Imagine Finding This in Your Easter Basket

I'll bet the Crazy Christer's are just pissed 'cuz the artist used dark chocolate instead of white. Incidentally, what part would you eat 1st...certainly not the ears..?

a Weekend in the Country

yup, it's back to Connecticut to visit MS and Nil. ok...not really back since last time we only made it as far as exit 16 W on the NJ Turnpike, but you get my meaning. MS has a new home that needs some warming.

Stephen's in the midst of rising a dough, since no new home should be without a loaf of bread. when i get home tonight i'm gonna whip up another Berry Cheesecake Trifle since no adult slumber party should be without homemade dessert. hmmm...now that i think about it, maybe i'll do something chocolate...

"In an expanding universe, time is on the side of the outcast. Those who once inhabited the suburbs of human contempt find that without changing their address they eventually live in the metropolis"~ Quentin Crisp

the Men from the Guys

the Universe has a funny way of working, of this i am convinced. last night, after work, Stephen and i went to our weekly Weight Watchers meeting. after about 20 minutes into the meeting, the door opens and in walk 2 older women and a girl in her twenties. One of the women was the mother of my high school friend who had recently met with an accident, the other was his aunt and the girl was his cousin. Mrs C (that's what i'd called her back in HS) looked much older and pretty worse for the wear. i leaned over to Stephen and told him who she was and he whispered back, "this is fate, you need to talk to her". so for the rest of the meeting, i deliberated and weighed my options, and decided he was right (what a shock). so, we waited outside and i re-introduced myself. i'll spare you the long story (just this once) and get to my point:

while talking to her i felt myself completely revert back to the kid i was in HS; shy, nervous and stammering. i had no idea how to talk to her as one adult to another. when it came time to introduce Stephen to her, i felt like i was coming out to my mom all over again. now, i have no idea whether or not i she was aware that i was gay, but i'm fairly certain that her son may have mentioned it back when i came out to him. still, i felt such trepidation and nervousness, that i turned into a stammering fool. the problem is, i kept seeing myself through her eyes and all i could see was that kid i used to be; i felt like such a child in her presence, since that was the only role i'd ever played. after some polite chit-chat, we parted ways and she promised to pass on my good wishes to her son (who's made a full recovery, incidentally). i got in the car, flustered and red-faced.

this experience, coupled with Monday's post from Byron, has really gotten me thinking of how i see myself. Somehow, i'm 30 years old and (mostly) self-sufficient, yet i still don't think of myself as a man. what defines what a man is? it can't just be about age; is it maturity? is it responsibility to oneself and others? i'm not 100% sure what yardstick one uses to measure being a man by, but i feel like i'm falling a bit short.

for a very long time i thought of myself as a "kid"; never a "boy" or boi". maybe it's because i knew quite alot of "adults" and usually went for older men to whom i was a kid. i went from being a kid to being a "guy" in my early twenties, when i grew a goatee and began to lose my hair, and i've hovered at "guy" since then.

so here i am a CawfeeGuy at 30. i'm not sure when i'll become a man or if, to the outside world, i already am. all i know is that i'll never be a "kid" again, and that sometimes...though admittedly very rarely...i get intimidated by "adults"; people who were adults back when i was a boy or a kid. when that happens all i can do is try not to imagine what i think they see (a kid playing dress-up, pretending to be an adult), but project what i want them to see:

a boy who was a kid who became a guy, but is still trying to become a man.

Just Get Me to the Church On Time

ok so yesterday, instead of working, i was browsing around Blogger and i came across a blog about a guy who had come out after having been married (with children) for quite a number of years. i skimmed through some of the posts and found it very well written and terribly interesting. as expected, there were links on his blog to blogs written by other gay men who married women who either came out and/or are coping with it. i took a quick look at them, too but wasn't able to get a good read.

the reason i bring this up isn't to pass any kind of judgement or anything like that; so if that's how this comes across i apologize in advance.

back when i was single and spent way too much time cruising, if i had to estimate, i'd say that 95% of the men that i hooked up with (read: had sex with) were married. they didn't even bother to hide their wedding rings or the baby car-seats in the back of their SUVs. now, don't get me wrong, i'm not saying all married gay men go out and double dip their chip at the local cruising area. like i said: i'm not judging anyone; it just surprised me at how many married guys were there. married guys having affairs with other women i get; the flavor of the month is very tempting when compared to what you have waiting at home and i'm sure strange pussy just tastes better. i'm not condoning, i'm just saying that i understand men's rationales.

how do you marry a woman when you know that you want to have sex with men? how do you reach a point where after 1-2-3+ kids you realize that you're gay? it really boggles my mind.

maybe it's because i'm terribly self-aware, and knew so early on that i wasn't like the other boys. it wasn't something i could ever hope to hide from other people let alone, myself. my coming out wasn't really much of a surprise to...well..anyone but i felt compelled to wait till i was 20 to start the ball rolling; the final coming out to dad was as inevitable as the sunrise, it just took about 5 years to happen. i just can't wrap my mind around what it would've been like had i just went through the motions of dating girls (ok there were only 2, but still...) only to reach the inevitable conclusion of getting married. would i have been able to consummate the marriage? i'll be blunt here (for a change) and tell you that the only times i've ever seen a woman's vagina was either from a porn magazine in the 8th grade or the egg-launching stripper at my brother's bachelor party. technically i'm still a virgin. the idea of having to have sex with a woman is as foreign and repellent as having sex with a pitbull. having kids the old fashioned way is definitely out. furthermore, how long would i be able to go without having sex with other men? would i be one of those guys who sneaks off and cruises after work, or goes online and browses porn in the den while wifey's asleep?

again, i'm not judging the guys who do live that way, i'm just thinking about how awful that must be. i have to say, i really applaud the guys who are able to come out while married, despite what must be terrible repercussions and alienation from their immediate families and extended. coming out is "difficult" under "normal" circumstances, to do it after establishing and maintaining a life with your own family and friends...i just can't imagine that.

the only thing i could ever conceive of being worse is never doing it at all...

Please allow me to try and explain/I'm living proof that man can change/I knew what I wanted/I knew how to get it/It didn't make it happy so I started again/What I wanted to be was a family man/but nature had some alternative plans/So I did without the lot put emotion on hold/and hoped my instincts would do what they were told/But every now and then/often at night/a particular feeling would surface in spite/of what I told myself and tried to deny/I kept on asking the question: why?"~ Metamorphosis (the Pet Shop Boys)

Standing On a Bus Stop...

Ok, so obviously today isn't October 11th, but i did come out this morning...on the bus stop.

there's one guy on the bus stop (it's usually just he and i), with whom i share the barest of discourse. i'm not a morning person by any stretch of the imagination, but he is. every morning he's bright eyed and chipper and loud and very very very straight. he's like Uber-Hetero. y'know what i mean? he's a union electrician or maybe a carpenter and he's very...well...manly. he's got big calloused hands (we bump fists every morning! can you stand it!?); he calls me "Dave" or "Bro" and i almost don't mind; he talks about football (i nod and smile) and his kids. oh yeah, he also spits. uh huh, spits...alot. now most people would find this revolting (especially before coffee), but i actually find it endearing and (if i can share a little secret with you) i'm a little jealous. when i try to spit, it kind dribbles down my lip into my goatee and i look like a post-coital lesbian. in short he's that straight guy that i'd usually try and avoid because i'm sure they'd beat me up in HS.

anyway, i see him every morning and a few weeks ago he told me that he has to have a total-hip-replacement because of an accident he had gotten into a few years ago, and he's been putting it off because he's scared that it means he'll be out of work for a really long time (a year) while it heals and that it would drive him nuts because he plays football and softball etc. well, i asked stephen (since this is his sort of thing) and he gave me some info to pass on to him (it should take a month or two if he's a very active/in-shape guy).

well, this morning he and i were chatting while waiting for the bus, and we got around to his leg. he told me he was scared again so i figured i'd tell him what i knew. before i could stop myself, i said "My boyfriend's a Physical Therapist and he said...". well, Straight Guy did a double take and said "you're boyfriend?". and i was like...um...yeah...waiting for him to deck me or something. instead, he was like "wow that's great! if i had to be laid up for more than a couple of months i'd fuckin die!". he kept thanking me profusely and then we got on the bus and went to different seats. later, before he got off, he clapped me on the shoulder, and thanked me again.

i was a little floored at his nonchalance. don't ask me why, but i really expected him to behave differently. so much for stereotypes, huh?

Happy Accidents

sometimes things work out for the best, even when (at the time) they feel like a total kick in the nuts. take this weekend, for instance...

through a comedy of errors, the plans to spend the weekend with MS and Nil fell through. don't ask how, Mr Nosy; suffice to say that they didn't happen, but they will commence this weekend. sadly, this left Stephen and i on the NJ Turnpike with a loaf of homemade bread, a Mixed-Berry-Cheesecake Trifle and some Weight Watchers friendly roadtrip snacks. enroute to the old homestead, we stopped at my new favorite store, Target where i found the most fabulous Aquaman t-shirt and some newer smaller work pants to match my newer, smaller ass. we also picked up the coolest microwave corn popper, so now i don't have to worry about not having brown paper lunch bags in the house. when we finally got home, it was still early enough to put up 4 loads of laundry and go grocery shopping. needless to say, i went to bed feeling like i accomplished more in that one day than i have in weeks.

sunday we went to my mom's and hung out with the family. Frangelica and Squirt were there, and we learned that Franki is partial to showtunes (the only time she stopped crying is when my mom was singing South Pacific). aside from that, for once it was a fairly peaceful dinner. we all just hung out and bullshitted with the minimum of drama. rather than waste the Trifle (read: sit at home in the dark with the bowl and two spoons), we brought it to mom's where it was devoured by all those in attendance. i'm glad we brought it, it gave me some ideas for this weekend; how to re-make it: bigger and better!

even more exciting: i finally fit back into my size 34 jeans! this WW thing really works! who knew?

the Soundtrack of Your Life Pt. 2

in the interest of pure, unadulterated laziness, i'm updating my Soundtrack, using my Sing Out Louise! playlist (on random, of course)...
Put your IPod or whatever mp3 player you have to random play. Imagine your life is a movie soundtrack, press play, and write down the song that comes up for all the points in the list below.
1. Opening credits: Stormy Weather~ Judy Garland
2. Waking up: the Man of La Mancha~ Linda Eder
3. Falling in love: One Way or Another~ Blondie
4. Fight scene: Anyone Who Had a Heart~ Dusty Springfield
5. Breaking up: How Many Licks (OrangeFuzzz mix)~ Lil' Kim
6. Life's okay: Vienna~ Linda Eder
7. Mental breakdown : I'll Cover You~ Rent (Original Broadway cast)
8. Driving: Lazy River~ Michael Buble`
9. Flashbacks: Black Coffee~ Sarah Vaughn
10. Happy dance: Manhattan~ Ella Fitzgerald
11. Regretting: You'd Be So Nice to Come Home To~ Julie London
12. Final battle: Someone to Watch Over Me~ Linda Ronstadt
13. Death scene: Don't Ask Me Why~ Linda Eder
14. End credits: I Am What I Am~ Linda Eder

ummm...YEAH...i have no idea what to make of this. clearly my movie is like an 80 year old woman's acid trip. anyway...
have a great weekend, kids!

Gaslighting

i think stephen is trying to kill me.

no...really.

for some reason, i'm very very easily startled. sudden movements, loud noises, sudden appearances, etc shock me. for instance, i'll be watching an episode of Buffy and suddenly some big ugly, gnarly demon will jump out from behind a tombstone and i'll actually jump. stephen gets a real kick out of watching me, and i'll readily admit it's embarassingly funny. i've been known to blush heavily and laugh along with him. on some occasions, it's quite handy to be so easily startled, like when i have a bit too much to drink and have Andy Capp-esque hiccups. the only cure for someone to scare them out of me. swear to god. stephen is great at getting rid of my hiccups. a little too great.

here's where the murder plot starts...

i'll go into the bathroom (which is located off our bedroom, on the 2nd floor) and the bedroom will be empty. when i come out, he'll be sitting on the bed or standing somewhere in the room. true to form, i'll yelp in surprise. then there are the times, i'll be sitting alone in a room with my back to the door, reading, dusting, or writing my blog and he'll stealthily walk in (like a cat or a ninja) and then start speaking. again, i'll let out a scream and jump.

his response, 90% of the time, is to chuckle and say brightly, "hi. i still live here".

he's even gotten one of my co-workers involved: i'l be sitting at my desk, working diligently (or probably writing on my blog) when suddenly i feel two fingers in my sides. my head shoots up like a Rock 'Em-Sock 'Em robot and my ass rises a foot or two off my chair. the next thing i hear is Sassy cackling like Nell Carter at a buffet.

do you see what i'm talking about? it's clearly a plot to either drive me completely mad or make me have a heart attack. if ever there's a point where i haven't posted in more than 2 days, you may wanna call the cops. don't be taken in by his incredibly kind eyes or those two gorgeous dimples on his cute, rosy cheeks. he's up to something, i can tell...

"I envy paranoids; they actually feel people are paying attention to them"~Susan Sontag

"Call Me, Butt Love.."

bottoms get a bad wrap.

think about it: how many gay guys do you know want to be known as a Bottom? there's such a stigma in the Community attached to being a bottom that the average "Fag on 14th Street" denies his (her?) bottomhood like Ronald Reagan in the 80's. what's the big deal about taking it up the butt? why is it seen as such negative thing?

it seems that we have it in our heads that to be fucked up the ass automatically means that you're a docile, submissive, powerless faggot and who the hell wants to be seen as that, right? wrong. follow me on this: unless you're in either prison (mmmm Oz) or the wilds of Alabama (cue "Dueling Banjos" from Deliverance), guys rarely get fucked in the ass without their consent. Tops can stick out their chests and swear they're the ones in control all they want, but at the end of the day being a bottom is like being Steve Rubell at Studio 54: you ain't gettin' into this party unless I say you're getting in. who's got the control now?

i mean, if you really think about it logically, bottoms are as necessary to the Community as Drag Queens*: without bottoms where would all the tops stick their dicks?

Imagine if you will, what would happen if all the bottoms went on strike and refused to take it up the butt from their Holier than Thou brethren, till their rightful place in the Community is recognized. think of what would happen: the sexual tension that would build, while all the bottoms stood their ground (gettin their butt-lovin solo thanks to the wonders of silicon and Wet Platinum), till the average Chelsea bar would look like Spike's Ultimate Fighting Championship (ooh wow...i think i need a minute alone)...

so the next time someone asks you if you're a Top or Bottom, don't tell them you're Versatile**. raise your head high, stick your ass out and proudly tell them that you're the glue that keeps Community together: a Power Bottom.

*that's not as redundant as it sounds, it's a common misconception that all Drag Queens are bottoms. i personally happen to know quite a few...okay ONE... Drag Queen who's a top

** it's universally know that versatile is code for bottom with 5 o'clock shadow (it's like telling your friends you're "Bi" 'cuz you kissed little Suzy behind the monkey bars in 2nd grade)

"Ladies and gentlemen, fresh from 45 minutes of butt-robics I give you: my ass"~ Will & Grace (Jack McFarland)

Dad

the other day (or maybe last month...who can keep track?), Stephen asked me why i don't hang out with my dad more. i wasn't sure how to answer him. i'm still not sure.

i don't talk about my dad alot; not surprisingly, he and Stephen are very, very similar: he's quiet and almost unassuming, especially when compared to the bombastic cacophony of my mother, brother and i. when i think of him, it's almost always as a steady and constant figure who rarely got mired in the day-to-day minutiae of life; standing on the sidelines, unaffected, or better yet, he was consistently unruffled by what was going on around him.

the thing is, Dad was an NYPD cop for almost 30 years. it was a job he loved more than he could ever put into words; he went to work every day with a smile on his face. his hours fluctuated terribly for the longest time; sometimes 8am -4pm, sometimes 4pm to 12am, sometimes 12am - 8am. somehow, and i'll never really know how, we got to see him every single day, regardless of when he came home or when he went in. then, he took on a second job so my mom could stay home with my brother and i; then a third job to put us both through Catholic school. still...somehow...we say him at least once or twice a day. he'd wake us up and fix us breakfast before school (no Cap'n Crunch here; we're talking eggs, pancakes, oatmeal, french toast, etc) and then we'd see him for dinner later that night before he went to his second job (private security). somehow, he still made time to coach little league, pee-wee soccer and be the Scoutmaster of our Boy Scout troop (#245...Brooklyn).

the most astounding thing was that no matter how emotionally cut off he may have been outside of work, the minute he got home he would kiss me and hug me and tell me he loved me. i was, after all, the "baby" (though i'm only 18 months younger than my brother). i remember laughing hysterically every time he'd kiss me, because of his thick, Teddy Roosevelt mustache. then, one day, he stopped. i don't remember when, but i'm reasonably sure it was around the time i hit puberty (a year or two before HS). at that point, any love that was there was assumed, but not spoken of aloud. the hugs and kisses stopped cold, as did the nicknames (ironically, he used to call me "Butch") and "i love you's". he was still very present in my life; i saw him every single day for dinner and he'd always make himself available to drive me to school on saturdays for Speech and Debate tournaments, but for emotional outbursts i looked to look elsewhere (read: mom). conversely, i came to understand that the same was to be expected from me. no more calling him "daddy", no more walrus kisses, no more hugs that lasted more than 3 seconds.

looking back, i realize how difficult it must've been for him to "deal with me". my brother made it easy; he was a fuck up of the highest caliber and dad's actions and reactions were as expected: disappointment, frustration and anger. ironically, i presented the challenge by not making too many waves. i did okay in school and excelled in my extracurricular activities. i had a part time job by the time i was 15 to support my burgeoning comic book and CD habits. i had friends whom they (he and mom) liked and trusted. instead of reacting to it, he ignored it: he's doing ok on auto-pilot, just let him be. so what if he's a tad...emotional and artistic. it could be worse, he could be a felon. he never really pushed me in any direction, in particular. Dad wasn't a big sports fan, so he never had high hopes that i'd be a Yankee or Knick. in a way, he recognized that i was...different...but didn't mind as long a it kept me out of prison.

fast forward to 15 years later to my father being perplexed and nearly devastated about how far we've grown apart from each other. he laments that the only time we speak is when he answers the phone, before handing it off to my mother. that was a few months ago. since then there have been quite a few L--------a family squalls where i pretty much came clean about feeling like the invisible boy for the last 15 or so years. Stephen and i see my parents almost weekly, and the four of us meet for dinner or coffee. conversation is pretty easy and almost always pleasant. parting is usually capped off with a kiss for mom and an awkward half-hug with dad.

i'll always love and respect my father for being the absolute best dad and husband i've ever known. he really was, and continues to be, a rock which weathered alot of shit-storms. i will always love him, but i guess i'm just out of practice when it comes to saying or showing it...

Further Evidence of Good Ole' Christian Values

gotta love those Crazy Christers. ironic, isn't it, that they're so anti-abortion.

so, yeah, this really got me thinking: if i could change being gay, would i?

would i give up all the fear and anxiety i felt throughout my early childhood and adolescence?
would i give up all the years i spent worrying that the church i spent so many years in was right; that i was unwholesome, different, unnatural and bad?
would i give up finding out who my real friends were?
would i give up all the anonymous sex and hook-ups i had in my late teens and early twenties?
would i give up having my heart broken by "straight guys" who were just "fooling around"?
would i give up the nervousness i feel when i walk down the street holding my boyfriend's hand; the anticipation of being taunted or worse?
would i give back all those years i spent, my stomach in knots, hoping and praying to whomever-was-listening that my father wouldn't disown me when i told him?
would i give up the utter and complete sense of relief and happiness i felt when he didn't; when he hugged me, told me he loved me and that he only wants my happiness?
would i give up being in love with the only person in the entire universe i could ever be with; my soulmate, lover, friend and protector?

not on your bible-bible beating, hypocritical, dead-eyed, fanatical life.

i'm angry. i'm so fucking angry and upset that i almost can't put it into words; frustrated to the point that i'm fighting back tears, with my teeth gnashing and all my muscles tensed, and the more i think about it, the angrier i get. here we are, 20+ years after the American Psychiatric Association removes homosexuality from it's list of mental illnesses and the people who hang their hopes on book still consider us "sick". when's it gonna end and what the fuck am i gonna do about it?

"My only regret about being gay is that I repressed it for so long. I surrendered my youth to the people I feared when I could have been out there loving someone. Don’t make that mistake yourself. Life’s too damn short"~Armistead Maupin

Just the Perfect Blend-ship...

somehow, against all odds, i've managed to keep friends i had in high school and college.

in particular, there are two girls that i've been friends with since i'm 15, that i "talk to" every other day (we either e-mail, comment on each other's blogs, or both). i don't know why, but that blows me away. i just never thought i'd be so lucky to be able to keep such wonderful people around me (read: in my life) for such a long time. i've never been one to make "fast friends". i tend to be stand-offish with new people and reserve judgement, about calling them friends, till i know them better. more often than not, in new social situations, i'd rather be alone then talk to people i don't know.

also, to be perfectly frank, i'm pretty sure that if i wasn't me and i met me, i don't think i'd really like me. don't get me wrong, i think i'm a good guy and all, but i'm pretty sure that i make it very difficult for other people to like me and be friends with me. i'm rude, blunt, moody, surly, snarky and generally ill-tempered. i'm terrible at making and keeping plans and motivating myself to leave the house. maybe it's just low self esteem, but i'm often surprised to find that some people do like me. what's even more surprising is the number of people who've stuck it out and have been my friends for more than a couple of months.

my mom always said that "if you made it to the age of 30 and have 3 close friends, you should consider youself really lucky". well, ma, i've got 6. imagine how good i feel.

Here's to the Laddies Who Brunch

Sunday, Stephen went out for brunch with my parents (35 points in one sitting; i don't wanna talk about it). while sitting around chit chatting, we inevitably started talking about the wedding (after we discussed my brother and his family). i updated mom on the latest info:

• we found a color for Jenn and Donna (our "groomsmaids") to choose a dress from. check it out at David's Bridal; the color is "Wine". we're confident that both ladies will look lovely in it and since it comes in all the styles, there's bound to be a couple they like. the next step is picking out jewelry, as their thank you gift. we're thinking something in Swarowsk, with glittering crystals of white and burgundy: long necklace and earrings. that is, unless we happen to know someone who can make beautiful jewelry...we'd much rather buy it from an artist/friend...
• We've still haven't done a proper "tasting" at the hall. when we 1st went, the owner was all, "come in any night and i'll give you some take-out to try! anything you wanna try, just lemme know". we called in December and he told stephen that they were holding a "wedding expo" in February and that all the couples who were booked would be invited to a group tasting; they'd call us when they had a firm date. it's now march and we still haven't heard or tasted anything. am i nervous? not yet.
• as we started talking about the honeymoon, mom asked how we were getting to the airport. when we said we'd cab it (because we're taking the earliest flight available, the day after the wedding and wouldn't wanna inconvenience anyone), she asked why we weren't just staying at a hotel by the airport! neither one of us had thought of this and were blown away by it's logical simplicity. mom saves the day again!

we really had alot of fun at brunch. the food was fantastic (if you're ever on Staten Island, gawdfabbid, i recommend you check out the Hilton's spread). it's always great to know how much my parents like stephen and vice versa. i was really concerned about that when we met; loving a gay son is one thing, but welcoming into the family the guy who fucks that son up the ass is quite another. but welcome him they have, with open arms and hearts. my mom tells me quite often (and usually after we all go out to dinner or brunch together) how much they both adore him and think that we're perfect together.

that makes me happier than they could ever know.

Oral Fixation

anyone who knows me knows that i love words. there are certain words and phrases that will get stuck in my brain or on my tongue for hours or sometimes days at a time. like an idiot savant i'll repeat them over and over again, relishing how they sound and feel on my tongue. it drives Stephen crazy.

say them out loud with me: ubiquitous, colloidal, vociferous, espionage, truncate, linoleum, obfuscate, gazebo, entropy, guffaw, and (my all time favorite word in the english language) rural.

aren't those fantastic?

ok...maybe it's just me. or not...

One...Tattoo...Three

so i'm thinking of getting another tattoo with my IRS refund check. i'm a little torn, though, about what to get. right now, there are two possibilities on the table (but i'm sure there will be one or two more by the time i actually get the check):

1. another Phoenix: the one on my left leg is gorgeous and i absolutely love it to bits. Seven, the artist responsible for both of my tattoos, did a phenomonal job; he really captured what i had in my mind. for the 2nd Phoenix, i want the same pattern but in colors that are as cold as the 1st's are hot. in my mind, i'm seeing brilliant blues and greens; emerald, lapis, cornflower, cerulean, etc. it'll be right above my very 1st tattoo of a rainbow tribal turtle, which sits on my thin and shapely ankle on my right leg.

2. Keith Haring's "8" (from the children's book "Ten"). I'm thinking of getting this all around my left ankle (under the 1st Phoenix) in kind of a tribal band style. i just love the colors and the simplicity of his artwork.

gimme some input, kids.

Go-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-al!

Woo-Hoo! i've cleared one of my Major Weight Loss Hurdles! i'm finally under 200 lbs! we went to the Weight Watchers meeting last night, and at the official weigh-in i was 198 lbs! i ran home, walked in the door, shed my clothes faster than Madonna in the 90's, hopped on the scale and saw that i was actually 196 pounds (i guess they're right, clothes do weigh 2lbs)!
you have absolutely no idea how happy this makes me. it means that all this time and effort i'm putting into this is actually paying off. it also means that there's a very good chance that i'll be able to make my (personal) weight goal of 175 lbs by the time the wedding comes around (Weight Watchers feels i should be somewhere around 160 lbs, but that's just to frightening and drastic to contemplate). Though i find the meetings a total waste of time, they work for most people (some of these girls have major issues); i think it's the element of support and community. luckily, i've got my support network built right in: Stephen. he's been really great helping me stay on track and tracking my points and stuff, and i love him dearly for it. incedentally, he looks fanfuckingtastic with the weight he's lost.
we're gonna make quite a pair, he and i, come October.
i can't wait!

"Never eat more than you can lift". ~ Miss Piggy

Naked Baby Pictures

there are certain moments in your life which truly define you as a person: your wedding day, graduation from High School, first kiss, the day you pass your driving test, etc. there's really no question that these are all huge events in a person's life. Then there are those occasions which "build character"; those terribly embarrassing moments where one wishes they could crawl under a rock and die. if these moments weren't bad enough, there's always someone there with a camera or in some cases you're surrounded by people. just when you think you can forget about them; that you've outgrown that person you were, somebody hauls out the story of when your pants split at Roxy or whips out that picture of you at a year and a half, sitting on the potty, waving like an idiot.

Here are but a few great moments in history. some are mine. some aren't i defy you to tell the difference.

• picture it: sunday in summer in the NYC subway. a young man is walking with his boyfriend when they here the distinct rumbling of a train approaching. without a thought, the young man runs to the train and jumps on and then jumps off when his boyfriend tells him it's the wrong train. in the process of hopping off the train, he gets his Nike leather flip-flop shod foot stuck in the closing train doors. He manages to pull his foot out, but the flip-flop remains stuck. as the train starts to move, he wrenches the flip-flop out of the train's clenched jaws, to delight of the flabbergasted crowd which has assembled. the young man is suitably mortified, though laughing hysterically.
• it's after hours in the glorious West Village. three friends are walking back to the car after quite an evening of drinking and...gaiety. the three are laughing and having a grand old time and two hurry ahead when suddenly they hear a yelp from behind them. apparently, the third was hit in the head by a cardboard box wielded by an incredibly apologetic (and obviously nearsighted) garbage man. while the third picked himself up off the cold, wet concrete, the two are laughing so hard that tears are streaming down their faces.
• here's the scene: you're an actor. you and your university theater group are putting on a series of student directed one act plays. in addition to directing several of the plays yourself, you've also been chosen to play the lead in one. on the second night of the play, you get so wrapped up in the character and the stress of the scene, that you blurt out...or shout out, actually...an F bomb. in front of a packed house. with a nun, a priest (i did mention this was a catholic university, right?) and several department heads in the audience. after one or two beats, you, your co-star and the audience recover. what do you think happens when you go back stage?
• it's happened at last, it's your wedding day! you've waited your whole life for this, and have been planning for over a year. you walk from the apse, into the church, on your father's arm toward your friends and (soon to be) husband. the congregation and wedding party are beaming as the organ pounds out the processional. everything is perfect! at least until your father lifts your veil, you see your (soon to be) husband and start laughing hysterically and uncontrollably for the length of a hymn.

Sweet Charity

Yup. it's that time of year again. Open your hearts and open your wallets. thanks again to all of you who donated, last year. No donation is too small.

check out the link to my donations page, on the sidebar.

And There You Have...

so, through an interesting turn of events, i now own Season 1 of the Facts of Life. Have you ever seen the pilot episode? Neither had i. typically, the cast of Diffr'nt Strokes was there to help aid the spin-off, the garrulously passive aggressive gnome, Mrs Garrett, the porcine yet perky Natalie, and of course the lesbian subplot involving Blaire and the school tomboy, Cindy. yeah, i'd never seen it either.

apparently, Blaire was quite the bitch, even from the 1st episode, and taunts the boyish Cindy all but calling her a dyke. granted, she wasn't wrong, Cindy is a baby dyke, but it was quite shocking to see it addressed on a sitcom from 1979 (almost as shocking as watching Mrs Garrett making out with her ex in episode 3). Mrs. G didn't really help matters when she was consoling the poor dykling by telling her of all the other sporty, yet normal, women of the day: Billie Jean King, Martina Navartilova and Nadia the Romanian gymnast. c'mon Edna, why not just hand the poor kid a toolbelt and give her a mullet. but, naturally, it was all explained away that being a girl who hugs the other girls and doesn't like boys and is good at sports is just a phase that she will grow out of, someday. or, in the last 10 minutes of the episode (when she wins runner up in the Harvest Queen Contest, second to Blaire, and gets a jolt after being winked at by the campus heartthrob).

i'm a little miffed that Cindy wound up being just a tomboy. now, don't get me wrong, i'm not trying to Gay-up another piece of American pop-culture history, i just think it woulda been a bit more realistic. i mean, think about it: Eastland was an all girl school in upstate new york. though you only saw a small cross section of the student body (the girls in Mrs. Garrett's house), there were still 10 girls; odds are pretty good that one of them was a playing field hockey for the other team. now, i know...sitcoms of the 80's weren't that progressive, but the topic was addressed (though nobody actually used the L word), the least they coulda done was follow through. y'know?

maybe they're just saving it for when Jo rides into town. now there is a dyke to reckon with.

"Jo was such a lesbian. Didn't you think she was going to fuck Blair?"~Margaret Cho

Love That Man

stephen makes it so damn difficult to be pissed off at him.
per esempio:
i'll be fuming for a good couple of hours over real "butter my muffin" kinda things like, leaving the toothpaste tube on the bathroom counter or failing to put away the laundry that i've folded and left on his side of the bed or not filling up the Britta...y'know important things. i'll be quietly simmering in my own bile over how "thoughtless" and "careless" he is. then, i'll call him up and ask "could you please go on-line and pay my car insurance for me, it's due in a couple of days; i'll give you the money when i get home" and he'll reply, "i paid it three days ago, silly. btw: i made your favorite for dinner, Chicken Paprikash.".

see what i mean?
totally thoughtless.

how can i pout, scowl and stamp around like a petulant 6 year old if he's gonna do such wonderful things, spontaneously?

"Sometimes if I shout, it's not what's intended. These words just come out,with no gripe to bear"~ the Promise (When in Rome)