the I-just-don't-know file we can store all this for now. It's coming eventually. I'll figure it out, make sense of it all. And before any of us even realize we'll be off and doing our own thing and moving forward. It'll keep being weird for a little while longer, but then it won't be weird anymore. One day we can make our own normalcy, whatever that ends up being.

waitin' for legalization blues

There's this funny thing that always makes me feel better.

I've always tended to be the sort of person that tends toward being perhaps a bit of a cynic in certain areas. I can well imagine that, lately at least, my truer nature has come across in some recent blog posts.

For whatever reason, perhaps some misfiring neurons or some underperforming protein builder, my feelings are just not as pretty as those of others, or maybe I grossly misunderstand how anxious so many other people are.

Of course I'm not constantly walking around under my very own storm, but I also like storms. I like gray, drizzly days. What I don't like is too much sun, partly because it's so damn bright. I don't hate it, but some days I just wish it didn't have to try so hard. Night time is the best, and of course dry and warm would certainly rule. A decent amount of cold and even some wet can be appreciated as well. But really none of this is at all what I started out to write, though it does seem to serve in some small way to attempt to explain what it is I'm saying. I mean, it's kind of Addams Family on some level.

There's an ongoing discovery that I make and have made and will likely continue to realize, but there is one thing that always helps, and when I've got the money and can find it my life is so much pleasanter. Beer sort of almost helps, but beer is its own thing and is better used for physical ailments than . . . mental? spiritual? . . . not sure, because I just don't know exactly what my problem is.

Momma has suggested that perhaps I need counseling. She's gone so far as to think there is some amount of chance I could be prescribed something to make me normal, but the very idea of buying pills to be like other people seems a little . . . um . . . I'm not sure, but in the words of a friend's three year old, "don't like it."

But there is something, a substance that makes it all go away. Okay, it doesn't do that at all, but it takes the edge off sometimes. It doesn't dull the pain or make me see things that aren't there. I've mentioned it here at the ol' deskfull a time or two.

It makes me easier to be around. It helps me crawl out of my own butt long enough to see the people around me. It helps me realize I don't have it so much worse than everyone else and reminds me we all have it mostly the same but in our own way.

I've figured out that I will never be happy-go-lucky or feel like my glass is half full or half empty because of anything I did. It will still sometimes be the universe after my ass yet again. There will often be those stabbing rays of sun in my eyes even when everyone else is enjoying a nice rain shower. And it's okay. If I take my meds like a good boy I'm better, and really, something I could easily grow with little trouble isn't quite meds. It's really that simple.

just not the way he meant it

From Moses at The Faithful Penguin we get a story that I should say up front I'm not the least bit interested in. It's about football, and I just don't really like football that much. None of that is the point, though, so my opinion there doesn't matter.

Really I'm only posting because I amuse myself, and leaving this as a comment felt a little creepy/douchey, so I'll just bring it home instead.

The post is about a football player being inducted into the hall of fame, and the player is quoted discussing his desire to sack quarterback Brett Favre. I don't know who Mr. Favre plays for, but I do live in the US, so I have in fact heard of him, and of course I've seen whatever product he does commercials for.

Back to the quote, the player who wants to sack Favre says, "I wouldn't try to hurt him, but I would like to lay him down softly a couple of times."

Yeah? Because I too would like to lay Brett down softly a couple of times.

a deal on beer

Another shift saw me washing dishes for the most part, and I still don't mind. We've had a busy couple of nights, and until I can spend time on a slow night getting onto the line, this is how it is. I'm off the next two nights, and I don't expect the next shifts I work to be too busy, so there's my learning the job.

Friday night was as I'd assumed it would be, lots of things going on downtown which translated to lot's of business for us. We didn't get out of the kitchen till after one o'clock, though some amount of that may have been my fault. I didn't realize the water I'd let escape dishland was of the volume it turned out to be, and I didn't realize the amount of squeegeeing and mopping it would take to end my night finally.

We got shift beers and walked down to the next bar and bought beers a couple of which went into my jacket pockets. We stopped at a third place on the way to our final destination, the current home of a coworker, a few hundred feet and a corner away.

The house was all my own as I came home. The boys were at Grandma's house, and Momma was at her boyfriend's, having spent her night seeing the band of a friend play their very first show.

Having the house to myself was oddly nice. I slept in the bed for a first time in a while. I was in a decent mood, probably because I'd actually gotten to do something other than run straight home after work. And I fell asleep soon after I went to bed! That's probably the most exciting part, not laying awake while my mind races through the stupidest things to think about.

Momma asked me to call tonight when I got off so that she, depending on what time it was, could decide her sleeping arrangement for tonight. Her boyfriend was in bed by the time I left work, so she wasn't getting out. Another friend had sent me an IM suggesting I come to his house. I was only there a short time, but it was still nice, out with grownups.

And that was my weekend for the most part. I think I like the job enough. I can enjoy working there. I like the kitchen people so far, though there's one guy I don't especially like just yet. He's already pissed me off, and I've only actually worked with him once.

I just realized, another odd work fact and some background. Learning the names of your kitchen coworkers is usually pretty easy, even for me, and I suck with names. Learning server's names is usually less easy. Given enough time on a normal line you will see the tickets with the servers names printed on them, and you'll start to recognize who goes with which name. I've only learned a few servers names so far, and I just realized that it's only the guys. And only one of them is even passably cute.

And that really was my weekend.

rehash hash

Too often lately this blog just seems like a place I come to vent and whine about how hard I've got it. I know that, compared to real problems, I don't really have it that bad, but it's also hard not to feel your own shit is so much worse than most people's. I'm not really covering any new ground here, and I'm certain I've said all of this before, probably a few times. If you find halfway through this post that you've read it all before then, by all means, click away. It's more for me anyway than for you, a little catharsis to go along with my morning (afternoon) coffee.

In my last post I mentioned feeling stuck. I've felt this way for years, as if I was never going to see anything but these same four walls closing in on me.

A little over four years ago Momma was offered a chance to move up at the sushi bar at which she worked. The owner was willing to give her a raise and to allow her to get overtime, but she would need to be available whatever hours she was needed, and to make it work I would have to stop working.

A year or two previously I'd lost what I consider to be the best job I've ever had as well as the best chance I've ever had to place myself in a position to maintain a high level of employment in the field I've fallen into, restaurants.

I was kitchen manager at a local pizza restaurant, a place I truly believed in and loved working for, a place I was willing to work hard to help grow better. The owners had built a small three store chain with our store and their first two stores in the Carolinas. They actually lived in North Carolina and had grown tired of dealing with our store, so they sold it to a local guy who owns way too many restaurants himself. Within a month of his takeover I was out, given a laundry list of bullshit reasons I was leaving, leaving me to believe that I just didn't fit in his future plans for the place.

Since losing that job I was back to the usual, working somewhere for a few months until either I or them grew tired of each other, and I'd move on to the next restaurant. Then Momma got her deal, so I quit working. The plan was supposed to involve me working with the boys' homeschooling and have more time to write, the thing I've always sort of felt I wanted to do but without ever actually doing.

Things were sort of smooth, or so they seemed to me, but they were never good for me. Momma took advantage of her freedom and began going out a lot more than I realized, and at some point I started to get the feeling that things were not what I thought in relation to the amount of time she spent away from the house. Over the next two years, the two people in her life that I had a feeling were more than friends turned out to be exactly what I thought.

Now to add a wrinkle we throw in the gay. I knew I was gay and wanted a good way out of this relationship, a way to finally be free to be gay. I almost wished that Momma would fuck up somehow and give me the opening I wanted, and eventually she did. I'd spent years pretending to be her loving straight husband, knowing that for me to come out would begin so much pain and hurt, and I just couldn't do it. I don't know to make her understand the hurt I still feel, hurt that I took on and hurt that I gave out.

And now, things should be better. I almost have the freedom I need, and she has all the freedom she needs and more. She has a place to live and a boyfriend and a good job. I have a sofa in her living room and a new job. I still don't reasonably have my freedom in a useful way, and I'm stuck. She still gets to go out and have fun and enjoy herself. I took a paper bag full of pennies to the grocery store to feed into the coin machine so that I could have a tiny bit of money in my pocket.

She has been mostly understanding and extremely helpful, but at the same time she hasn't been as understanding as I would like, and her help is starting to feel like charity. Accepting her help feels like constantly having to admit my own failure when in fact I'm in the place I am because I ate shit for years, forced myself to accept a role that was entirely wrong for me in order to help her and save her from having to feel the hurt that I accepted was my own.

And I'm still waiting, and I know for a fact that I will likely be still here, still waiting, still frustrated for the next several months. It will be at least a month (the one with Christmas in it no less) until I even begin to get myself to a financially stable place. After catching up with some bills/debts I will then need another couple of months of saving money to attempt to find my own place to live, and that is a whole other scary, looming beast on my horizon, being on my own for the first time.

I've been patient. I've been patient with Momma and with circumstances and with feeling frustrated and depressed and anxious. I'm so fucking tired of being patient. I'm so tired of watching good happen for so many people while I sit patiently and wait for my turn to get what I need. And what do I see waiting for me? What does my near future hold in store? The knowledge that my only option is remaining patient, eating shit and taking all of this frustration onto myseself. Pretty much where I've been for years, doing pretty much exactly as I have for years.

the grind

Last night was lots of washing dishes. I watched one of the cooks as he prepared a couple of items, and I joined him on the line at one point and made some salads. I've picked up the few salads so far, or seem to have. It's pretty easy that way.

There was plenty of prep to do as I walked in the door, but it was mostly easy stuff. I started a couple of things that got taken over and took over a couple of things as I needed to. I washed lots of dishes.

Tonight is not only our town's Santa parade, but it's also First Friday and the new job is located well for the artsy thing that that is. I'm sure someone is playing at the theater, but I couldn't tell you. Plans call for tonight to be busy, so that'll be fun.

Oh yeah, I also feel stuck in this house, and I don't really feel like I can move forward if I can't get out of here. And I can't get out of here. I'm starting to feel like I've extended every courtesy and can't get a response I want, and I wouldn't be surprised if Momma said the same.

Like anything, I need to learn to enjoy the good and deal with the bad. I do finally have a job, though I won't see a check for a week. It'll be another two weeks before I see a full paycheck and it will be however many months of still being stuck in this house with little in the way of options.

and we're back

Just like that, the pendulum swings past that damned mid point, that place it kept not getting past.

As I put clean clothes over a body that needed a shower today, I heard my phone ringing. My phone was attached to the charger and was at the other end of the house, and I actually missed the same call twice in a short amount of time.

I rushed through the house, pulling jeans up, stuffing boxers down into place, my pant legs dragging because I hadn't even taken the time to roll them up. I missed the second call by seconds.

Checking my missed calls I find a number I don't recognize. I call them and the phone is answered by a business, a restaurant at which I've applied for a job. I explain that I'm returning a missed call and am asked to hold for (name withheld.) I talk to this person whose name I have no reason to associate with anyone given the nature of the call, though it's a name I have reason to assume could be put to a face, some face neither I nor Momma can even begin to imagine remembering, and then as we're talking he asks if I'm the person by my name married to a person by Momma's name.

As it turns out, I "interview" with a person to whom I once gave a job, a person I once "interviewed." I place the scare quotes for two different reasons. In the first instance of the use it is because the interview basically involved me showing up as who I am and being willing to accept the job. In the second case I use scare quotes because, when I interviewed and hired people, my interviews were . . . I don't know how to describe it.

I was reminded recently of an interview that ended up in my hiring the candidate. He is now somewhat kitchen manager of the pizza place at which I hired him. He remembers the interview as being mostly:

Me: You smoke?

Him: Yyyyeeaaahhh . . .?

Me: Good, 'cuz I need a cigarette. Let's go over here.

Followed by random bullshit conversation.

So, I now have a job. I make food. I washed a lot of dishes tonight, and I didn't mind it a bit. It's what I do. I'm actually happy to be there I'm pretty sure. And looking out our front door I can see people ice skating. When I went to get the trash cans I saw the Cute Ex sitting with a girl and a guy. Of course I'm sure it's the guy he dumped me for, but I barely cared.

While I barely cared I'm still irritated. Of course the initial pissiness is the whole he-totally-lied-to-me-oh-my-god-boys-suck sort of thing, nevermind the fact that I have no reason to believe either that the guy is or is not anything at all in relation to the person in the equation with whom I now have history (Cute Ex.) The second wave of aggravation was at my own inability to push this thing out of my head. I should write a song called The First Boyfriend Blues and make a mint on the gay country circuit, if there is such.

I also wiped out rounding a corner. The floor had just been mopped, and the tile doesn't belong in a kitchen. But I'll learn to take the corners slowly, and I'll remember to walk in the particular kitchen way that minimizes slipping to your doominess sort of falls, and all will be well.

ramen and saltines

Lately my moods have swung more wildly than a . . . okay, the swing is more like a . . . at least try to read through the whine to the good part, and try to accept that, by the end, I'm attempting to laugh at myself.

On one side of the pendulum swing is absolute bleah, anxiety, feelings of worthlessness and seeing the universe as one giant asshole constantly shitting on me and laughing maniacally the entire time. I don't know what is on the other extreme of the swing, because the pendulum never seems to swing all the way to the other side. It hits some midpoint of meh and comes back to the shitting on me part.

I know that this isn't the truth of the matter. I know that I'm just in a bad place right now, but nothing really seems to help. All around me it seems like everyone is partying and laughing and having a great time, and it's hard to remember that I'm not the only one with issues. Hell, it's hard to remember that my issues aren't even that seriously serious in the larger scheme of things.

But that's sort of the kind of person I am. I'm not a glass half empty kind of guy, though it would seem I am. I'm more of a "who the fuck has been drinking out of my glass?" kind of guy. I can find the negative in anything. If I won the lottery I'd likely find something to bitch about. That's the sort of person I am.

I do have an interview in a couple of days for a job I'm already assuming I will hate, but I refuse to see it that way. At least I refuse to act as though I see it that way. I'll walk in in nice clothes and a smile. It's not cooking, and that will be a huge step for me, not necessarily up or down so much as just a step.

So, having bitched quite enough, I should think of things that are good. My feet are cold, but my house is warm enough and dry enough and has food in it. I can wash my clothes even if I do wear them for three days straight because it just doesn't seem worth the effort to shower if all I'm going to do is sit on my ass until the next available day to search for a job I probably won't get. Momma keeps buying me beer, and honestly, if you knew me, you'd probably buy my silence with a twelve pack too, though it is of the High Life variety and not the micro brews I so richly deserve. The tobacco I've been buying is apparently not supposed to be as cheap as I've been paying, so I'm back to having to die slowly because of a slightly less enjoyable brand, so the fact that I got to smoke a higher quality for the wrong and lower price should be good for something. Momma gave me a pair of her underwear, and honestly they weren't very flattering on her at all, but they don't look bad on me, and they aren't as girly as you probably imagine, and add to this the gay thing, and I do look good in them. That and three quarters will turn the air compressor on at the gas station for what it's worth.

So I do have things that are good in my life. The kids are terrors, as kids are want to be, but I love them, and I'm working toward being cool with them. With any luck the beer I just spilled on the keyboard won't fuck it up any more than it already is, and since it doesn't seem to be already fucked up one can assume it isn't, but I think we all know how bad situations wait till we aren't looking, so I'm sure it's about to short circuit and send electricity coursing through my body.

Oh, and I went to the weekly gay men's meeting finally. It's a weekly thing at the local UU church, and I was one of the youngest people there. It was a nicely bland evening of not being the only gay person in the room. I plan to return the next time it happens, perhaps even becoming a regular if it seems to meet a need, though I'd rather meet my gay people in a less boring environment. Of course the gay bar sees me drunk and nervous, so I should probably just be cool with bland for now.

I think that may in fact be all I can come up with for tonight. I was worried that the poor ol' blog was suffering withdrawals because I haven't sent any bitch filled missives onto the internets lately. I wanted to post but had nothing to say, so I said it anyway, and now you've read it. I hope it didn't bring you down, and I hope you return for more. Better yet I hope I return for more and have something to say next time.

I like it when they touch

First be warned that this is not safe for kids, and depending on where you work it may also be unsafe there. And I doff my cap in thanks to Mike of Mike Says, because I'm totally stealing this from him. It's funny enough that it needs to be shared and shared again.

world AIDS day

Today is World AIDS Day, and if I'm the one introducing you to this then you should spend less time under your rock.

Perhaps one of the scariest aspects of AIDS today is the fact that we seem to have come to a place where we don't recognize it as the deadly disease that it is. Too many people are still dying of AIDS, but it just doesn't seem to be the looming danger we remember from years past.

I'm still unsure of my place in so many places, and whatever this thing called the gay community is is still so new to me. AIDS is not new, though I have to admit I barely remember those days in the '80's when we first heard about AIDS.

I remember it being this thing that we suddenly started hearing about, this thing for which there was no cure, that killed whoever it touched. Then suddenly it was a disease that gay men got, and suddenly it didn't seem that big a deal. It was understandable as something that "those people" got, were likely responsible for, probably they were deserving. Yes, that's how I was raised, and there is still some amount of that attitude in too many closed minds.

I can't really do this topic justice. It hasn't touched me like it has so many others, but it's a fear I live with. I truly believe that it's only a matter of time before it does touch me somehow.

I can't really do this topic justice, so I'm sending you to Doc's blog.