Monday, August 31, 2015

Homosexuals and Jeep Repair

Through a series of unfortunate events, I received huge dents in my front bumper, and back bumper of my Jeep, Wrangle. My front bumper, was dented during my first and last visit to Tom's Diner. The back bumper got destroyed thanks to a drunk unemployed man in a rusted-out Subaru. A drunk unemployed man who spent the time waiting for the cops attempting to buy me off.... with the crumpled up fives in his wallet. Needles to say, he got hauled away, I got an insurance check.

Thankfully the damage on the front and back of my precious Jeep was completely isolated to the bumpers. And, if I haven't mentioned it yet, my handsome (and available) roommate is a Certified Jeep/Chrysler mechanic. Mr. Handsome was able to locate two new bumpers. This was easy because Dude/bros that buy jeeps take the first opportunity to rip off their bumpers to replace them with steel welded jobs with wenches and lights attached. The factory ones get tossed. Unless they're  needed for Steve's Big Gay Jeep. So... score.

Saturday night was spent hanging out in a repair bay of Mike's Jeep dealership. Who knew to people could laugh so hard; especially in the act of car repair.  By late Saturday night, I had shiny new bits of plastic, Jeeps calls bumpers, bolted onto the Jeep.

Lets see how long they last....


Friday, August 28, 2015

Not-a-Soul Man

I believe that I might not have a soul. 

This conclusion comes from a consistent problem in my life. One were I don't exist to certain necessary inanimate objects we all intact with daily. I don't register to electric eyes. Touch-less faucets seem like a futuristic and technological miracle. One simply places their hand under the spout and water starts flowing like magic. I always think that I am not smart enough to move in the right way to trigger the motion sensor. It's a presence sensor designed to detect the presence of hands under the spout and turn on the faucet. When you remove your hands, the sensor tells the faucet to turn off.  When your hands come within a few inches of the lip of the spout, infrared light bounces off your skin to the detector, which sends a signal that turns on the faucet. They're easy enough technology. But countless times, you can find me in the airport men's room waving my hands like a flustered chicken attempting to register to the stupid faucet. 

This was proven to the roommate after he bought one of those "touch-less" trashcans for the kitchen. He has had hours of enjoyment watching me act like a cat playing with a laser beam as I attempt to have the lid raise. Doors refuse to open as they don't see me coming. If it has any kind of electric eye, it will be blind to me. 

I really don't know all the technology of how these things work, I just assume it works off the human soul. 

Thursday, August 27, 2015

Back to Class

"I am honestly shocked that my summer is over." I said this out loud as I dusted off my MacBook and cracked open its neglected case. I haven't touched my computer in months. In the same way that I have not worn jeans in months. It was a summer of shorts. It was a summer not thinking about my education.

I sat at the dining room table and logged into my first Fall class.  ENG 221: Creative Writing. This course teaches techniques for creative writing. Explores imaginative uses of language through creative genres (fiction, poetry, literary nonfiction) with emphasis on the student's own unique style, subject matter and needs.

"Why did I sign up for this class?" I said out loud. I am not creative. I can't write. I was right then I decided to write as much about the Nazi's as possible. This is mostly because the class is online, and we have to "peer-review" each other's work. It is also, as I scanned the class list, filled with inspired, yet frustrated Soccer Moms. So bloody epic atrocities it is then.

Our first assignment was to write a simple scene with tension. I turned in this...

The large man in the uniform barked again.
“Ma’am move into the scanning area.”
She was frozen in terror. Her weak and feeble legs, the ones that were once strong enough to carry her quickly across that field in Poland, refused to move. The legs that saved her life by outrunning the German’s dogs. The legs that fearlessly out ran uniformed German soldiers. Now they were frozen in fear.  It was her Grandchildren, which talked her into leaving the safety of her bedroom. To take an airplane to see them. She didn’t understand what this uniformed man wanted. She peered up at him. Tears began to flow.
“Oh, geesh.” The TSA agent whispered as he rolled his eyes.  “Move into the scanning machine, everyone has to be scanned.”  The security officer will never understand how his actions mirror the actions of other uniformed men. In a similar line, back in Poland.

Sunday, August 16, 2015

Day Off

My favorite day of the week is Saturday. Yes, this is not breaking news. I'm sure most people would say the same. Maybe this ground-breaking news is based upon the blip of time where I had to work retail. There is nothing like working retail that will make you grateful towards the little things in life. Grateful for the time when you are out of retail and have weekends.

So, big shock my favorite day is Saturday. This is based upon having the freedom of choice. A day where I can decide all that happens. Yesterday, I stayed at the gym for as long as I wanted. I went to lunch wherever I wanted.  It was just an awesome day of freedom. The only scheduling I did was when I got my haircut by the amazing Ambrea at Floyd's.  I cannot suggest, and refer her enough. If you are in the Denver area, and are a fan of awesomeness, have your hair cut by Ambrea at Floyd's Barber Shop on Colfax and York.  Although, I'm convinced she is trying to get me to look like Macklemore. Dinner with a friend I never get to see, at my favorite Chinese restaurant, a walk through Cheesman Park as the sunset. All good things. These are the ingredients for a great day off.

The only better time of the week is Sunday mornings. That fuzzy headed time before real, authentic Sunday begins. If I was to have my full choice in the matter, I would be able to share this time with someone. But, hey. Details. 

Monday, August 10, 2015

Dog Sitting

Last weekend my best friend spent his precious time off dog sitting. He was amazingly dedicated to the task as well. When I urged him to just toss a Swanson's Frozen Sliced Beef Dinner through the back door and come cruise for boys with me, he would hear nothing of it. I got a raised eyebrow when I suggested giving the dog, whom he was assigned, no dedicated, to care for, some Benadryl so it wouldn't notice that his temporary caretaker was off putt-putt golfing. Some people take their jobs so seriously.

I was asked to dog-sit three times in my life. Each time hilarity ensued.

Back in 1994, I was asked to watched the dog of an elderly gay guy, well I thought he was elderly. Looking back he was probably the age I am now. He had one of those fluffy yappy dogs. I took the two week job, because I needed the money. Also, my roommates at the time, decided that it would be better if they never saw my face again. So staying at a strange man's house, whom had a dead kitty taped to his head, was the best option. It wasn't a real dead kitty. It was just that his toupee was so cheaply done, it looks like a cat had died upon his head. The two weeks of dog sitting; however, went exceedingly well. well... the one tiny thing was that I jimmied open the locked cabinet where the unused dead cats were stored and fluffy attacked some of them. Guess he thought they were filleted felines as well. I came home late one night to find dead, dead kitty bits all over the house.

I was never asked to dog-sit again.

I was asked by a friend to come over to his house and meet his partner and their dog. They would be gone one week and wanted me to stop over twice a day to feed, and let the black lab out into the back yard. Seemed simple. The first day after happy couple left, I let myself into the house to check on the aging lab. As soon as I entered the house, all memory of our meeting was gone. Kind of like some dates I've had lately. Suddenly, I was a complete stranger entering the house to utter shock and horror. Kind of like some dates I've had lately. The lab freaked. It then proceeded to hide in a closet. Every day. All week. It didn't eat. It wouldn't go out side. When I was gone it would release its evil upon the antique area rug right in front the closet. If I attempted to dislodge the terrified creature from the closet, all sorts of terror, filled with biting and deep growling would ensure. Again, not unlike my dating life. The happy couple returned to find their dog, ten pounds lighter and a family heirloom rug destroyed.

was never asked to dog-sit again.

The last story of my dog sitting trilogy still gives me shivers. I spent ten days watching a Basset Hound in an upscale townhouse in Dallas's Turtle Creek neighborhood. The owner of the dog, was a friend, and Cadillac Salesman whom adored his Basset, named Dudley. One afternoon, as one does when one has the keys to a brand new Cadillac and upscale townhouse, I went to cruise for boys.  After bringing home, and playing with the found boy ass; I mindlessly toss my condom onto the floor. Dudley gulped it up. Without going into dramatics I had to reach my hand into a Basset and grab hold of a used condom and yank it out, before the dog swallowed. With a slimy dog slobber enhanced grasp I pulled out the filled condom. Somehow the rubber exploded.  Dudley... swallowed.... I still can't see a Basset hound without thinking that one... uh... my.... okay...

I purposely never asked to dog-sit again.

And this is why you don't ask Steve to dog sit.  

Monday, August 3, 2015

The Fair is a Veritable Smorgasbord

Last weekend the Roommate and I went to the Denver County Fair. Because it is August and that is what you do. Attend a County Fair. Although, it being an urban centric fair it was diffrent than the fairs I have attended in my past.

When I was a kid, I have no idea my age, maybe eight-ish, I entered the county fair in the only competition I possible could of been qualified. Although, in my defense if they had a shag carpet vacuuming contest, or bath towel folding competition back in 1983, I would have smoked the other competitors. I would have received, no doubt several blue ribbons. Because even at eight, I was a marksman when it came to reseting our 300 pound Kirby vacuum cleaner from low pile to high pile. I could swap out the brush bar for the crevice hose in 27 seconds flat. This personal talent; however, was lost on my Father. He also didn't seem impressed how I could keep two bath towels, two hand towels, and two fingertip towels,  perfectly folded and constantly hanging on the bathroom towel rod used by seven children. My two major talents gone wasted by unappreciated Mormon rancher Father.

Instead of having the first eight year old boy to  have a grand sweep of all the "Good Housewife" ribbons. He pushed me into "Rabbit Care." Think of the bragging rights my Father missed. "Well, my boy placed first in the Swag & Jabot sewing contest at last year's fair." He would  brag over the General Tire service counter, as he rung up a local city councilman. Instead, he had to settle on explaining how his son was the one kid that didn't get a ribbon, due to letting his rabbit loose in the middle of the 4-H judging contest. Bunnies were cute and all, but nothing compared to my innate talent to cutting down corduroy pants to make kicky summer shorts. A self-taught prodigy. I bet to this day, I could pull and replace the dust bag out of a Kirby Sentria without letting a single dust-bunny loose.

I thought of this, as I wandered around the Denver County Fair. Hoping against all odds there would be a just one Good Housekeeping competition.  Just a side stage somewhere that was one contestant short.  I guess it is for the best. Attempting to re-live your past just is not healthy. Instead, I went to taunt the Rainbow Vacuums salesperson.

Saturday, August 1, 2015

Damask And Zombies

Happy Saturday. In case you're playing along at home, keeping score on Steve's sleeping habits. This morning I awoke to an email from Macy's informing me that my order of 600 thread-count damask stripe sheets, in artic white, had been confirmed. I didn't cancel the order, because my taste, apparently, whilst I sleep is high. If I say so. Better than the night before which involved a screaming panicked Steve whom was running from the zombie apocalypse. 

Friday, July 31, 2015

Toasty

Sitting alongside a date at Watercourse, Denver’s premier vegetarian restaurant, I ordered the Chicken and Biscuits. The “chicken” being thick slices of Cauliflower. This is when I pulled out my best English Nobleman voice and asked for all white meat cauliflower. Thinking I was hilarious, I broke into laughter. The Server, served up a courtesy laugh. I looked over to my date and quickly remembered why I never get second dates.
 
Back when the earth had just finished cooling off, and slightly before the mightiest predator ever to roam the earth, the Spinosaurus was king, I was a gay waiter at Denver’s then premier vegetarian restaurant. I would imminently despise any jerk that made “Dad-like” jokes in my direction. They might have felt my rage in the fine act of armpit toast. That was a specialty created by my fellow gay waiter, Nick, whom created the recipe. It was an easy recipe to follow; while gathering the table’s food you would place their toast into your armpit. Then, serve hot.
Flash forward 97 million years, and there it was. I have turned into what I most despised; the type of guy whom makes jokingly flirts with Servers. My father has always flirted with Waitresses. His Father flirted with Waitresses. I am trapped in a long linage of males whom work out their joke material on unsuspecting wait staff.
I would like to take this opportunity to give an open apology to all Servers that have endured my people. While I’m at it, I should also apologize for anyone who ate at The Harvest Restaurant in Denver, Colorado from 1991 – 1994. I am sorry for making you eat my armpits.

Monday, July 27, 2015

To Sleep; To Shop

I find it funny actually, when I wake up, and after my morning routine, I struggle to find my wallet. 

Today was one of those mornings. Upon, dressing for work I noticed my wallet was not next to my keys. This prompted an eye roll and a groan of "what did you do now, Steve?" I searched through my already made bed. Then, under the bed. There it was, my wallet tossed down, with my favorite credit card laying next to it. 

When this happens, I know that something crazy went down. I woke up in the middle of the night, and by "woke up" I mean, just got out of bed, and shopped online. Yep, I'm a sleep shopper. Before realizing what my pattern was, and identified it. I had quite the well outfitted lien closet. Every pattern and every style of sheet set imaginable would show up at my door step. It was a while before I realized that it was me shopping. But, seriously after canceling an order for a Kitchenaid mixer three times, I began to suspect it was me. I kept two pairs of Pumas. Because even asleep, I have great taste in running shoes. 

Safeguards had to be put in place to stop me from ordering household goods whilst I dreamed.  I guess, now the sleep shopping has returned. 

I rushed to check my emails. This was to confirm an inbox filled with Order Confirmations. Just one. Wheeeew.  High end memory foam pillows. I didn't cancel. I trust my sleeping judgement. 

Tonight I hide my wallet from myself. God forbid I wake up to an Apple Watch. Hmmmmmmmm. 


Friday, July 24, 2015

Summer


Can you believe that it is almost the end of July? What happened to the future plans of summer? I started to ponder this the other day as I daydreamed; looking upon clouds in the middle of Cheesman Park.  Reclining on a blanket with my face looking upon the clouds. The clouds and I shared a lazy agenda, to waste an afternoon. Their plan was to slowly creep across the huge blue sky. My plan was to watch their paced path.
It is funny how, upon the first breath of Spring, the plans for “everything you want to do this summer” become laid. The long path of warm weather. A chance to enjoy. The scheme of being able to look back in September and recite to the class, “How I Spent my Summer.”  
Here we sit at the end of July. How has your plans come along so far? This is fair warning to the end of fair warming. So, maybe the roadtrip to Mount Rushmore isn’t going to materialize for this summer. But, a road trip somewhere will. Get out there! There isn’t much time.

There isn't time, there isn't time
To do the things I want to do,
With all the mountain-tops to climb,
And all the woods to wander through,
And all the seas to sail upon,
And everywhere there is to go,
And all the people, everyone
Who lives upon the earth , to know.
To know a few, and do a few,
And then sit down and make a rhyme
About the rest I want to do.

-Eleanor FarjeonEleanor Farjeon

 

Friday, July 17, 2015

First Dates


First dates are… awkward. Not in the bad sense of the word. They are just odd, mostly because you are spending time with a complete stranger. One that, in this day and age you have spent a lot of time already chatting with online. Maybe even trading naughty photos. Maybe. I’m not saying that I do this… maybe.  Nevertheless, after seemingly endless amounts of time, you are now meeting, face-to-face. No hiding behind emoticons.

Last night, I had a first date. With a Swimmer-turned Gymnast-turned Aerial Acrobat.  I'll just let that settle into your brain for a second... I thought of how strange first dates are when upon driving down Colorado Boulevard, a jack-rabbit, frightened out of its fluffy mind, ran out into the street. Being the strong-tough Daddy that I am, wanted to scream like Caitlyn Jenner at a Talbot’s sale.  I contained myself for some reason, roughly barking “stupid bunny.” Why would I curb my over-riding concern for all things fluffy bunny? When it’s common knowledge that if you know Steven, you know his bunny-loving personality.

First dates. In case you’re interested in the dating life of the Common StevieB, it went well. Very well, if I say so. But, I have a tendency to believe that right before I don’t get a second date.  See my posts on being the One Date Wonder.

Sunday, July 12, 2015

Get up Swinging

My long relationship with waking up, covered with sweat, standing in the middle of my bed has been rekindled. There is nothing more exciting than not knowing when my Sleep Terrors, decide to begin again. But, apparently they have come back for a visit. 

It certainly makes inviting someone to share my bed.... awkward. With the great possibility that I will bolt upright, eyes open, with a look of complete panic on my face. Screaming or barking orders is a whimsical bonus. How would I explain to a boy I like that there is a chance that I will begin punching and attacking in the middle of the night. "Uh, I really like you, so please don't run out of my house just because I begin to physically assault you at 3 am." 

My roommate, The Mechanic, casually mentioned at breakfast the other morning about whining and crying coming from my bedroom. He debated whether he should have attempted to wake me. Fearful of coming into my room might make the situation worse. Which it historicity has. I really feel like a whiny werewolf. Without the fun of turning furry. 

I might need to buy earplugs for The Mechanic, and maybe a lock for my bedroom door. One that locks form the outside. This is due to the events two nights ago; when I woke up to find I made a full Chinese Chicken Salad at 3:30 am. And ate it. Who sleep walks and makes a salad? Seriously. 

I can only hope they go away soon. Guys do not buy flimsy excuses about not wanting fall asleep with them. 




Friday, July 10, 2015

Super Squishy Elle Shaped Sofa of Love

It is back. After years of banishment, I get to announce its return. The return of the Super-Squishy-Elle-Shaped Sofa of Love.  

Back in my blogs from the 09-10 blogging season, I wrote a lot about having an "L" shaped sectional sofa that I loved to lounge upon during my free time. In 2010 the homosexual companion partner declared that the couch I loved, christened the Super Squishy Elle Shaped Sofa of love needed to go away. Its replacement was a leather set that was not comfortable, was not fun, but was high style. Ever since saying good bye to my super squishy lover, I have had a hole in my heart.

That hole was filled last weekend. When The Mechanic and I brought home a new Super-Squishy-Elle-shaped Sofa. It was love at first sight.  I proverbially slammed a champagne bottle against its bow and christened it the new sofa of over delightful squishiness. By eating pad-thai upon its loveliness.

I would like to introduce to you... my new friend...



God bless her, and all that sail upon her. 

Wednesday, July 1, 2015

Haters Gonna Hate, Hate, Hate

Grindr can be a fickle little app. If you don't utilize the hook-app known as Grindr, I'll explain it to you in the briefest terms I know. It is like Christian Mingle on your phone. But, for Homosexuals with anything but Christian acts in mind. It is best utilized as a homing device; as the phone app has a proximity alert built into the app. This takes your location and broadcasts it to other homosexuals on the app.  The easiest way to locate your closest gay.

It; however, has been over-wrought lately with spammers. These are fake profiles attempting to get you to give your phone number for their diabolical use. Canned sentences are given in hopes that you respond, all to say "hey, let's text? What is your number?" I, with apparently too much free time started to give the Focus on the Family main telephone number. This got boring fast. Then I did this...


Every spammer got lyrics to John Cash's Folsom Prison Blues.  I got through the entire song before this one asked for my phone number. I'm sure the reception desk of the anti-gay, faux-Christian Lobbing group,  Focus on The Family, is swarmed with telemarketer calls right now.

I  also changed my profile to state that I would not respond to any Chat Requests unless a code word was given.  Any line from any Taylor Swift song. What happened actually was quite funny..

Some guys really got into it...




It was kind of amazing how many guys just wanted to give me a Taylor Swift line.




 Others.... not so much.


Then there was the perfect response...



So if you are ever on Grindr, hit me up. But, only if you like Taylor Swift.

 

Saturday, June 20, 2015

Run, Stevie Run

I got on a treadmill for the first time in six months. And by six months, I mean just under a year. Remember when I blogged ad nauseam about running? Yeah. I don't  really remember either. 

The other night, me and the roommate headed to the gym. I nodded my head in respect to the power of the treadmill and stepped on to its whirling belt. It. Felt. Amazing. For about eight minutes, then it was pure hell after that. But, I did it. I felt the old unhealthy lifestyle I had been sporting (mostly around my spare tire area) begin to take a hint.  

I, as a whole am taking tiny steps back into the warm sunlight of healthy choices. Those small things you do to ensure and reaffirm that you do; actually, like yourself.  The driving past fast food joints. The ending of excuses why you can not make it to the gym. 

Time slips away and before you know it small unhealthy choices turn into laziness that fuel and feed upon itself. As I stepped onto the treadmill, I heard the wake up call. Time to run. 

Monday, June 15, 2015

Steve Has A Meal at Home

I have a problem with my new roommate. Let us call him, Mike. Because that is his name. He also goes by Mike 'n the Mechanics, as that is his blogger name. As he has a blog, over at  mikenthemechanics.blogspot.com. But, I do have a major problem living with my new roommate. And here's why...

For the last year, when it comes to feeding myself, I have been foraging around the proverbial country side like a proverbial baby goat. Meaning, that when it came time that my belly needed to be filled, I would simply drive to the nearest food establishment, not excluding gas stations, and give my complaining stomach the fuel it needed. I can honestly say, I did not prepare and eat a meal at my home, ever. Not once in the last year. Maybe more.  A life of always dining out, drive-thru’s[sp], and pre-packaged processed food stuffs. For the last year… maybe two.  Why I lived this life doesn’t matter, let’s just say it was frowned upon for me to use the kitchen in the old house…. A lot. I just accommodated this requirement by shifting to a diet not unlike a wild boar. One of wandering the forest in search of the easiest meal. If the boar had a credit card and free time to sit in the drive thru of Jack ‘n The Box for yet another feast of Egg Rolls.

Now, back to the new kitchen. Picture it… I am able to utilize an over the range microwave without reciting first the cleaning regimen in vivid detail.  It’s a brave new world.  Last night, during my commute home I began to mull-over what my dining choices would be, and what I was in the mood for. This is when the phone rang. A bearish voiced informed me that Curry Chicken was prepared and ready for consumption. At home! The gall of my new roommate to think he can just prepare a nutritious and delicious meal, then share it with me.  I just got settled into a self-sufficient bubble of only eating fast-food, and he goes off and makes a home cooked meal?  Think of the profit loss Jack ‘N The Box will face. Panda Express will face a round of lay-offs.

As I sat at my breakfast bar, this morning, I thought how I now will have to re-learn my eating habits. I watched the spoon move around the bowl, unsure it was my hand mixing my microwave oatmeal.  I wondered if the lady at Starbucks, the one who gave me my morning Blueberry Scone, was missing me. “…and people sit together in the morning and drink coffee… and eat? Like at Starbucks? But, at home?” I asked my new roommate, Mike. “Yeah.” He said as he sipped his coffee. “It’s called being family.”

Monday, June 8, 2015

The Weather

The weather has been different lately; that is to say, it has been the same. Not that I'm blogging about the weather these days. It is just that I am. 

In the last couple of weeks the local area; that is to say, where I live. North of Denver, has settled into a predicable weather pattern. Sunny in the morning, with thunder storms rolling in to control the late afternoon and evening. This pattern seems to have locals perplexed. It seems so different. So unusual. 

To me it is just a return to normal. My early twenties were spent roaming the streets of downtown Denver. I do recall the early June days of this time. Let's call this time "back in the day." So, back in the day, when Ace of Base ruled the FM band, early June meant get your shit done early in the day, because the rain would fall. 

Life is this way. The expectations and boxes we insert ourselves into, seem like the predictable weather. Then, the weather changes. And you are standing there wondering; that is to say, perplexed about the pattern and how you can't rely on anything these days. 

The weather has changed. That is to say; the pattern I thought was set, has changed. The atmospheric conditions remind me of back in the day.  

Friday, May 29, 2015

A New Room

It has been a week of boxes. A time of seemingly endless folding open, and taping cardboard boxes. To slowly packing items that belong to you. Sifting through what is yours and not yours. Sorting through what is yours or no longer yours. It is funny how things that you always just assumed were yours, somehow get moved to the "not yours" pile. You take what is now just yours and toss it into a cardboard box. Taping up whole thing closed.

Boxes are on the move.  

Waking up in a different room can bring about a whirl of emotions. All in the time it takes to open your eyes. A sense of the  unfamiliar, being a stranger in a strange room. The feeling of freedom. The understanding that the official close to a chapter of life. The acknowagement that an exciting and unknown path has been cleared. 

Boxes are in the move. So am I. 

Thursday, May 28, 2015

Thank You

I started blogging on Sunday, November 11, 2007. My first entry was written from a place of closing a door. A process of saying goodbye to my partner of four years. It was the beginning of growth for me, shared with the world via a tiny spec on a blogger platform in a tiny spec of the internet.  I blogged ever since.

As part of this growth, I began to blog about meeting a new guy, the dating, and the building of a relationship. Fuzzy was written about as our relationship grew, faced challenges, and surpassed milestones. I blogged about being part of a larger whole.

I have not blogged lately about that larger whole. I felt it too painful to blog. The first time in eight years I held back from you, the reader. For this I do apologize. The process of dismantling a relationship is difficult, at best…

I feel like I am back to 2007, writing to you about the process of closing a door. I must begin the process of saying goodbye to my partner of eight years. I step forward to accept the beginning of growth.  I start by saying thank you, thank you Fuzzy for many years… For the good, and surprisingly enough the bad.  Thank you for it all.

Sunday, May 10, 2015

Made it Through the Wilderness...

I woke up this morning singing a line from a Madonna song. "I made through the wilderness... somehow I made it through-ooo-ooo-ooo! Didn't know how lost I was... but now I dooooo. " That is not even close to Madonna's Like a Virgin. But it doesn't matter. What matters is that I'm through the frickin' wilderness. Yes, I made it through.

I didn't realize it had been since April 20th that I blogged. I do apologize. Somehow, the new job and attempting to finish my term papers absconded with my time. I am now, somewhat settled into the routine of the new job. It seems to be amazing. Back in the Human Resources field. It is pretty much Monday through Friday, with normal days and somewhat normal hours. I get to work part-week at Denver's airport, along with San Diego and other smaller airports. I am sure it's going to be aggravating, irritating, and wonderful work. 

Yesterday at midnight was the deadline for my last paper. And trust me when I say I used every minute. This was due to my massive presentation I had to build in PowerPoint. I spent weeks building an interactive presentation of the Continental Army and their struggle to get to Trenton, for the Battle of Trenton. The presentation I built was amazing. With battle sounds and smoke that drifted across the screen. Yesterday all I had to do was up-load it...... "Where's my iPad????? I ran though house like Chris Brown looking for a woman to beat. I ripped apart my Jeep. By noon I had to give in and rebuild my presentation. Sad Steve. No battle sounds. No smoke. 

My papers are turned in; along with my sad presentation. "C's get degrees." C's get degrees." I chanted as I uploaded my slap-dashed finial project. 

Today, Steve is done and dusted with the new job stress, and the Spring semester. "Made it through the wilderness....." Now, let's get this Spring thing started. 

Monday, April 20, 2015

Stress

Next Monday is the first day of my new job. I also have two massive term papers to write before the 9th of May, one with a stupid video production. So, sure! I'll whip up a Power Point on the Hessian loss to George Washington, all whilst learning a new job. Then, I'll zip out twelve pages comparing and contrasting two of my favorite Shakespearian plays.

Along with my schizophrenic dating, and other life changing events on the horizon, my stress level is through the roof. But, it should all settle down quickly. 

My face when I read the term-paper requirements....



Monday, April 13, 2015

And Baby Makes Three

I am currently conducting a research study, with my dating habits as of late. And, I am learning a lot.  After I turned forty years old, I started to date guys in their twenties. I honestly believed there were no differences in guys my age and gay men in their twenties.  I went through this twenty year old phase in my life, and I thought that since I was once twenty, I would understand. I am here to report that I am dead wrong.  

There seems to be is a magical age when guys are old enough that they're bored with the hookup scene and interested in relationships, yet haven't reached the point where they're bored with relationships, and just want to hook up. This has nothing to do with chronological age. It has more to do with when the individual comes out. The key to finding any guy is to find one on the same pendulum swing as you. This hasn’t changed since I was posting ads on the back pages of Denver’s  Outfront Newspaper. Yes, before the interwebs, we had to post ads in the singles column of our gay newspapers. Chiseled into stone tablets, if I remember. 

It appears that younger guys pendulums swing faster these days. Kids, I tells ya. When I do sit down on a date I have a series of questions I like to ask.  Yeah, know, after the “do your parents know where you are?”question. The clearest one is, “Are you attracted to older guys on a personal level, or physical level?” This shows me whether there’s a Daddy fetish going on, or if it’s a maturity compatibility thing. When I was twenty I hated interacting with other twenty year olds, I preferred having a conversion with people over forty.  The other questions are “Do you know who Matthew Shepard, and Larry Kramer are? Have you seen the film, Paris is Burning?” The answers are surprising. Is it wrong to give a homework assignment after the first date? I think no. 

There is; however, something new, other than the fact that no gay man under the age of twenty-six would ever have a Facebook account. The guys I have dated as of late, are now thinking love and marriage. And children. It seems that generation next, have the freedom and acceptance to be able to dream of settling down and raising a family. This truly is - a different time, my friends. 

Friday, April 10, 2015

'Better Work

Yesterday marked an amazing and scary change in my life. I emailed my boss and turned in a two week notice.

This action was the end result of four weeks worth of interviews for a great new position with an exciting company. It was an unexplainable catharsis to click send on the email.  A moment of feeling the heavy iron shackles beginning to loosen around my ankles.

The irony of the situation was when, hours later, my boss called me. Instead of discussing the email, he laid into the insurmountable pile of work he had lined up for me that day. When he finally finished his lecture on time management, I simply asked if he checked his own email.... The pile of work disappeared, upon his reading out-loud of my gifted mail.

On to bigger and better things. But, as the goddess of irony gives; she also takes. My first week on the new jobs is right during finials week at school. 

Tuesday, April 7, 2015

Travel Time

Have you had a dating relationship with someone from another city? The typical long distance relationship. I wonder how this style of relationship works, the actual mechanics of attempting to establish closeness when the other person lives in another town.  I have, of late, attempted to pursue this style of relationship. Trust me, it is harder than it looks.

As I have grown older my tough-guy, no hugging, "I need my space" policy has worn away. The idea of having a boyfriend whom lived a plain ride, or even a car ride away seemed perfect for my younger self. To see and date on a regular, yet infrequent timetable.  I am finding lately that I have unknowingly changed this demeanor.  The ginger-swimmer from last fall lived almost two hours away, the Spaniard before him lived in San Francisco. Now, I am finding that a relationship is the little things. The stupid stuff we do together when there is not a time crunch. Dating is not the hot sex. It is the hot sex followed by wandering around the supermarket together, afterward in search of food. Maybe grabbing coffee and just wasting away a morning. Together.

I would never shoot down a hot boy that actually wanted to take on the bag of neurotic strangeness that is me, just because he lives an hour north of my town, it is not a deal breaker. It just seems I am scratching my head at the extra time it takes to build that level of closeness when time is so limited. 

Tuesday, March 31, 2015

The Name Game

Could date a person with the same name as you? It is an odd question that truly applies to LGBT people. Could you date a guy or a girl with the same name. If I was chatting up a guy named Steve, I'm unsure how I would feel. Yes, there's the lame joke about screaming out your own name during sex, but seriously? I think I would really have mixed feelings whether I could ask out a guy named Steve.

What about dating? Would we be known as "The Steves?" Like when inviting people over to a fabulous dinner party one host would turn to their partner and ask, "Should we invite The Steves?" Or, when you are living together, a telemarketer calls and asks to speak to Steve. I've know Kathy and
Kathie, like the "y" changes things. I've known a Jim and a Jimbo, and a Mike whose handsome life partner was Mic.  I really am curious how these couples know what Christmas stocking to grab on Christmas morning. How narcissistic would it be to stand around at work on Monday morning talking about how much fun you had with Sue.  "Sue is soooo great at rock climbing. Sue is such a great cook, Saturday Sue made Spaghetti alla Carbonara."

What about dating a person with your Dad or Mom's name? Do you really want to quietly whisper your Dad's name into the ear of someone who passed out on top of you after hours of sweaty sex? My Dad's first name is Wilbur , so.... no trouble with that. I've never chatted up that hot bro leaning against the bar to find out his name is Wilbur. Would it be okay to be sitting at Thanksgiving and telling the family your new partner is also named Linda. "Linda and I are really romantically compatible."

Is it a deal breaker?


Saturday, March 28, 2015

Come on Spring

The weather here in Denver has been teasing us the last couple of days.  It has been giving us full Spring time realness. I personally have been picking up what Mother Nature has been laying down. Yesterday, after hand washing my Jeep.... well, holding the spray nozzle to one spot as I watched a shirtless dude detail his Porsche. Slowly caressing the fenders, with his massive hands. Leaning over in his gym shorts-sans underwear... Uh, yes. Washed my jeep...

After that adventure, I took the shiny 4x4 to Cheeseman Park, for some of my own shirtless time. This marked the first time for 2015 where I was able to relax in the park. My summer plans consist of as much of this activity as possible. Bring on Spring. 

Friday, March 27, 2015

Chasing Shakespeare

I have discovered that taking a Shakespeare class, online is not the best idea. In fact it's right up there with grocery store sushi, or trying to date a straight guy.

I say this, the online Shakespeare part because no matter how hard I try to focus on the meaning and depth of William's plays, I'm finding it impossible to focus. Now, I have taken a lot of Literature classes in my time, even some involving that English playwright. Reading and understanding the guy when you're sitting alone in a Starbucks is different. And, I am finding the class very difficult.

I don't hold up much hope for making it until the last day of class, May 9th. I might chuck the whole idea. Or, it is possible I just may fail the course. I have never received to a bad grade before. Ever. But, my last grade on my, what I thought was a great paper, was "F." I was shocked. Every detail that I was marked down on, were legitimate issues. But, hyper critical in their execution.

Guess I will just try my hardest to get the remaining points I can. Shakespeare or bust. In the mean time, I'll chow down on some day old Sushi, and wait for the straight guy I had plans with to show up. 

Friday, March 13, 2015

Glassy

After buying the shiny new Jeep in June, I already have to replace the windshield. Let this be a lesson; when you get a chip in your car's windshield, have it filled/repaired.  It's a cheaper choice than buying new glass. 

Jeeps are strange contraptions. Their windscreens have the Jeep grill logo embossed into the top center, as a sun blocker. There's also a tiny Jeep in the corner, just in case you forgot you owned a Jeep. This honor drives the price for a new windscreen up by three-hundred dollars. Yeah. That's right, proprietary parts. Thanks Jeep. 

They do make other, "non-branded" windshields. These are exactly the same, without the cool factor. So, for three hundred less dollars, I'm getting the generic version. But, if you know me; you know I'm a huge label whore. So... Here's the deal. I found after-market stickers that mimic the Jeep logos. I can apply the knock-off stickers and Viola! Jeep branding!  I'll always feel like I am wearing cheap Pro Wing tennis shoes from K-Mart, but they'll look like Pumas. 

Thursday, March 12, 2015

The Second Date

I am getting amazingly talented at first dates. A second date; however, is seeming to be an elusive near impossible act for me to obtain. That is to say, that I can take a guy out to dinner, act like a gentleman, talk for hours, and at the end of the date really feel a connection. Yet, even with plans made; date number two simply never comes to pass.

Last week I sat at a coffee shop and made a great connection with an amazingly hot and funny guy. Both were the youngest of a huge Mormon family, both had Texas roots, both of us were seeking what, I thought, were clear and honest ideas. In a strange twist we ended up playing together and were very compatible. Then came the discussion of the elusive date number two... He instigated the endeavor. As I have decided to let the other party involved set the tone for this act. He set the date and time. I was to pick him up at this house.... I showed up at the arranged time and place.... Nothing.
Just me on a strange doorstep, ringing a doorbell. A text was then sent to me stating that he couldn't go out.  Date two ended before it started with me texting my BFF, Mike declaring I hated boys.

Another recent turn in my dating life was when my excitement crescendo[ed] upon making plans at the end of date one, to spend date two seeing an IMAX movie. No one ever has ever wanted to go see IMAX movie with me before. So I got all excited. An actual real-life boy wanted to sit with me in 3-D glasses and watch the discovery of Space Junk or Amazonian Trees. In 3-D IMAX coolness. I felt just like when I was five and anticipated getting stuffed Ernie and Bert dolls for Christmas. Christmas found me without Ernie, or Bert. The thought of my second date drought didn't even enter my head. After all we definite plans. I sent a text to confirm, only to receive a  text hours later that they found something better to do. When asking the boy where my adult version of Ernie and Bert Christmas presents were, I was told not to be "a dick about it." Funny, that is what my Mom said on Christmas morning.

I present this strange phenomenon to you not as a problem. Just the opposite really.  A humorous observation on dating life. I am un-second-dateble.  Some day, I will get that obscure date number two... some day.


Monday, March 9, 2015

At The Car Wash

Saturday or Sunday morning, which ever day I don't work, you'll find me at the car wash scrubbing down my Jeep. It's a ritual in my world. So much so, that if the weather is going to be horrid over the weekend I still think about washing my Jeep. Of course the ice and snow would splatter up upon my shiny fenders the second I leave the car wash bay.

Last Saturday was one of those days. I got up early, stopped for a venti Toffee Nut Latte, and headed towards my favorite car wash. The Jeep was especially mud-caked due to endless snow.... and a prime muddy lot close to a friend's house that NEEDED to have my spin in circles, over and over. But, the warm weather and sun shine brought out everyone with my same idea. Saturday morning car wash.

I am not apposed to having a professional carwash, the type where you stand and watch a crew rub down you car; they just seem to never get my car clean. The drive through style of car wash are seemingly designed to be anti-Jeep. The fenders and back come out dirtier then before the flashy lights and soap streams of the water tunnel. So in my cleanliness OCD, I end up at the self-wash car wash.

I am so thankful for times like these. Complete Steve quality time with my Jeep. My headphones blasting, coffee in one hand, and a spray nozzle in the other. Washing away the grime of the week.