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?