Friday, January 23, 2015

For The Love of Blogging

My blog roll, or "Stuff StevieB reads...." section got shorter today. I purged dead blogs left and right. I also disconnected and unlinked with blogs that I haven't read in a while.  I did find that some blogs were hard to unlink.  I had to finally lay to rest "blog crushes" I had carried for quite a while. The ex-Navy corpsman and I were never meant to be anyway. The gay Architect living in London, who only blogged for a year off and on, was never really mine. It is time to move on.

I did; however, begin to seek out and add new blogs to my list. They're not new, just new to me. Fearsome Beard is new to me, and I reconnected with Jeph's Spot blog. There are a host of Gay Mormon blogs out there, and I have decided to find as many as I can to connect.  In These Gay Mormon Shoes has been blogging for years, yet I haven't taken the time to notice. Or, Gay Mormon Southpaw blog. Gay Mormon and a leftie... I'm this bloggers complete target audience.

So 2015 will be about re-igniting my love and connections in the blogging world.  Please get in touch and let me know any blogs out there that I should follow.   

Thursday, January 22, 2015

The Semester is Before Us...

Monday is the first day of class for the Spring semester. Oh, how time flyes. This semester will be different, as I will be taking all online classes. So... more time for Steve to hang out at the Starbucks on Colfax Ave. This morning I showed up to School, as I always do, to stand in line to buy my books. I was surprised to see there wasn't a line in front of the book store. I hardly had time to cruise Grindr before heading into the store for my annual book buying spree. My head filled with the thought it always does upon entering my college bookstore. " I should of just rented the book online, and saved all the money the nose-ringed hippy girl is about to rip from my hands."  Yet, every semester I forget, as school exits my little brain as soon as my final assignments are handed in.

Last year's Medieval History class went great online, so I thought, "Why not? More Toffee Nut Lattes for Steve."  This round we're taking  "Literature of Shakespeare" and "American History 355."  The Shakespeare class I'm excited about, as I'm attempting to go for a Diamond Rating in neardom. To pass the competency exam you need to either know computer code, or choose the oral exam of reciting Shakespeare Sonnets. I can't understand computer code, so I am going for the Lit-nerd certification.  The American History class is the one I dread. It's the last history class I will need for my degree, and I have avoided it for years. It's "America! from foundation to reconstruction." I find nothing more boring than this topic; other than the attempt to make that American Sniper movie resemble anything near the truth.

My head was filled with dread as I pontificated over the reading on the topic of rich white people owning poor black people as I walked through the stacks of over-priced books in the bookstore. Then I discovered something odd. My class don't require textbooks. What??? Yep, they're completely on line. 

We will bestow ourselves [to not] read on this book. Clearly an undiscovered country for Steve. 

I left the bookstore with a spring in my step. Looking forward to the new semester. 

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Groovy American Gay Bloggers Convention

It just may be official. The Groovy American Gay Bloggers (GAGB) convention has been announced. Gay bloggers from around the pan-Americas, and the world will be descending upon Denver, Colorado over the Valentine's Day holiday. It's going to be huge!!! There are some event details that are still to be announced. The host hotel hasn't been released. But, stay tune for updates. 

The event should be huge... well... as to today there are only two members of the groovy gay blogger group... that I just made up; but, it's going to be huge. As founder and Grand Marshal of this just made up group I'm would like to welcome the other... so far one member of the convention, Patrick from Pac's Pad blog to the convention. 

There is still room in the event, but hurry space is limited. Don't miss out on the 2015 Groovy American Gay Bloggers convention. 

Monday, January 19, 2015

Beard Challenge

You know what's fun? Taking your twenty-three year old boyfriend to the grocery store so you can buy yourself some beard dye.

As of writing this post, there are only eight days and fourteen hours until my beard dies. I'm going through a mourning process as of late. I glance into the mirror and I'm overwhelmed for sadness over my furry little friend. When I declared 2014 the "year of the Beard" I never thought I be just eight days away from my year challenge saddened to see my face return form it's hairy internship.

The original rules of my challenge may have to be amended... I honestly don't think I can go to a clean shaven face on the 28th of January. The shock may kill me. The shock may also send the parent company making Just For Men beard dye into finical ruin. With the amount I have using to attack my grey beard, just to cut off the supply so quickly... it may destroy the supply line. All the truckers moving fright; all the grocery store shelf-stockers. I need to think about them and their families.

2014 was also the year I stepped into my Daddy status in the gay world. Can I really continue to pull that off without a full regiment of fuzz? Guess we'll find out in only eight days and fourteen hours.

Grumpy morning beard.

Friday, January 16, 2015

Denver Diner

 I have realized, with age that I'm getting more and more like my father. I guess it's normal for people to realize that apples, really, don't fall far from their trees. 

My realization about this is in my love of diners. Greasy Spoons. Genetically the paternal line of my bloodline is unexplainably drawn to eating in diners. Sitting for hours, talking with friends, or simply alone with a cup of coffee. 

Denver does not disappoint in this area of fine dinning. From Greek-owned diners staggered every couple of miles in the heart of the city, simple truck stops, to the hip trendy diners filled with bearded dudes and chunky-plastic jewelry wearing dudettes. Denver has what I need. 

I am saddened that my favorite, The Denver Diner, is still sitting dark. It was on the first real date with the Ginger Swimmer, after midnight, that I had a heaping stack of flap- jacks served in front of me. Suddenly a screamed call to get the hell out broke my dream-like state. We watched from safety as flames jetted through the roof. 

Still the diner sits dark. My very genome  wanting it to be open; so I may sit and drink coffee. Like every male in my bloodline before me. It is what we do. Until it reopens, If you need me, I'll be sitting in the back booth at that Greek diner. Drinking coffee.

Tuesday, January 13, 2015

A Hard Awakening

It's been eight years of living in my house. Yet, I can not still remember which shower door goes on which side as to create a seal and stop water from gushing onto the floor. The dog; however,  loves to stand at the unsealed door and lap up the fountain. 

I bring this up because there has been a couple of strange occurrences in the last fortnight that fall under the category of "Steve wakes up hard" wait. Let's name it " It's hard for Steve to wake up" 

Still mostly asleep, I peered down today to see a large Alien-like creature pressed against the shower door. Slimy and pulsating I felt like Ellen Ripley, (Her last name was Ripley...I like to be didactic) with a face hugger attacking through the shower. After wishing I had my flamethrower with me, I realized it was just Sharpei tongue. 

Last week, I poured the entire carafe of water into where the coffee grounds should be placed in the coffee maker.  Hilarity ensued as I attempted to understand why my feet were wet. 

There's been putting on of Fuzzy's jeans that are two sizes smaller than mine, the losing of my phone, until I realized I'd slept on it. Making it adhere to my back muscle/fat. But, the best was waking up and leaving the house before realizing it was my day off. 

These are all indicators that I'm way too destracted as of late. I need either a new job, or just a vacation. 

Monday, January 5, 2015

Blogging

Some say that the personal blog is long dead. A generation of bloggers whom in their day strutted and fretted their hour upon the stage, were then heard no more. Their blog pages dark. The last post, sometimes thanked readers for visiting, indicating that Twitter and other shorter attention span genres would be the next chapter. Some bloggers just walked out one day. The last mundane post to be their legacy. Social media commentators found it easy to declare the death of the personal blog, raising a brow and calmly explaining that blogging was just tales told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. Somehow glossing over that 140 characters limits communication, other than the most shallow and vapid of ideas. 

I being one of those idiots, have kept blogging into my eighth year. I still encourage others to do so. When my niece had her first child, she toyed with blogging. I urged her to do so. When others have not blogged in a while I send messages to them, explaining that they are missed. We are a band of brothers. The few; the proud. Bloggers, the ones that still blog, are like hipster vinyl album collectors.  This makes readers of blogs the few people that hear the difference between compressed Bluetooth music, and the rich sound that only comes from vinyl. 

That is why I was so excited to see one tiny blog from the blogging gold rush, come back from the dust. The Mutton-Chopped Mutant. Kez from Melbourne, how we've missed your daily life pressed into vinyl. Stay strong buddy. Your blog never left my reading list, and it never will. 

If there are others out there, that you know of, please let me know so I can add them to my reading list. 

Saturday, January 3, 2015

Beef or Cow?

On New Years Eve, Eve I finally got to have dinner with my close friend, Frank. It was one of those "catch up" dinners between friends as life has not allowed us time to hangout.  We met at Chilis after work.  Seeing out 2014 over chips and salsa.  

I ordered their famous chicken enchilada soup and a turkey burger.  Not that I don't eat beef burgers, I just am rarely in the mood for it. As our food came, I jumped into my stacked high turkey burger.  A couple of bites in, I noticed something strange. Mostly, a beef patty. As the waitress walked by I casually mentioned the mix up. I joked that it was beef; and icky. She seemed deeply concerned. "Oh my God!  Are you vegetarian?"

Blink-blink. I stared up at her. 

"Well,I did order a turkey burger." 

Blink-blink. She stared back at me...

After what seemed an eternity, she apologized for serving me meat. I attempted to brush off the mix up as no big deal. And as she left the table I started to question if maybe I was vegetarian. Since I only eat turkeys, chickens, the occasional fish, and frat brothers. 

My New Year's resolution? Eat strictly vegetarian. Meaning, anything that's not a cow. 

Friday, January 2, 2015

My Resolution for 2015

As I turned onto the interstate I felt the wheels of the Jeep slip on the ice. Not enough to startle me, as after the night I had nothing possibly could startle me. The slipping wheels simply moved me to automatically reach for the metal leaver next to the shifter and pop the 4X4 into its four wheel drive. I gunned the accelerator pedal and up the ramp on to northbound 25 I went.  Into the frozen night.

The highway was empty. I wasn't surprised as everyone on the planet was somewhere else. It was the one night when it was dictated that individuals should gather in groups. I, on the other hand, was speeding on an icy road.  On thin ice. Blurred lines matched my blurred mind. The things you said. Words that set me out on this cold snowy journey.


It was timed almost too perfectly. As I approached the city sky line the fireworks began to blossom. Over the towering buildings, explosions of light began. Instant massive bouquets of fire and flame using the joyous rapture of the city as their nourishment. As it is dictated that people gather on this night, I could sense the wonderment of the mere mortals of the city enveloped in the explosions on this first night. I turned back to the road. Faster and faster up the snow packed highway.

I'm not sure where I drove. Eventually the first night of the year gave up and let the first morning over-take from the East. I had driven until it was time for me too to give up. Completely healed and excited about the future due to the cathartic drive I finally exited the highway. The two exit lanes heading to the tiny street of home. The outside lane seemed wrong. Somehow.  Even if it was the lane used to exit to my house. I signaled and swerved into the inside lane. SMASH!!!! A  truck sliding full-on slammed into the car that I was just behind. The full force of the impact sent both cars into the intersection. Broken glass flew through the air like fireworks.

Sometimes life gives you signs. Loud, twisted metal and broken glass signs. Signs to remind you that perspective is needed. That is my Resolution for 2015. To seek out and pay attention to these signs. 



  

Saturday, December 27, 2014

Beard Challenge

There are only thirty-two days until the end of my 2014 beard challenge. Some days it can't come fast enough; other days I'm saddened by the dictated loss of my furry friend.

I read a tongue-in-cheek article on line about how guys with beards are just compensating for a much lacking personality. In a way, I agree. I am my beard; as of late. It's how I'm described, "the bearded one." It's how I'm classified,   "He's all beardy, he's cool."  I have also been boxed and classified as the alternative manager at work. The one employees go to when needing to talk. Not the straightlaced uptight one.

We will see how the views change when the beard gets shaved.




Friday, December 26, 2014

Christmas

I attempted to ignore Christmas all-together this year. There were several reasons I grabbed onto in my hopes to justify this stance. The annual tradition of decorating the house and shopping for the season seemed insurmountable for many reasons.  My panic of not passing my classes this semester, the stepping away from unhealthy friendships in 2014, in addition, Fuzzy was studying to take the Real Estate Exam to become a realtor at the beginning of December. The last thing I needed was to attempt to erect a pine tree in the living room with  Mr. Grumpy all wigged out about National tax assessments in the real estate market.

Twilight on Christmas day

















I found an easy excuse to avoid the annual cookie baking day, an event with my friend's Frank and Michelle, due to the moving to Denver of the Olympic swimmer. As you may have read earlier, I have started to date a Ginger. The Olympic swimming Intern. He completed his internship and landed a choice position at a local University. Meaning, that he was able to move to Denver and begin to date this beardy old man. Not sure why, maybe he's working out bad karma from a previous life. But, he's my puppy, and we'll see what happens.

All this being said, Christmas morning was insanely surprising to me. I had shut out any expectations; any belief that joy would come this season. Not that I was negative about the topic; not at all. Just blocked it out of my view, and consciousness. A perception filter allied to avoid let-down. Yet, Christmas found me anyway.  Fuzzy and Jim, the Ginger-Swimmer and I had what I will remember as the best Christmas ever. The focus was not on gifts, nor the forced march to families houses. It was a peaceful day, of unconditional love surrounding our foursome.  We never even turned on a television or other distractions. We played with our gifts and watched the late afternoon snow fall.

I am the most jaded homo you'll ever meet. But, yesterday was the gift I truly needed. The gift of re-igniting the pilot light to my faith in friends and friendship.


Saturday, December 13, 2014

Schools Out

It was a close call. My grades this semester, that is. After bombing my history mid-term, I began to doubt my ability to even pass the class. Thankfully, the final exam was more in tune with what I had been studying, and what I knew already. The final had an essay question, "Name the two major architecture styles of the high Middle Ages?" Every gay-nerd worth their salt can easily answer that. It's the sub-text to every Masterpiece Theater costume drama ever shown on PBS. I wrote of the Gothic style thinking of Pride and Prejudice, my very first classic I watched in my bedroom at ten years old.  Where as, writing about the Romaneque architecture style brought me to the Mystery! mini-series Cadfael. 

Nerdy and gay, awarded me a passing grade, on the final, and the class. That was a close one. As much as I complained, I learned more in this class than any I've taken in the last twenty years. Just name a Pope and I can spew forth what dickish ass-hattery he did to destroy countless lives in the world. Now that's the kind of parlor trick that will get me invited to countless holiday parties this season. 

Sunday, December 7, 2014

The Annual Christmas Rant

Ahh, December 7th. It’s time to gather around and listen to Uncle Steve’s annual Christmas rant…..

WHAT THE F*#K DO PENGUINS HAVE TO DO WITH CHRISTMAS!?!?

Have you seen the inflatable, glowing Christmas crap that everyone displays on their front lawns? Big billowing snowmen, elves, and insidiously happy penguins. Seriously, What the heck to penguins have to do with Christmas?

At night it’s quite a cute little scene. A winter wonderland all blown up and bopping around to the forced air whooshing up their butts. During the day it’s another story, driving through any upscale neighborhood it's a reenactment of Jim Jones goes to Christmas town. Dead, flat elves and snow people scatter the lawns like a mass suicide cult hit the North Pole. A massacre of merriment. One half-inflated penguin dragging its self off the lawn coughing out,  I only live in Antarctica and parts of South America why am I even here?

Aaaaaaaaaghh!”

Monday, December 1, 2014

World AIDS Day



What should you do today?

No seriously, what could you do today?

I've had several conversation with my young employees after hearing comments about the police officer killing Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri. The comments came from a place of having no perspective of involvement. One young girl, didn't even know a black person. She asked why "they" don't just get over it. I challenged her to read Dr. King's  Letter from a Birmingham Jail If she read it and could have a conversation about Ferguson with me, I'd take her to lunch. We'll see. 

But, I was that girl. Even with the "+" sign around me in my life. I woke up today with out thinking what I was going to do to honor World AIDS Day. That's why I challenged myself. What am I going to do about it? Well, according to a Google search, World AIDS Day.org says it's an "opportunity for people worldwide to unite in the fight against HIV, show their support for people living with HIV and to commemorate people who have died."  So I will start with remembering my fallen.....


Then, I will go hug my "+" loved ones. What are you going to do?

Wednesday, November 26, 2014

The Case of the Switched Out Leather Bar T-Shirt

It's an odd feeling when you turn around at your local gay bar and notice that the bartender is sporting your shirt. Not the same Nasty Pig style. Not the same Nasty Pig collection of shirts sold only in the NY Nasty Pig store. No, your very shirt.

This happened to me just recently; and it made me go, Hmmmmm. How does a Leather Bar, bartender end-up wearing a shirt of mine? As far as I knew, I hadn't touched him, in the biblical sense. So how was beardy the bear bartender now sporting my hot t-shirt? There was a mystery at foot, and I was just the queen to adjust my glasses and turn into Velma from ScoobyDoo.

It was time to utilize, The principle  of Occam's razor. The theory that states that among competing hypotheses, the one with the fewest assumptions should be selected. Simple solutions ultimately prove correct. You know, that philosophical theory. So, I employed Occam's theory on The Case of the Switched Out Leather Bar T-Shirt.

As far as I knew my shirt was safely folded up using my Miracle Folder in my dresser drawer. But, after a long examination, and removing all doubt the that was my shirt, the previous assumption to the location of my shirt was clearly false. This was because, it was currently covering a burly bar tender. So...... when did my shirt leave my company? Months ago, when I "interacted" with..... the hot bartender in this bar.... But?? But?? Oh...

Bartender number one must of retained my cool Nasty Pig shirt after Nasty visited for a holiday. Then, in the interim the shirt traveled (without clearly being washed) onto Bartender number two. "The two bartenders, must be fucking!" I said out loud in my best baggy orange turtlenecked, Velma Dinkley voice. "Nah, they're not allowed to date each other. They'd get fired." The friend next to me offered, in alarmed response to me randomly pointing my finger in the air and blurting out such a non-sequitur. Turns out, after flirting with Bartender number one, my hypotheses was correctly proven.

I solved the case of The Case of the Switched Out Leather Bar T-Shirt. But, I lost a shirt, because I really don't want that shirt back now. 

Sunday, November 23, 2014

Hold my Hand

On Twitter I follow HistoricalPics, an account the shares amazing photos from history. Today they tweeted this:

The skeletal remains of this Roman-era couple revealed the pair has been holding hands for 1,500 years.

That seems to be the most romantic thought. Holding hands with the one you love throughout time. 

I saw it as just needy. 

Thursday, November 20, 2014

Behind the Times

Not to drone on the same topic; but, my days and nights have been filled with memorizing the changes to the Eropean map throughtout the Middle Ages. Yes, that means you'll find me at the gym standing in front of the free weights reading about the great papal schism of the fifteenth century. A dumbbell in one hand, my Medieval history textbook in the other. 

Yesterday, I had enough of the bickering Popes. As it was my day off, and a nice day, I dropped my textbook and went for a walk. As I walked around downtown Denver I found it amazing how the shops and streets are looking a lot like Christmas. I was disgusted at first because Thanksgiving is more than four  weeks away. Oh...... I checked my iPhone. 

It informed me that it's next week. 

How the hell did that happen?? 

Halloween was just five minutes ago? I guess that's why people had started to tell me they were heading out of town to go home.  Next week? That seems out of order. But, my Anthropology Professor did say something about not having class next week. 

I guess it's true. If you hang around the Popes for to long, they'll drive you crazy.  

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

Seven Years of StevieB

I'm having trouble believing that it's been seven years of the Nice To See StevieB blog.  Seven years ago today,  I began to post on the struggle of a full-grown man, coming to terms that he has a never-aging teen age girl trapped inside of him.

I do have to mark the occasion by saying that these years have been truly amazing. The blog has facilitated in bonding with amazing fellow bloggers and turning them into friends. Every year I celebrate my blog anniversary by saying, thank you.  Thanks for stopping by and reading my blog and for looking into my small corner of my homo-crazed world.  Seven years of blogging, sharing my struggles and fun adventures, thank you for stopping by for just a bit during your busy day.
I’m grateful for your time.

Seven years also marks:
The gaining of thirty pounds
The loosing of thirty-five pounds
Three cars
Three jobs
Eight strangely themed vacations
Four iPhones
Six different hair styles.
One thousand seven hundred four trips to coffee shops to write.
Two thousand five hundred fifty-six cups of coffee
Countless guys in the twenties robbed of their virginity.
Two gay cruises (has it only been two?????)
Four years of school
One thousand two hundred four blog posts

Let's begin year number eight looking forward to the awaiting adventures. 



Monday, November 3, 2014

The Franks Suck

I completely failed my History mid-term exam. Completely. Totally. I received my grade back and winced. 56%, that's an "F" no matter how you shake it.

I know why I received this grade. It's not because I spent the whole day before on a date in Boulder, although that didn't help. It was I studied the wrong things. I  didn't pick up on the subtle information laid down by the Professor on what would be on the test. For example; there was a map portion of the test,  a blank map of Europe was given and I would identify specific areas. Now, it had the possibility   of any era of medieval times.  From the tribal clans of the Gauls up to Charlemenge's empire.  I studied and memorized all realms, ages, territories, and changes to the European map throughout the decades.  All the way unto the last of the era of the Carolingian Empire; I forgot to study that. Guess what the map portion of the test was? Yep, the stupid late Carolingian Empire.

I sat there, glazed over. Attempting to remember how the empire was divided up after stupid Charlemenge died. Jerks. Naming their empires such stupid, hard to remember things.  I had to abandon that portion of the test. Which is why I got an "F" because of the stupid Franks. God I hate them, they just ruin everything.  Jerks.

So, that's how I got an "F" on my history exam. Not because I was spending time having fun on a date; it was the Charlemenge's fault for having so many sons that they split up the empire upon his death. 

Saturday, October 25, 2014

Checking Monsters

I got home super late last night. One of those nights where you dump your belongings and drag yourself up the stairs. I dumped my countless number of bags inside the door and stripped naked as I ascended the stairs.  My only goal was to be horizontal within my 800 thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets. Nothing was going to stop me. One thing did. 

I stopped and checked my closet for monsters. 


Monster in The Closet
by MoMoCookie

















In my sleep deprived state, it hit me. I just checked my closet. I began to think; do I do this a lot? Yes, without even thinking of it. Every night I'm alone I open my closet door and flip on the light to ensure that there isn't anything evil lurking behind the Pumas. Hiding behind the flannel shirts.  I'm a fully fledged adult, and yet I check for monsters in my room. 


I'm sure this habit began when I was eight. My brother hid in my closet one evening to jump out and scare me. To this day it is my foundation in my belief that brothers are just simply assholes.  Ever since that night I have checked my closet. This habit has ingrained itself into just who I am for my entire life, so much so that I don't even remember or acknowledge doing it. 


In the movie 'The Dark Knight' The Joker says, “We stopped checking for monsters under our beds when we realized they were inside us." So maybe, that fact that I'm a full ground man and still checking behind the closet door every night, symbolizes  that I don't have a monster inside of me.  That evil is still an abstract. To be pushed away with one small ritual. 

Sunday, October 19, 2014

Beard Challenge

There are 101 days until Wednesday January 28, 2015. That's three months and nine days from my 4th annual 40th Birthday. Which means three months and nine days until the end of my 2014 beard challenge.

I can't say I haven't been tempted to shave my beard growth off of my face. I've held the clippers in my hand on several occasions. But, right as I am close it seems a get an immediate complement from someone, either in real life or online. And sense it seems to be the only motivator on my face fur, the beard stays. For three months, and nine days.  The only negative feed back has been random trolls on Grindr, none of which have been remotely attractive. Oh, and Fuzzy,* he HATES my beard.  Like truly despises its presence in our lives. It is like Ebola, campaign adds, and people who don't move quickly enough through left turn lanes all rolled in one. The beard allows people to talk to me, a conversation starter. A "nice beard" said as tidal flows pull gays through a packed bar, is a great way to meet boys. With all its enemies and fans I still have my furry face.


Pre-fuzz

The latest fur
update.

Saturday, October 18, 2014

Life

So... age old concern. My homework is cutting into my romantic life. At the end of next week I have an eight page paper due on whether the Irish monasteries of the twelfth century really did save the works of  great ancient philosophers, or the Humanists across Europe were the saviors; as the monks would not understood the meaning behind the works.... I know. I just fell asleep as well. Aristotle; such a funny guy.  During this time, I am acutely aware that there are guys to go kiss.

I am slowly coming to the conclusion that not only am I beginning my mid-life crisis, I am also attempting to re-live my early twenties. But, with a better credit score.

I find it strange and amusing that life has brought me to this place. A place of personal confidence, meaning finally feeling comfortable in my own skin, of being un-outcastable and truly strong in my personal beliefs, yet being in a social place of a twenty year old.

I like getting older. When you’re in your twenties you’re really forging for your future. Things take shape later on. -Crispin Glover

Monday, October 13, 2014

This Grill is on Fire

On Saturday night I found myself out on a date. A date that ended up in a cozy booth at my favorite place to dine; The Denver Diner in downtown Denver. A ginger bearded boy and I sat in a corner booth dining on pancakes. A scene right out of a gay Rockwell painting. It was the perfect step on a great night out. We sat and judged the endless supply of parading women, drunk and spent from partying in their tiny skirts and 6" heels.  As I stared dreamily into my table mates deep blue eyes I heard screaming from the kitchen. "Get out!!!! Fire!!! Everyone out!!!!" I looked over to see the entire grill engulfed in flames. Leaving my pancakes, but grabbing my bearded boy, I attempted to beat out the murder of drunk girls, as I would assume they would be too slow in there cheap heels to make it to the door.*

As I escorted my date to the  front door, I did have the head about me to bust into a rendition of one of Alicia Keys' songs. I blurted out,

"it's just a grill and it's on fire!"

 "THIS GRILL IS ON FIRE!!!!"

There is 
no more proud moment in my life.


*The news reported that no whoreish girls were harmed in the fire. My pancakes were; however, a total loss.

The news link is here...





Saturday, October 11, 2014

When I was a Boy

My first car was a 1968 Ford Mustang. No. It was not brand new. I found this car in a ditch around 1991, and towed it home with the help of my brother-in-law. I spent every meager dime I had working to get that Mustang up and running.  When it did run, I was always out and about in this car, with its mis-matched fenders and wonky exhaust. Around this time I also seemed attracted too, and dated older guys. I bring up this point because, now that I'm over forty I am now returning the favor and started to embrace my inner-daddy. Yet, it seems times have changed in the Daddy/boy dating world.  Yes, this blog post is going to be themed "When I was a boy!"

As a gay waiter at the age of twenty-four, I met and dated guys in their late thirties. I had an apartment on my own,  generally paid my own way, and had a blast in the dating world. Now, the caveat emptor of this situation may be type of guy I'm finding, meeting them mostly on Grindr. But, it seems that all the guys I have chatted with, don't own cars and still live with their parents because they just can't afford a place of their own. So, the economic atmosphere in the US is severely cramping my sex life.

Student loans, high rental rates of apartments, and the lack of jobs for new college graduates,  is impeding my ability to find a nice twenty-six year old to tie up and do things. I blame the Republicans.  This entered my mind as I picked up a nice guy for a date, at his parents house, the sideways glances I received were epic when his mom deducted that her and I were the same age. In an attempt to avert the awkwardness I offered that I too had a mid-term to study for, as I'm in college as well. It didn't help.

When I was a boy, I guess life was easier. I pretty much built my own car, and lived on Capital Hill in a series of run-down skeezy apartments. Now that I've found myself  in the Daddy role,  it appears that guys are living at home for much longer. That, or I need to change my Grindr profile to read that I'm looking for guys that have their own car. That's right, StevieB, keep those standards high. Or..... I could keep my nose out of Grindr and in my history book.


Saturday, September 27, 2014

Castro in the Morning

We sat in the morning sun.

It was strange. I had been on Castro Street a countless number of times. Never, on an early Monday morning. I had been to this coffee shop a countless number of times. Never, like this before.

We sat upon the bench outside the coffee shop. We spoke quietly, as it seemed appropriate for this morning. Not because it was a quiet Monday morning in the Castro, the first I had ever experienced; but, because this is how one talks in a situation like this.

Quietly. Like the Castro on a Monday morning.

In a slow frenzy I attempted to soak it all in, the exact distance from my feet to the curb, the number of trash cans lined up across the street against the Bank of America building. The curve and feel of his hand in mine. I wanted to remember every detail. Every, fucking detail. I wouldn’t let it go. I must remember the feeling of sitting on a bench, outside a coffee shop, in the early morning light.  In the Castro… with him.

For him, it may of been just coffee on a Monday morning. A cool nonchalantness wafted about him like a smokey haze.

I was engrossed in memorizing every spec of paint splatter on his black framed glasses. Every blemish, every hair in his beard. Embarrassed by this, I would glance down at my venti sized coffee from the “bearbucks” and click my thumb upon the edge. I would force down the thoughts of Christmas tree shopping, of late night kisses after nightmares pulled him from sleep. Telling him he was safe. Ignore half-created images of long road trips and hikes up into unexplored mountains. Damn it! I counted the street signs.

We sat in the morning sun.

We spoke quietly. It seemed appropriate for this moment. We didn’t speak of future plans, other than abstract shapes and cloudy references. I memorized how many buses stopped across the street and how many people got on those buses; on their way to work on a sunny Monday morning in the Castro. I attempted to memorize every detail around me, so I would never forget. Never, fucking forget.

We sat on that bench, outside of that coffee shop.

I can now tell you how many trees line that street. As I held his hand. I cannot; tell you anything about us. 

Sunday, September 21, 2014

Ghost on the Bridge

As I stood at the base of the south tower on the Golden Gate Bridge, I was mezmorized by the bay of San Francisco stretching out in front of me.  I watched the late afternoon fog toy with the city, darting in and out of the buildings and hills. Yet, I soon felt an unknown force pulling me away from the show. The approach up from the south side of the bridge was packed with tourists from around the globe. Everyone seemed to be in a family pod, stopping for photo ops on their journey over the bridge. What forced me to look away from the million-dollar view was one lone man. 

He looked out of place because he walked slowly up the bridge. He had a slight build even for his mid-twenties Asian frame. In place of a camera to snap pictures, like everyone else, there was a massive bouquet of very expensive flowers in his arms.  Maybe it was the explosion is color that caught my eye, amongst a sea of Golden Gate red, and Nautica black windbreakers. But, I don't think so. I was forced to watch this man.  All time stopped. Just him and me alone on the bridge. Even though we were alone, he never once noticed or acknowledged me. Like I was a ghost on a bridge.  

There was another ghost he was focused upon. As I can't always see ghosts I just asumed this was who he was talking too as he leaned against the rail. He spoke out loud for a minute, but I couldn't hear a word, with me being a ghost and all. He then hurled the massve bouquet of flowers over the edge of the bridge and in a spinning whirl all the tourists appeared again as they gasped and screamed the something had gone over the bridge side. The crowed peared over to watch the falling flowers. I, on the other hand, watched as a human soul went through a catharsis. A cleansing. Only shared unknowingly with me. 

Still locked into place, at the base of the south tower, I watch as this person quickly sped down the bridge.  He was just a dot in the crowd when I came back to life. 


Saturday, September 20, 2014

You've Been Here Four Hours

Today as morning greeted San Fransico, I was thankful that the hotel is across the street from two essentials.  A 24 Hour Fiitness gym, and a Starbucks. Once the roommates finially awoke; we headed to the Castro for breakfast. This meal was followed by a quick trip to Mr. S Leather for a shopping trip. A quick trip.  A shopping trip that ended up lasting four hours.  Four hours in a leather supermarket. Trying on everything. 

It was odd, I ran into an amazing amount of fellow bloggers, twittererers, and fellow  Instagramers. And, after a credit card charge around $400 and four hours I was spent. Literally and figuratively. 

I slowly entered the hotel lobby in the late afternoon. Weighed down by the bags of clothes and new toys. Ready for a long nap.  After a trip to China Town for some "authentic" cuisine, and a little light bar time, bed called my name.  Good night, San Fransico.  See you tomorrow.  

Friday, September 19, 2014

StevieB in the Holy Land

Alright, I made it to San Fransico. I quickly realized that I should always vacation with a corporate HRish like Lesbian.  As three gay men on vacation it has always falling on me to make reservations, figure out subways, you know... general herding of cats sort of thng. This trip is completely different. The power lesbian has made the reservations, booked the room using points,(luxury Marriott on the sixteenth floor... Insane view of the city) even seeking out information when the subway ticket kiosks have turned sentient and are having bad hair days. This is the first trip where I can put away my alfa-male, Papa Bearness and really relax. From now on, I will only travel with a lesbian. 

That being said, yesterday I made it to the Castro. I had been away too long. I've said for ages that I want my ashes scattered in front of the bear Starbucks. I feel a deep conecton on that street, even though I don't know why. It's the way that, I'm sure, others feel when walking inside a church or temple. As part of my holy sacrament, I bought new Pumas. Trust me, it was an act of gay transubstantiation. 

Today beings a pilgrimage to Mr. S Leathers. Because, Papa Bear needs a reward. Of some sort.  


Monday, September 15, 2014

StevieB is Huge in Russia

Inside the Blogger.com site, where I write this abomination of a blog, there is a handy page that gives me a ton of interesting data. Like how many people have visited my blog. And with bloggers leaving the blog world in droves, It's interesting to see who reads blogs anymore. Yet, this handy page lets me know that 207 viewers clicked upon my Stevie-blog today. So..... thanks for that. Some times I feel that blogging has gone the way of iPods without phones in them.

The analytics page of my blog also calculates what sites are referring traffic to my blog. Just a Jeep Guy is always the number one site, followed by Patrick and Homer. So.... thanks guys.  A fun bit  is how search engines were used to find my blog, the number one search people use to find me is:  "Gay Muscle Worship" I'm not really sure why? Every time I attempt to research the Google search, I get sucked down a gay muscle worship rabbit hole and forget what I was doing.

The very best analytic is Traffic Sources. This breaks down where in the world my blog traffic comes from. Number two on the list fluctuates between Germany and Russia. Around three hundred views weekly come from either one of these countries.  And, as much as I'd like to think that I'm huge in Russia (Привет , я хотел бы тереть мои огромные пенис на ваш плотный, мускулистый живот.)  I fear it's actually just web crawlers, looking for data.

I think this mostly because of the massive amounts of spam comments I receive. Most read like this...
Its like you learn my mind! You appear to grasp so much approximately this, like you wrote the e book in it or something. I think that you simply can do with a few percent to force the message house a bit, but instead of that, this is fantastic blog. A fantastic read. I'll certainly be back.... 
Then they go on to link their creepy website about psychic love readings or something.  The joke is on them as there were fifty of these comments on my blog post, The Lumberjack Horticulturist where I whined about seeing the cutest Otter-boy ever just to let his flannel clan hotness slip way. So the commenter is correct, I do grasp so much approximately to this topic. 

Friday, September 12, 2014

Five hours for Ginger

It just may have happened. That Autumn just might have arrived to my city. Yes, I'm aware that it's only the second week of September; but, last night we had snow.

Okay, it was not real snow. Just a bit if sleet turning from rain as I drove on the highway. For five hours last night after work. Observing my fellow highway travelers freak-out over the snowy substance and braking their cars down to a perceived safe fifteen MPH. On the highway, during peak rush hour.

I had gotten off of work at a reasonable four o'clock, and that morning I had looked forward to a long Stevie-centric gym time. That was until I checked my phone and a guy I have been chatting up  proposed dinner. "No way!" I thought, it's rainy. And since I'd been fighting off a cold, I have missed a lot of quality gym time.  This was around the time that mentioned that he was located in Colorado Springs, Colorado, seventy-one miles away. "No, thank you!"  Then he dropped that he is staying at the US Swim Team's dorm, located within the US Olympic training center.... That he would be sneaking out.  "Uh..... I'll be right there."

The drive normally is around one hour for mere mortals, 45 minutes for me.  Yet, the added bonus of our weather change had me pulling up outside of America's high altitude Olympic training center, in two and a half hours.  Visions of Greg Luganus, Michael Phelps, and most importantly Tom Daley ran through my head in that two and a half hour slow-rolling traffic.  The visions were correct. Tom Daley, better. Ginger.

Dinner was amazing. There was a promise of cross training; he would teach me about Game of Thrones, and I'd educate on Doctor Who.  After dinner, and a little roadmance, we returned to the Olympic dorms. And, after my joke about a gay version of the Munich massacre wasn't acknowledged, I dropped him off around the corner with my Jeep's lights off.

My life as it has been lived with dignity.

Two hours and forty minutes later my dog greeted me at the door. Wondering where the hell I'd been. I wondered the same thing.