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.

a talk with the wife

I totally hate having feelings all of the sudden. I don't all of the sudden hate it, but all of the sudden I have feelings, and I hate it

Momma and I finally got a chance to hang out and drink too much beer and talk. She's been so far up her boyfriend's ass lately that she and I haven't had a lot of time. And with my unemployment and boyfriend free status, I have had lots of time. I've also needed someone to talk to. We just never got our two way wristwatch radios synced.

Something else I'll admit. I don't have a lot of friends. I don't think I ever have, but lately it's really been fucking with me. I have a habit of being a douche bag, sort of a defensive wall kind of thing. I put people in their place before they have a chance to hurt me.

I need to tear that wall down. I need to let people in. There's a bit of a problem with that. I'm gay. Boys don't make sense to me, and most girls just don't see the friend I could be. I could be friends with boys, but I don't get what the hell they're talking about most of the time, and I just don't care what the score of the game was most of the time. Girls? Well, most of them have had enough of boys to last a lifetime, so why would they even imagine that a boy could be a friend?

Tomorrow needs to be the first day of the rest of my life. I have a lot of work that I need to do. Among the things Momma and I covered is that I don't really like myself very much, and that has led and continues to lead to any number of other issues.

We talked about all sorts of shit, and we were even able to get into her life a little bit. It was fun and nice and stuff, but I also realized I need to let go a little bit. It's part of my friend issue.

But . . .

First I need to work on my relationship with the boys. They need more attention than I've been willing to give them. I've felt like shit so much lately, and I've tended, to some extent, to take it out on them. Because I get so absolutely nothing in the way of what I need I end up cutting myself off from them, not giving them what they need. That's more a variation of the truth, but it gets to the core of the problem.

That's the place I've known I needed to start. That's the beginning of what I need to work on. That first step is the hardest, knowing that my ultimate goal is a complete change in the way I've been living and parenting. They are worth the effort, but can I pull my head out of my butt long enough to start doing right finally?

those fags

It's not what people say.

It isn't even a little bit what they do.

sometimes . . .

Some times, it's just as simple as knowing you are the only fag there.

You can see and feel a pressure that probably isn't even there. Everyone at the thing you're attending has been nothing but cool.

But they don't know that you're gay. You know, and some of the people you know there know. But not everyone does.

And you don't know who's cool and who's a douche, waiting for any reason at all to damn you or whatever. They don't know.

So why should they care?

Sometimes it's just that simple.

It's as simple as being the only fag there.

And knowing that you are the only fag there.

Sometimes it's just that simple.

And sometimes it hurts.

darkness on the face of the earth

I tried to find Willie Nelson's version of this song which he does on the album Teatro. It's a damn fine song, especially when you're feeling depressed and need songs like this to really drive the point home.

Don't listen to me, because I'm back in the dark hole that seems to be my default setting, but do listen to the song. The video isn't worth watching really unless you need a bunch of pictures of Hawkshaw Hawkins, so feel free to play the video and then open another window to do something else in while it plays.

want not need?

In an earlier blog post I mentioned the shindig from last night, the roller girl picture takin' calendar makin'.

As I also mentioned, it was Momma's idea that I go, get out of the house, see some friends, all of the above and more. Her boyfriend came to the house to pick her up as they had already planned to go, and then she was going home with him. I had the boys, and they are friends with the son of the person whose house we went to, and I'm friendly with the roller girls that have been around a while, though I don't really know the new ones.

Perhaps another blog post could be about the minus-the-derby I've been almost feeling. I'm no longer announcing, and the video I filmed for the big two day event three months ago still sits in the camera in my floor. I feel as if the video thing was just throwing me a bone so I'd feel better about having the announcing taken away since no one has bothered to even ask for it back. And now, with the whole not essentialy married to a roller girl I'm not nearly as involved, not even going to practices. It's kind of like this whole big thing was taken away, but I still don't know how to feel.

But I digress, and now I should figure out if there's a point to this post. Oh yeah, the hanging out.

So Momma was there, but she wasn't there with me. I was there, but I wasn't there with her. It still feels weird, and it's sort of a sign that I sort of need to make my own friends. She and I are still really close, and there's really only one other person that I'm even close to being as close to. There's one other person that I honestly feel I can be that open around.

Me being open about stuff is sort of a rare occurence. Cute Ex was just barely getting to the point where I was starting to feel like I might get comfortable enough with, and the majority of anything like really opening up I did with him involved him being bothered by something and me having to attempt to explain it without being as honest as I maybe should have. Even now, after all we've been through, I still am afraid to really be honest with Momma.

It's good, I think, that I can feel this not-with-her sort of thing when we are at the same place. It has to be, and it's part of my journey to being me, which is something else I'm realizing lately. I have to figure out how to be me without having someone. For too long I've basically judged myself by how I reflect off of Momma and then the Cute Ex. That line makes sense in my head, so I hope it conveys my meaning. I tend to define myself by who I'm with and need to get to the whole "I don't need a man to make me happy/feel complete."

Now the problem gets back to who am I? What do I want to be when I grow up? I'm sort of starting to feel like I'm running out of time. I'm not getting any younger, and being an unemployed line cook with an expertise in fryer and Ceaser salads isn't really paying the bills or helping me focus.

party girl?

Moses at his blog, The Faithful Penguin, believes that the Typealyzer is somewhat accurate in portraying him as a thinker. The Typealyzer claims to be able to take a peek into your blog and tell the type of blog it is.

Being a sucker for someone telling me they can use sciencey sounding words to tell me about me, and needing (hoping) to hear good things about myself from others, I thought it was at least worth a chance. Given that Moses seems like a smart guy, and since he claims the Typealyzer isn't completely bogus, I felt it was time to run the ol' Desk Full through the grading machine.

My type? ESFP-the performers, and according to the machine:

The entertaining and friendly type. They are especially attuned to pleasure and beauty and like to fill their surroundings with soft fabrics, bright colors and sweet smells. They live in the present moment and don´t like to plan ahead - they are always in risk of exhausting themselves.

They enjoy work that makes them able to help other people in a concrete and visible way. They tend to avoid conflicts and rarely initiate confrontation - qualities that can make it hard for them in management positions.

I suppose it's not entirely wrong. I honestly don't know if I can or should argue it much at all, but at the same time my life and brain in are in a period of what I'll call flux for lack of a better word. Without bringing up the whole closeted-and-married-then-accepting-of-gay story all over again beyond the reminder of where I'm coming from, I am currently learning a lot of stuff about me.

As a bit of proof of the constantly learning things part I'll relate a quick anecdote. Momma went last night to the home of a derby friend. They were taking some pictures and working on putting together a calendar to use as a fundraiser. I was a little down and mopey, so she suggested I come along and hang out. One of the jammers was getting ready for some pictures. She's tiny, very pretty, has what I'll call Asian features (white dad, Phillipine mom) has just a delightful sexy and girly figure. I found myself being maybe a little jealous, like maybe I wanted to be tiny and hot and have all the boys bumping into walls and tripping over themselves trying to stare at me. I'm not really sure where it came from, and I'm not bothered by it. It's something to ponder at least, and it's not something I think I've ever really thought of before.

So maybe I am at least partially a party girl. Maybe I do like pretty things. Hell, maybe I want to be pretty some times. Okay, maybe not pretty as such nor entirely not.

marryin' gays

Over the years, whenever I've discussed marriage equality, I've been more than willing to admit what I'm sure will happen once we are finally given that right. Perhaps you've read what I've written and seen my predictions come true.

If gay people are legally allowed to marry then Nazi tyrannosaurs will erupt out of the earth, and they will go an a rampage and destroy the earth and kill everyone with their deadly laser eyes.

Blogger Sean Braisted apparently disagrees. Go visit his blog, Nashville 21 to find out what he thinks will happen, then feel free to comment back here and tell me whose vision you find more likely.

hat tip to R. Neal at Knox Views for the intro to Mr. Braisted and his sadly mistaken

lifestyle?

There's a phrase that always bothers me when I hear or read it. It's a phrase, really a single word, that is often used to describe us gay people. It's belittling and demeaning to what it means to be gay.

"Gay lifestyle." It's a reduction of this thing that is me to a mere choice, as if I'm living in a way that can be reasonably and accurately compared to whether someone enjoys UT football to the extent that they purchase orange clothes and seriously debate the merits of Fulmer's resignation.

If asked I don't think I could accurately describe what I'd consider my lifestyle. I don't think I have ever fallen into what one might think of as normal, though I certainly do things and there are certainly aspects of my life that could be described as such. I'm in my mid thirties, have two children, live in the suburbs, own a car and a truck (though the truck probably deserves its own complaint riddled post) have a dog, etc.

All of this of course begs questions that I'm sure the majority of gay people ask themselves at some point. Is my gayness no more or less than a sexual issue? Studies have given us good reason to believe that sexuality and the brain and gender issues are more interwoven that one might previously have thought, though I imagine many gay people could have told you that without scientific studies.

I believe that being gay manifests itself in numerous ways, ways that I never realized before when I so actively denied my sexuality. I believe it's more than the fact that I find guys attractive if impossible to make sense of. I also believe it asserts itself in ways that are generally invisible even to me.

Being gay is not a lifestyle, whether or not there are ways of being and living that are more gay than not. Lifestyles are made up of choices we make, and being gay is not a choice that we make. The only choices I've ever made in regard to my sexuality is the choice many years ago to begin denying it and live in the closet and the choice more recently of exiting that closet and beginning to try to understand myself.

about little

Whenever I happen to notice the number of posts I've published since beginning the ol' Desk Full blog I wonder exactly how many of those are drafts. For whatever reason, Blogger counts unpublished drafts when it tells you how many posts you have. I've never known how many actual posts I've published because, before moments ago, I never bothered to find out.

Now I know. I clicked on the drafts button to learn that I had only five total, some from the beginning of 2006. After giving them all at least a cursory glance I've deleted all but one, and that one is about robots. I don't remember what exactly made me start that one, but it's the one I kept. Maybe in a day or two I'll check back in and thing about thinking about it.

This is a fairly pointless post. Of the 700+ things I've posted it's not really any more or less pointless than probably half of them. It is what it is though, and thankfully it's not whining about boy trouble. Don't despair though as I'm sure there's another one of those, if not many more, in the future.

like morton's salt?

And with this post Cute Boyfriend makes his exit from this blog, and I figure out what I do next. I won't go into the whole story, but it did involve a couple of different reasons and me wondering if one of those is the real reason or if there's something he's not saying.

Add to the list of issues I already have that it will be a while before I feel like I can trust anyone again. This relationship started so well, and even my kids were involved. I hate that they became friends with CB to the extent that they did, because his exit involves them as well. I won't let this happen again.

After everything seems to have settled down, after I call bullshit on the first of the reasons behind the break up I end up with, "You're a great guy, and a you're a great boyfriend, but I just don't feel that way about you."

Is that some sort of boy code for something else?

This has been a learning experience for me. I've learned that I kind of act like a girl when I'm finally being honest and that I'm okay with that. Even when I was pretending not to be gay I wasn't really a typical guy, and I'm sure Momma would say the same. Now that I'm out and letting myself be okay with being gay I'm realizing I'm a bit of a different person than the guy who inhabited my body for so many years.

I want to be mad at him or hate him, but all I can really do is hurt. I wonder if maybe there's some grand John Cusack like effort, some song or phrase that will make him realize he loves me.

I need to be me. That's something I've never done before. I hid in the closet for a long time to avoid hurting Momma as well as avoid whatever negativity I knew would be the result of admitting I'm gay. I'm not a martyr and am not trying to pretend my actions were noble, but keeping the hurt to myself is sort of a habit of mine.

So now I have to figure out where I go from here. I don't want to turn into a selfish asshole, but I kind of feel like that's the way I need to go. I've hurt too much and cried too much over the last year. I've worried that I'll never find anyone, that I'll never be good enough.

This post rambled around and wound up nowhere. That's sort of how I feel. I'm going to finish getting drunk, and I'll probably even cry again. I did have an interview today and may soon have a job. I certainly hope so because being broke AND rejected sucks a lot.

I'll promise to try not to devolve back into the whine-o-puss I was much too recently. The whole figuring out me thing needs to be the real goal. I still have his four gauge curved barbells, and I left four or five beers in his fridge. I doubt I'll see them again, and he's definitely not getting the earrings back.

Now where did I leave my overly large boombox?

what?

It's amazing what you can do when you're the national team as opposed to some schmuck team. Ninety of 20 should equal an easy win for the US in their upcoming World Cup qualifying match, and if this doesn't bring us a win, then I really just don't know what there is left to do.

You really should just click on the picture to get the full effect. Added to the things I suck at is knowing how to massage an image so that it's clearly viewable in the ol' blog. I'm sure one day I'll know, but right now it's enough that I was able to get a screen capture and then get it to save in a form I could actually post.

And this isn't nearly as sad as the fact that, while I write this, MTV is airing some sort of show involving a contest made up of the game Rock Band. What the hell ever happened to actually starting a rock band? Are we seriously so out of ideas that a video game is worth airing as competition? I guess once the sports networks show poker games then anything is worth showing. Did I mention I saw darts on tv recently? Yeah, it's true.

like a spring sort of

You lucky few who read this blog get to sit through yet another post where I bitch and piss and moan and whine and bitch. The option of course is to go ahead and click the next thing on your blog reader or just x out of the damn thing.

I think I mentioned my current joblessness. I'm still carrying a huge grudge for the douche that fired me for having had a bad day and voicing my opinion. No one at the most recent job ever had the balls to say anything to me, so basically I got fired by a coworker, a fellow line cook, and I have his third or even fourth hand story to explain to me why I don't have a job.

I've filled out more applications at more restaurants than I can even remember over the last couple of weeks. I'm down to about ten dollars in my bank account. I should obviously have stopped buying beer and cigarettes, though in the beginning I was sure I would have a job soon, so it wasn't really that big a deal. Now it's to the point where my stress and depression levels are so high that I don't dare quit cold turkey. I'm sure that sounds like an excuse, but if you are or have ever been a smoker or a decent drunk then I'm sure you can understand my issues.

I have a low grade headache that's been hanging around the base of my skull for days. I've been shitting erratically for days from the stress's effect on my stomach and my piss poor diet which is also thanks to the stomach effect. I feel so tightly wound that the least and stupidest little thing is bound to set me off. I'm at some kind of breaking point where I almost wish someone would give me a reason to explode. My knuckles are sore from punching walls and doors and cabinet doors and the steering wheel. My back hurts, a typical place for stress to build up, and for some odd reason there is a pain recurring randomly in my sternum. It feels like it's right in the bone.

I thought I had a lead on a job until I finally was able to pick up and drop off an application. I was told they were hiring as they'd just lost several cooks. The guy that took my application informed me that his hours had just been cut. Another lead was at a place not yet open. I've heard from one person that their bank just went out of business and from another person that they've spent all their investment money and still aren't ready to open.

Next week I begin by lowering my standards. I'm going to have to look at restaurants where I know just having to go in will depress me. I don't want to me a snob about it, but I know my skill level is higher than Cracker Barrel, yet that's probably the next place I go. And this is fucking with my self esteem. It's been low enough lately without circumstances stomping it lower, so I'm really going to look forward to this fun.

And there's a new gripe filled blog post. I'm really feeling like shit lately, a little worthless, even a bit friendless. I feel like I spend every night sitting on my ass waiting for the next day so I can repeat the cycle of driving around town, asking if people are hiring, can I have an application anyway sort of shit. I owe Momma for bills already, and now I'm going to have to go to her begging for help. She can't really afford it, and my soul can't afford to have to ask.

I really just want to crawl into bed and hope when I wake up everything is better, somehow magically something. The option feels like slamming my throat in a door, and that, sadly, doesn't seem like the worst idea I've ever had.

stand up

Very quickly, because I should already have taken a shower and be headed out to continue the job search.

Saturday, November 15 is a national day of protest for gay rights. In light of the passage of Prop 8 in California, which basically took away marriage rights for gay people in California, gay men and women and our non gay supporters in cities across the US are gathering to show solidarity and to demand that we be treated as equals.

That's really what this is all about, equality. We aren't asking for special rights nor are we asking for more than we deserve. We want the same as everyone else.

If you feel the same, whether or not you are gay, you are invited to attend this rally. We need all the support we can get, and we need to stand up and show everyone that we are no different from them. We are your brothers and sisters. We are parents. Quite simply we are human.

Please find time to join us at World's Fair Park at 1:30. Go HERE for more information about this local rally.

meme the food yo

Thanks to Meg of Get In, Hang On for the softball. I love easy memes, because it makes it so easy to come up with a post, and this is a fun one. It's all about food, baby, so here we go.

What's the last thing you ate?
I whipped up a couple packages of ramen noodles and added some leftover chicken and frozen peas. I can go a little crazy with ramen if I have a couple of extra minutes, or I can just make them plain, or I can land squarely in the middle as I did tonight.

What's your favorite cheese?
Cabot makes a really nice chipotle cheddar that's really nice, and in general I'd have to go with cheddar as a fave. I also like Manchego and really good Parmesan.

What's your favorite fish?
I don't like much fish at all, but I do like tuna. It's good and fun to play with. I can also do scallops usually, and I love calamari when it's done well, but it's so easy to fuck up if you don't know what you're doing.

What's your favorite fruit?
Probably my fave fruit is mango, but it has to be ripe enough, otherwise it's really not good at all.

When if ever did you start liking olives?
I'm up and down with olives. I tend to like them, but so many of them are new to me and can be a bit much. I'd say, if asked, my favorite is the basic Kalamata.

When, if ever, did you start liking beer?
I'm a bit of a lush, and I tend to go with beer almost exclusively. It was in Charlotte, NC somewhere around 12-13 years ago, that I started drinking better beers than the typical American stuff, though I tend when on a budget to stick with Miller High Life.

When, if ever, did you start liking shellfish?
I really only like scallops, and I've liked them since I first had them, but like anything, they really have to be cooked right, because they are so easy to ruin.

What was the best thing your parent/s used to make?
My mom's lasagna was my absolute favorite food growing up, though pretty much everything she cooked was good. Her biscuits began my lifelong love of them, but I tend to use Alton Brown's recipe these days. It's actually not that different from my mom's, and while Alton calls for half shortening and half butter I just use butter.

What's the native specialty of your hometown?
Atlanta, where I grew up, doesn't seem to have a native specialty that I can think of. If you want to go with my current home of Knoxville then I would have to guess something like mets and beans or a full house which is a tamale and chili dish. These were popularized in my town's early days, and they aren't as readily available now, but that may the closest we have to a native specialty. Anyone showing up from around these parts is more than willing to argue this point and give me something different to check on.

What's your comfort food?
Probably beer. It gives me comfort. Other than that I might go with biscuits.

What's your favorite kind of chocolate?
Dark, dark and dark.

How do you like your steak?
I like them just past rare, almost medium rare, and I think the only cut of meat worth eating as a steak is a ribeye with a nice bit of fat around the edge, the fat a little crispy from cooking.

How do you like your burger?
Medium rare to medium, mayo, mustard, ketchup, bacon, cheddar, tomato, onion, dill pickle slices, messy and dripping down my fingers.

How do you like your eggs?
Scrambled usually, but I also love them fried till the yolk is firm and the edge of the whites is brown and crispy, and I love boiled eggs as well, but the latter two tend to give some irritating gas.

How do you like your potatoes?
Cooked, all sorts of ways, fried, baked, mashed, roasted, stuffed . . .

How do you take your coffee?
Strong with maybe half a spoon full of sugar and just enough half and half to lighten it a wee bit.

How do you take your tea?
I'm southern, so I like it cold and just a little sweet.

What's your favorite mug?
My coffee mug was in the house when we moved in, is rather large and has two finger wholes for a handle. Beyond that I like a large glass mug full of a hoppy pale ale.

What's your cookie of choice?
Chocolate chip or oatmeal, raisin, walnut. It's a toss up. I'll also take walnuts in the chocolate chip if it's all the same to you.

What's your ideal breakfast?
usually coffee, but given the chance I'll load up on eggs and sausage and bacon and grits and biscuits with gravy. I won't argue with some ham. A nice scone is always nice if a bit simpler.

What's your ideal sandwich?
I love a Reuben, but I don't like crappy Swiss cheese, so I usually opt for whatever other cheese is available wherever I happen to be.

What's you ideal pizza (topping and base)?
Basic thin-ish crust with pepperoni and green olives or ham and pineapple.

What's your ideal pie (sweet or savory)?
Hands down a good pecan pie is perhaps the greatest food ever created. I'd kick a nun in the cunt for a good piece of pecan pie.

What's your ideal salad?
Okay, here's my southern coming out again, but I don't give a shit so long as there's ranch dressing. I can eat and enjoy all sorts of salads, and I do love vinaigrette if it's well made, but give me ranch if you want me to be really happy.

What food do you always like to have in the fridge?
beer, milk, butter, soy sauce, ranch, mustard,

What food do you always like to have in the freezer?
I don't use the freezer a whole lot honestly. It's always nice if there's some ice cream, but other than that the only thing that regularly goes into and out of my freezer are chicken parts. We always have some amount of chicken parts so that we can always be a very few hours away from having stock.

What food do you always like to have in the cupboard?
ramen, peanut butter, graham crackers, steel cut oats

What spices can you not live without?
oregano, thyme, kosher salt, paprika, chili pepper (not powder because I can make that) cumin, coriander, peppercorns

What sauces can you not live without?
soy, I like to have some fish sauce tucked away in the fridge as well and Sriracha

Where do you buy most of your food?
Food City

How often do you go food shopping?
every couple of days. We tend to decided at the last minute what's for dinner, so we are often running to the store for last minute things. We try to keep the pantry stocked to the point where we don't need more than the basic ingredients for any meal

What's the most you've spent on a single food item?
I don't buy really expensive stuff usually. What I have spent money on are things that are just hard to find in a small town such as lemon grass. We pay a decent little bit for coffee, and I've spent over ten dollars on a six pack of beer before. Other than that it was probably a turkey or some fish that Momma got for something.

What's the most expensive piece of kitchen equipment you own?
I'm not counting appliances, so it would probably be the Kitchen Aid stand mixer, though it was a gift from my parents. Most everything I have was either a gift or hand me down.

What's the last piece of kitchen equipment you bought?
Probably the hot air popcorn popper I got for Momma last Christmas

What piece of kitchen equipment could you not live without?
Probably my knife. I can make do with lots of stuff or without lots of stuff, but a good knife can do so many things, and there are so many things you can't really do without a knife.

How many times a week/month do you cook from raw ingredients?
Almost daily, though there are a few things we get for convenience sake.

What's the last thing you cooked from raw ingredients?
I made a sausage and mushroom frittata and biscuits. I finished the leftovers for lunch today.

What's your favorite thing to make for yourself?
biscuits or scones. I know I seem a little one track with the quick breads, but I do love them so.

What meats have you eaten other than cow, pig, chicken and turkey?
elk and lamb, didn't like the lamb really, and that may be about it

When's the last time you ate something that fell on the floor?
I have no qualms about eating things that fell on the floor, depending of course on the floor.

What's the last time you ate something you picked in the wild?
um . . . perhaps never, though the church I grew up attending had pecan trees, and I may have eaten some of the pecans, but that's been nearly twenty years, give or take a couple years

Place the following cuisines in order of preference (greatest to least) Italian, sushi, French, Chinese, Indian, Thai:
Thai-absolutely love Thai food when I've had it
Indian-I'm putting second, but it's been years since the Sunday dinners at the Krishna temple
Chinese-I'm a sucker for soy sauce and what Chinese food I've had. I'm thinking my experience may be somewhat less than authentic, but it's really hard to know
Italian-cured meats and olives and roasted peppers and bread oh my
French-I think we're more used to a lot of French styles as their cuisine has so influenced western cuisine
sushi-texture issues and dislike of nori make it nearly impossible for me to enjoy sushi, but I want to love it because it may the single prettiest food

Place the following boozes in order of preference (greatest to least) whiskey, vodka, tequila, gin, brandy, rum:
Tequila-I love good tequila, chilled without the training wheels
Rum-mmmhhmm mojitos-spiced rum is also really good with sweet, iced tea
Gin-gin martini? yes please, though it has been too long. Gin makes me goofy
Vodka-is a giant meh for me because the whole point in distilling vodka is to make it as clear and flavorless as possible. At this point the only point is to get drunk, and I'm enough of a lush without insisting on it.
Brandy-really, I associate brandy with the smell it leaves on your breath, think bum asking for spare change in your personal space, and it's only not last because . . .
Whiskey-ick, gives me immediate heartburn. I don't mean some heartburn. I mean whiskey goes down, heartburn comes up, immediately.

Place the following flavors in order of preference (greatest to least) garlic, ginger, basil, aniseseed, lime:
Lime, ginger, garlic, basil, anise

Place the following fruits in order of preference (greatest to least) cherry, apple, orange, watermelon, pineapple:
Watermelon, apple, orange, cherry, pineapple

Bread and spread:
Have we covered this already? Biscuit with butter or apple butter or a mixture of mashed together butter and molasses

What's your fast food restaurant of choice and what do you usually order?
A) Chic-fil-a and I go with the chic-fil-a sandwich, waffle fries and sweet tea, or
B)Krystal where I tend to order the bacon-cheese Krystal, Krystal chik and fries, though their fries are only good when they're really hot and salty.

What are the three best dining out experiences you've ever had?
1. Probably Cha-Cha's which is sadly no longer open, and sadly, Momma and I were able to watch their demise as the food lost all relevance to the tapas bar that they were when they were good. The standout menu items were the calamari and the wild mushroom risotto
2. Brasserie(forgetting the whole name)-Christmas party for the sushi bar where Momma used to work. Standouts there were the escargot which I had for the first time and the calamari which they served with a tomato jam
3. Possibly, and this may be kind of gay, but the day I had to run errands and Cute Boyfriend went with me and took me for Mexican. Nothing really stood out other than getting to hang out with him and having most of the day to do the hanging out.

What's your choice of tipple at the end of a long day?
My new favorite beer would be Sweetwater Brewing Company's IPA, but at the end or the beginning or in the middle of any day, long or short, I'll generally be happy to enjoy a beer or two.

Favorite cookbook?
I still stand proudly by the Joy of Cooking. It's a great all around cookbook, especially if you know how and when to fix the recipes. Aside from that I love just reading any cookbook Julia Child wrote because I just love the voice she carries over into her writing, and I don't mean her actual voice voice.

Got any favorite food blogs?
Yes, David Lebovitz is probably the very top of my favorite list.

What's the next thing you'll eat?
If I can manage to get up in time tomorrow I plan to make some apricot scones, and given the state of my stressed out tummy, that needs to be the next time I eat, and I do need to be up in time to make scones, because Cute Boyfriend will be here and deserves them.

And I'm not tagging anyone. This damn meme didn't seem nearly so long when I was reading it at Meg's or at Frankie's. Go visit both those lovely ladies and see how they answered, then go back to your blog and play along. It's a true delight, and it's fun to see how others answer.

eureka

In a moment of clarity, driving past the mall on our western side of town today, I realized something. I may have figured out why so many people are so sincerely opposed to allowing gay people to marry, and it's both sad and understandable at the same time.

This sort of thing happens often in music and fashion. It happened somewhere in the '80's to the punks. It happened when The Cure's Just Like Heaven hit it big and again when Green Day released their album Dookie.

I remember time it happened to me, shortly after Nirvana's debut as a band with a hit song. I fell in love with it and was soon to purchase what I could of their earlier releases. I was into that kind of thing then, and I felt it went well with the Fastbacks and Mudhoney I was discovering.

Suddenly the music I felt was so much a part of me was huge and everywhere. Everyone had that same album and was wearing short sleeve shirts over long sleeve shirts. The flannels I'd grown up wearing were suddenly cool, and I was suddenly seen as one more person buying into this thing that someone decided to call grunge.

And I didn't like it. I was the cool one. I was the one that really liked it. This was my music and the damned usurpers didn't get it, only liked it because it was suddenly cool. All they were really doing was ruining what was once a great scene by making my fashion sense available at the mall.

Perhaps that's an unsaid reason for the anti-gay marriage revolt. We gays are diluting their thing. The straight people have been working on this marriage thing without us for so long that they feel some connection, that they are known by this thing. The goths wear black and the straights marry.

What if suddenly the gays start marrying each other? Before long it won't have the same value, the same street cred. It will be like anything else, and then everyone will start doing it. Before you know it Abercrombie and Fitch will start selling marriage at the mall and white boy vanilla rappers will write family friendly tunes about weddings. Soon enough it will become so passe' that, like random metal-ish riffs in a Food Network show about making Smarties candies, it will be safe and bland, will lose its power to shock.

Maybe it's not that, and I'm more than willing to admit that I could be wrong. There could be other reasons to keep us from marrying people we love, but I'd kind of like it to be my reason. Seriously, there really is only one other reason I can think of but would prefer it not be true. That reason is that they are just douche bags, and I don't want to imagine that all those people are just douche bags. It's better to think of them as Cure fans or late '70's punks. They don't want their scene watered down and usurped.

yes we did

It feels good to say the words:

President Obama

Know what else sounds good?

Democratic senate majority