A Place Called Home

Last week, I judged a drag queen pageant at a bar here in Toledo called Fascination! I dived a little too far into the deep end, and found myself pretty cocktailed by the end of the night. At one point, I sat near the spotlight with Jacob (the boyfriend) beside me, watching the show.

I was flooded with memories.

See, earlier this year a bar known as Caesars’ Showbar was sold to these two guys that tried their hardest to make it an amazing place for the gay community. They changed the name, and remodeled alot of things on the inside, and did a fantastic job.  But, the place would always just be Caesars to me.

Caesars’ was the first bar I felt comfortable in. It was the first bar I worked in, the first place I got drunk in. The first place I got kicked out of, and the the first place that made me feel at home.

Back in 1999 when I came out of the closet, I didn’t have alot of people to lean on. My family wasn’t there for me, and outside of a few random friends I’d made, I was lost and lonely in a huge world that I couldn’t even begin to understand.

I met a group of people whom I’ve since grown apart from, but their influence on me is something I’ll always keep with me.

I learned that sarcasm was a beautiful thing.  And, that if you could find a group of friends with whom you can say anything to, and keep the friendship intact, you will need little else in your life.

My boyfriend at the time, started working at Caesars. And, so it began.

I started out sitting there by myself; shy and quiet. I was afraid to express myself, having never really had the opportunity to do so, it was frightening.

Eventually, I started working there as a waitor. And over the years I became a bartender, and started splitting my time between there, and another local legend, Hooterville.

I have alot of poor memories of my time there, but they’re only outweighed by those that I’d never trade.

I met alot of people working there. Some I’d never remember, some that will never remember me, and some that I’ll never forget.

I’ve met some of the shadiest, most cruel people I’ve ever known there. People that I’d like to never see again. People, that in moments without thought, I’ve wished unpleasant things upon. But, more than that I’ve acquired some of my dearest treasures from the place.

At numerous different phases in my life, I’ve become very close friends with a random collection of people from Caesars.

Some I’ll probably be amazing friends with forever. Some have faded with time, some have evaporated completely. And, some will surely land that same direction over time.

But, for that handfull that will reside with me forever, I’m grateful.

I’ve met some people that without, I probably wouldn’t stand where I stand today.  People that have changed my life. Changed me.

I can’t imagine where I’d be without the support, and friendship of some of these people.

And, this is what I will always equate with Caesars.

It was more than just a Drag bar with predictable shows and the same routine for years.

It was a place that gave me strength. A place where I could mingle with my collection of acquaintances, and feel comfortable with myself. Something I wasn’t offered anywhere else.

I never had family. I never got to have that support group of loved ones. And, somewhere along the way, alot of the people from Caesars’ offered me an alternative to that. Something that wasn’t the same as family, but wasn’t so different either.

As I sat there last week, my eyes watered as I remembered some of the people that have since gone away. Whether they’ve moved away, or been called away from the world in general, my hearts warms at the thought of how things used to be.

I sat there, thinking of just how things change. Just how people develop. They move on, they adapt. Sometimes friendships are lost in the cracks of those changes. Sometimes they’re made more potent, more powerful.

It made me sad to think of all the things that aren’t the same. Yet, refreshed to experience all the things that are different.

It made me for a moment, remember the people I used to care about, the ones I used to know and love. Then, it made me appreciate the fact that those things are gone, and understand the value of those that I hold now.

A part of me, shrugged it off, and thought, while the people may change, the place will stay the same. It may change cosmetically, but the idea is still there. The invitation to accept a group of people into your life, to know and love.

Then, I learned that the place was closed, and will probably not re-open in that location ever again.

It kind of hit me, like a brick.

Those memories that I hold so fondly, are just that. Nothing more, nothing less.

And, that night was the last time I’d ever stand in a place that offered me so much. I wasn’t always able to understand what it had given me, but now that I’ve grown, I see just how much I loved that place.

Not for what it was, but for what it gave to me. The empowerment. The security. And, most of all the people.

People that could never be replaced.

I wish the owners of Fascination! the best. I think they are wonderful people, and have the capability to offer the city of Toledo something different than it’s had recently.

I’m excited for them, and their chance to make a change. But, there’s that part of me that will remain stubborn. That part that holds onto the memories. The part that clenches his fist around the thoughts of the times he had, and the people he had them with.

And, with those memories, I say that while it may change, and things may become more structured and organized.. It will never be the same.

I know that’s the idea. To create something fresh, and new. Something exciting, and better.

I guess I’m just old fashioned.

Some of the things I went through in and around the old Caesars Showbar were things that made me into the person that I am today.

And those memories are the best I’ve ever had.

There’s really no way to replace that for me.

But, there’s always another me. A different you.

A young kid, looking for a place. In need of a family, a close knit group of friends. Someone who just needs to know that he fits in, that he has a place to belong to.

And, I’m sure the new place will offer him that.

Sometimes, you just can’t help but remember the past, and wish there was a way to share it with all the people that didn’t get to experience it.

So, I wave goodbye to a place that offered me a “home” when I didn’t seem to have one. It offered me a hand when I had no other. And place to sit when I couldn’t stand up, (literally, I drank alot)

It’s the first time Last Call is something I wasn’t looking forward to.

But, alas, times change. So do the things we know, the things we love. The places we share.

Cheers, to Caesars. It was a legacy. A home.

It offered me both some of the best and worst times, and I’ll never forget it, for either.

Haiti

Today, like any other day I woke up and got online. I checked my email, my blog, my facebook, and whatever other sites that happen to be included in my daily check-up-ons.

I read lots of things on facebook. People unable to sleep. People feeling sick and being angry. People being awake too early, or just inviting the world to know that they love their particular significant other. But, one thing bothered me, and inspired me to write this blog. This.

“THIS SAYS IT ALL!!!!! Shame on you America: the only country where we have homeless without shelter, children going to bed without eating, elderly going without needed meds, and mentally ill without treatment – yet we have a benefit for the people of Haiti on 12 TV stations. 99% of people won’t have the guts to copy and repost this.. Guess what – I do!”

I found this posted by several different people. People I barely know, people I’m close with.

I say to those people, that you should be ashamed of yourselves.

We live in a country that has always been the model for freedom. People come to America to start their lives over. To give themselves hope and opportunity. There are people that die, trying to live in this country, to be a part of our liberties, our advantages, and our determination.

Would you suggest, that we as a nation, rip every ounce of compassion towards the rest of the world out from our insides? Would you ask that  we stop being human beings that offer support to those that need it?

They say that in a time of crisis, a person is truly revealed. And, what I’m seeing is that people are selfish, and ridiculously pathetic.

I ask you this, if you think that we should not be giving support to Haiti, a country devastated by what could turn out to be the worst natural disaster in history… A place where the death toll has surpassed 150,000 people, what would you ask for, if this were to happen here.

What would you want to happen, if this happened on your soil? What if it were your family members missing. Your homes destroyed. Your lives ruined. What if your government, wasn’t able to support this sort of disaster, and you were left in shambles, devastated.

Would you want the kindness and compassion of the world to fall on the shoulders of someone as selfish, cruel, and heartless as you are?

Part of the beautiful thing about the human race, is that while we may be littered with assholes who only care about themselves, there are also those select people that are willing to step up, and give what they can, to help those that need it.

You say there are homeless people here, that should be taken care of first, there are children here that need rescue. I ask you, when was the last time you gave a homeless man a few dollars when he asked for it? Or did you scurry by, in hopes that they wouldn’t stop you. When is the last time you donated money, or time, to help those starving children you’re suddenly so concerned with?

I hope that you aren’t ever placed in a situation where disaster strikes, and you’re left with relying on others’ to help you and your family, your community, your entire country. Because, it would only be fair for someone to look at you, and tell you, that someone else takes higher priority.

Those of you that posted that ridiculous chain post thing, should really figure out what it is, that makes you such a horrible person.

Ridiculing people for helping people that need it. Just because a person is from your country, does not make their needs any more or less important than anyone else.

Remember, we were all created equal.

How quickly people forget.

When I Grow Up..

Tonight, while standing behind the bar waiting for someone; anyone, to show up, I started thinking about things.

I remembered how easier things were as a kid. I remember having no responsibilities. No severe consequences.

I remember not having to worry about money, and relationships. How to make ends meet, or how to pull them closer together.

I remember being in school.  I remember being praised by my grandparents.

“That’s my boy”, my grandpa would say while pointing at a chubby faced picture of me he kept in the living room on his piano, on display for everyone to see.

Coming from a family full of black sheep, I remember being designated “the one to succeed”.

I was the smart one. The one that was going to go places. The one that was going to be someone. The one to prove the theory that the men on my fathers’ side of the family weren’t always going to be failures.

I remember how jealous it made my cousins. I often got bullied because of it. How were they ever going to get outside of my shadow. And, how was I ever going to be inside of it.

I always felt pressured. Like, there was too much hope placed upon me. Like, no matter what, I was always going to disappoint someone. Like, I’d never be able to be everything that they wanted.

Of course, these high expectations were washed away when I came out of the closet. I stopped being the one that was going to go to college. The one that was going to go places, had suddenly only become the one that was going to hell. I became the blackest sheep in the herd. And, eventually I felt like every single one of them led me to the slaughterhouse.

It took me a long time to come to terms with most of it. Not just because of how they made me feel, but because of how I knew I made them feel.

If there’s one thing that I worry most about, it’s being a disappointment. Not being good enough. Not being enough, or too much. I experienced being a let-down, and it’s something I remember never wanting to feel again.

I look back on these moments, and I wonder how things might’ve been. I wonder if dealt different cards, or placed in different scenarios, would I still be here. Would I be further, or worse. Greater, or less. More, or not as much.

I remember, feeling like I had to succeed. And, somehow not wanting to just out of spite.

As I look at myself now, twenty seven years into the whole thing, I wish that I could have the opportunity to try harder. Push myself further. I wish I would’ve dug a little deeper. Or, had done just a little bit more.

It’s true, I can’t remember a time when I wanted to be an astronaut or a doctor. A lawyer or …astrophysicist. From whatever moment I learned what I wanted to be, it’s been the same. My dreams and goals haven’tt really changed much. I’ve always wanted to just, be me.

I don’t have any amazing abilities. I don’t possess some immense bit of knowledge in one distinct area. Really, the only thing I’ve ever felt I was good at is saying how I feel. I guess being in touch with your emotions is a good thing, but it doesn’t really get you far.

So, I channeled that. I decided that I would write. And, for many years it’s what I’ve done. It’s who I’ve been.

I look at everything, and I realize that it’s very unlikely that I’ll reach the levels in which I’ve dreamt of.  I realize that a good portion of my dreams won’t come true.

I understand, that I may never be an author. I may never travel the country on a book tour. Or have my name recognized during a random conversation between complete strangers.

I know, that I might never be  a notable person with documented success.

But, I have learned that regardless of that fact, whether my silly fairy tale expectations of success come true or not, I’m still going to be the same person.

I’ll still be brutally honest. Completely trust-worthy. A great friend. A loyal love. I’ll still stand firmly for what I believe in. I’ll always hold my dignity high, and my heart will always touched by some of the amazing things in life. Like, a childs’ smile or a perfect kiss. (or..and old person cussing)

No matter my level of success, those things will not change. I’m not a person who gives in.

I might be the kind of person who lets people down, but I’m not the type of person who sells out.

As I sat there, wondering what will happen to me, if I don’t become a published author….I realized that..I’ll still be the same person.

I’ll still be the same way. (just without a hefty bank balance)

And, I’ll always be a writer.

Clench

This week, more than any other I have gotten a little insight on a little something we call compassion.

I’ve learned that the hardest part about death isn’t always your loss, but the loss of those you care about. I’ve gotten the unfortunate opportunity to see a few people that mean the world to me, mourn the loss of someone they loved. It’s a heartwreching moment; watching someone cry or listening to them recall old memories while obviously trying to hold back some ocean of tears.

It’s difficult being on this end. Not really feeling emotional yourself, but knowing that other people you love are dealing with some sort of aggressive sadness.

But, I’ve been on the other end too. I’ve lost the friend, or the family member. I’ve had to hold back my emotions. I’ve had someone trying to make me feel better, but because they didn’t really know the person, their attempts while appreciated don’t exactly make you feel any better either.

I can’t say which side I prefer being on. I certainly don’t like losing loved ones, but watching those loved ones lose their loved ones isn’t any less painful.

In a way, it breaks your heart. You can’t help but imagine yourself in their stories. Like you were there too. You form all these mental connections to the story. And, you can’t help but feel their loss. Not on the same scale, but still you understand.

You want to comfort people. Tell them what you can to make them feel better. Act a little more ridiculous, just to make them laugh a little louder, grin a little wider, stop thinking for just a little longer.

I know that with time it gets easier. People will move on. Eventually it won’t be fresh in their minds, but simmering somewhere in the background. It’ll get easier to get through, and then people won’t be as affected by it. Life will go on.

Until the next time. And the next. And the next.

I feel like I’m 27 years old, but I’ve seen so many faces disappear. Faces forgotten. Names scratched off.

I don’t know. I’m not sure what’s making me think about things so much. I guess in the last few months, I’ve just been on both sides of the losing someone spectrum. It’s messing with my feelings on mortality. It’s making me think about myself, and those around me. For some reason, it’s making me consider the things I could lose. The people that could lose me.

It’s giving me all the more reason to be thankful for the people I know. It makes me clench them a little tigher. Talk to them a little longer. Love them a little more.

It’s not too often you get to see my softer side.  I’m not sure it’s a great look on me. Kindness and caring. It doesn’t really go with my ripped jeans, my bald head, and my “fuck you” attitude and my gucci bag.

I don’t really have a Gucci bag, but it sounded cute.

I’m not trying to make it sound like I’m too good for Gucci bags. I don’t mind Gucci. And, I do like accessories. I just want to make sure I’m being honest.

I guess in summary; Death fucking sucks. For all parties involved.

Paying my Respect.

I live in Toledo, Ohio. It’s not the most exciting place to live, but it’s home to me. It’s the only place I’ve really lived. Outside of a random vacation or roadtrip, it’s the only place I’ve seen. It’s all I know, when it comes to location.

The population in Toledo is 301,285.

Based on studies according to my research, they say that one of every twenty people identify themselves as gay or bisexual. Take into consideration, your closet cases, your transgendered population, and the people that just lack the courage to admit it in a survey, and the number probably lies somewhere closer to one of every fifteen.

So of those 301,285 people 20,085.6667 are gay. (guesstimate)

Some of them I’ve seen, met, gotten to know on varied levels. Some of them I’ve yet to meet, and some of them I’ll never meet.

The gay community, is such a hodge podge group of people, across the world. And, though I’ve never really experienced much of the gay community elsewhere, the best way I can describe it here in Toledo….is like high school. Ironically, I’ve never been in one of those either, however that knowledge isn’t really imperitive at this point. By “high school” I mean cliques.

You have your fag hags, your drag hags, your drag queens, drag kings, trannies, tranny sluts, sluts, bi sluts, bookstore whores, internet whores, twinks, the older daddies, the sugar daddies, the hustlers, the bar whores, the regular whores, the glitter queens, the dancing queens, the bears, the leather freaks, the bull dykes, the lipstick lesbians, the mullet dykes, …the tractor drivin/flannel dykes (not to be confused with the mullet dykes, just because they have them) etc, etc.

And nowadays, it seems like we’re everywhere. It’s far more socially accepted now than it was even when I came out, let alone when some of the people I’ve met came out in the 70s and 80s. And, that is definitely a good thing. It’s something that I’m grateful for.

My life hasn’t always been easy, and luckily I’m not as concerned with what people will think of me, or do to me just because of my sexual orientation as some of my fathers’ peers might have been. That’s not to say it’s a walk in the park, but it’s not an uphill climb every step of the way either. It’s comforting to know that by the time I’m an old man, being gay will be even that much more accepted socially.

Often times, I think that the struggles of the people who came before us, go unnoticed. I think that things fall out of perspective. We get so caught up in the daily woes of our own routines, that we forget that things were once harder. More challenging, less simple. We stop looking at how far we’ve come, and focus on how far we have to go. And, while I’m certainly guilty of that as well, it’s not something that never crosses my mind. Often times, it takes something to kick me in the butt. Some comment, or action that strikes a cord with some certain heart string, reminding me to reflect, regard, and redistribute.

In this instance, my gears of starting grinding at the cost of something invaluable. Something unmeasurable, and unpredictable.

A man named Greg Knott passed away over the end of the weekend. It’s a shock, a surprise, and a list of other things.

This man was not someone I was close to. I’d shared conversations with him, I respected his opinions, and appreciated his sarcasm. One more than one occasion I’d asked his opinion on certain things. Mostly because I work in a gay bar, and he owned one for several years. The knowledge and experience he’d picked up along the way seems valuable. And, I have a certain knack for picking peoples’ brains.

We weren’t friends, though we got along. And, truth be told if I were to write a blog in his memory, there’s very little I’d be able to say about him personally, because there’s very little of him that I know.

So, I opted to take a different route.

I don’t have any words of mourning. I don’t have some glittery metaphor that I’m going to wrap my mind around, and try to get everyone to understand and feel for emotionally.

All I’ve got is the respect I hold.

In his lifetime, I’m sure he had plenty of barriers to cross. I’m confident that he had struggles, and hardships. I’m sure it wasn’t always easy during his time, to be the person he was. I’m sure when he opened his business for he gay community to have a place to gather, he faced some sort of opposition. I’m also sure he had some fun along the way.

The best thing that I can say about the man, is that by simply doing some of the things he got to do in his life, he has somehow in his own way contributed to the world as I live it.

He somehow, in his own way, made it easier for me to be the person I am. For my friends to be the people they are. Simply by offering them a place to be themselves, in a place that seems to be one of the few places they can do that..He has made my life a better one.

We may not have ever shared coffee. We may not have really even talked much. Hell, it’s possible that he didn’t even know my name. But I appreciate some of the things he accomplished in his life. I respect the fact that he made it possible for some of the people in my community to feel safe with themselves, with their thoughts and their fears.

It may not seem like much when you fail to look at it so closely. But when you magnify some of the things that have been done by people, you see a different side of anyone; everyone.

Like I said, I didn’t know very much about Greg Knott. I do however know that in some variation, he has paved a way for me and my peers.

It’s unfortunate that the gay community fights so hard against itself. Tearing each other down, fighting each other through words, and actions. Hell, even killing one another. It’s sad, that it’ll probably always be that way. Once being gay becomes even more socially accepted, these tragedies become less noteworthy, and more expected. More the norm.

I wish that I knew how to make a world where everyone worked towards a common goal. Unfortunately I think it’ll always be the closer we grow together, the further we drift part. The more we help each other, the less we need of one another. The more we take, the less we give.

I don’t know what kind of person Greg was.

I’d like to imagine that he was the kind of person that wanted to see the gay community work together. Not only with the gay community, but with the straight community. I’d like to think that he wished for one of the very things I do. That one day we are all just a community. One not divided by race and gender and orientation. One where I can hold the hand of my boyfriend without a snicker or strange look from anyone.

I hope that one day these words become reality. And, I hope that some of the pioneers for people in the “gay lifestyle” are able to glance from whatever place they’re in, and see that their efforts were worth it. To see their struggles completely mended. Their goals, finally reached.

My heart goes out to the friends and family of this iconic legend. I may not have known him, some may not have liked him, but noone can discredit the amount of respect and gratitude he deserves.

I wish I’d have gotten the slightest opportunity to say thank you. I know, there was a time in my life when I needed Bretz. I can’t remember when exactly, I couldn’t give you a date and a year. No specific moments. Just knowing that there was someplace to go, to get away from all the disapproval I was faced with at home offered me solace.

I can’t judge a person I didn’t know. But I can thank a person that deserves it.

Greg Knott will be missed by alot of people.  And, alot of people will go on with their lives without a second thought about it.

I just wanted to let people know, that I’m not one of those people.

I’m grateful for Greg Knott. In his way, he has changed the lives of alot of people. And, when our house has been high enough, that we’re no longer segregated from straight people with our equalities and everything else. I hope there are people who still take the time to remember the people that laid the bricks down, when it wasn’t as easy to do so.

Greg Knott is on that list of people.

I hope he has found peace in his death. And I thank him for paving the way for my life to be even og anything else, a tiny bit easier.

The Land Before Time

It’s 5:34 A.M On January 1st, 2010.

I’m awake, and sober. So, I’ll keep this brief.

Tonight, after working the bar I invited my sister Alisha, and her boyfriend Walter (I call him homeboy) and one of my other two sisters, Angel over to the apartment to hang out with Jacob and I.

It’s really the first time I’ve been in an enclosed setting with them, in like…over ten years. Sure, they’ve been to the bar, but we haven’t really…hung out. Or talked, or anything. It was nice.

The interesting part came when through random discussion they both started telling stories about my mom. Not the crazy, “I got abducted by aliens’ stories that I have in regards to my mother. But, like …actual stories.

They were saying things, that..made her seem…cool. Down to Earth. I almost thought to myself, “wow..I wish I had a mom like that when I was a kid”.

Then I realized, oh…wait…I should’ve.

The more they talked and laughed, the more I wondered to myself who this person is.

Like I said to a friend awhile ago, the best way I can relate it is this.

It’s like, you were an average everyday, safari tour guide. You have a nice life, but its not really who you think you are. So, you evoke a change. You ride a elephant all the way to the big city, and become a…uh…biologist. Then, you go back and tell everyone that yer a biologist, and your mother is soooooo disgusted by you wanting to be a biologist, that in a fit of anger…she morphs into this giant carnivorous dinosaur. She eats your entire village, and spits the pieces back out at you, leaving you soaked in the remnants of all the things you had, all the people you loved. So you run. Until you get to an oasis. Then you find out it’s not really an oasis, but  a mirage. Just a dirty trick, fooling you into thinking it was an oasis. So you run some more, and some more, and some more. And, eventually, you just stopped running, cuz…..well…your fucking feet hurt. Open toed sandals.

Years go by, and yer happy. I mean, you could be better off, but you like biology, and everything’s going well. And,  you meet other people. And they’re like  “hey…you know that really mean dinosaur who like…ate your whole village, and like…all the people in it…yeah…she’s like..the coolest dinosaur ever. She like, lets me ride on her, and like..lays eggs and lets me play with baby dinosaurs. And, uh..all sortsa other cool stuff. Don’t you wish you knew her?

And yer like….wow. Yeah. That does seem like a pretty cool dinosaur. I’d like to know that dinosaur. But, like….what about my village and all the villagers? She still tore that shit up.

So, I sit here wondering. Is it time to stop running?

Should I end this game of avoidance, and just get it over with.

Should I come face to face with the dinosaur, hope for the best, and maybe it’ll all end happily. Or, do I hold onto the fact that it ripped apart everything I had with it’s bare teeth, and continue to keep the door closed?

I’m not sure I have the answers. Nor am I convinced that the answers actually exist.

I’m not the kind of person that can sit around and talk to you when I’m angry. I need that time. That space. And, I’m not sure that once the initial “hey..dinosaur…its me..your son, nick” part, that I’m capable of forgiveness on that scale.

I’ve got a whole lifetime worth of resentment.  And, I’m having a bit of a hard time figuring out what I’m going to do with it all.

If only I were Littlefoot.

His mom was amazing. Why can’t my dinosaur be like his mom.

I think I know what I need to do. It’s just gathering up the strength within myself to know that no matter what, another persons’ acceptance isn’t what makes me the person I am. But their acceptance does make them who they are. So, if at this point, ten years later….having no idea what has happened to your child, you still want nothing to do with them,…

Then it’s just another extinct dinosaur.

If a person is willing to change, perhaps she could earn a more fitting title.

At this point, that’s about as much as she’s been to me.

However, maybe my cold dead heart is warming up to the idea of  3243246475654th chances.

A Year in the Life.

Everytime another year ends I feel a little bit closer.

A little bit closer towards life.  A little bit closer towards death. A little bit closer towards all the hopes and dreams I’ve ever had for myself.

Everytime another year ends I feel a little bit further away.

A little bit further away from life. A little bit further away from death.  A little bit further away from all the things I’ve ran from my entire life.

The end of each year brings momentary closure on all the things you’ve messed up on. All the parts you’ve fumbled. It gives each and every one of us the opportunity to cut our losses with whatever things didn’t go our way.

I don’t wave goodbye to 2009 wishing I’d done things differently. I welcome 2010 hoping I continue heading towards the sights I’ve set myself upon. I challenge myself to try harder, to look further, and to trek  faster.

I can’t remember a time when I was less confused about where I was going, and how I was going to get there. For once, I can say I’m not in the dark when it comes to my own existence.  It’s unexpected, yet inviting.

2009 was definitely a rollercoaster of a year for me.

At the beginning of the year, I stood before myself as a liar. I was selling cocaine, I was using cocaine. And I was ashamed of the person I’d become. By March, I came to the revelation that I was better than the objects I’d surrounded myself with. And, on my own, I waved goodbye to a friend, and kicked a habit cold turkey all at the same time.

I haven’t touched toe stuff since, nor have I considered it. It’s not that I wouldn’t like to experience the feeling, it’s that the feeling isn’t worth the feeling  of guilt and shame.

I’m proud of the steps I’ve taken this year. Though it’s unfair to acknowledge those steps forward without paying attention to the steps backwards as well.

I grew incredibly close to two people. And, imagining my life without either of the two of them now, makes it seem impossible to have gotten this far without them.

One is one of my closest friends. She offers me the littlest things, that she’ll never know. I wish I could take the world and form it into one thing, that will never hurt her. One she can hold in the palm of her hand, giving here the confidence to know that, that’s what the world is supposed to be. Something you take in, something you are the dictator of. I know, that she would do anything in the world she could for me, and she knows that there’s very little of that, that I’d ask for. I’m not sure exactly the moment we grew so close, but I’m grateful for it. And, its one of the reasons this has been an amazing year for me.

The other, is my closest friend. I lay next to him every night.  I share with him my heart, my home, my fears, my failures, and my greatest escapes from the world.  I cannot possibly put into words what I would be without him, but with him I know that I’m that much closer to being whatever it is that I’m meant to be. I’ve never been with someone who matches me as well as he does. I’ve never met anyone that makes me feel so important, without even trying. I’ve never been with someone that makes it so obvious that they love me. And, I’ve never been with someone where it is so easy to love them in return. My life has always been heartache, and conflict. And, the biggest conflict here, is that there rarely is any. Sure, we have our moments when we bicker. (we’re both Tauruses!) but those moments don’t last long.

I’ve never been so happy doing absolutely nothing.

So, as I bid 2009 adieu, I have to acknowledge those to people for truly making my year one of the best ones I can remember. I love them both very much, and can’t imagine not having them, in the next year, and every one thereafter.

I don’t make resolutions. If there’s something that needs to change, I change it under the guidlines that if it needs to be done, I need to do it. A new year has nothing to do with the importance of fixing the thing sin your life that aren’t what they should be.

Happy New Year, kids.

Take That!

I’ve written numerous times about the fact that my father went to jail. He’s been there a few times, I’m not sure what that says about rehabilitation, but thats not the point.

When I was ten years old, he went “away” for a bit, and I went to live with the only positive influence I’ve ever had in my life. My grandmother.

In her later years, she began taking care of a childhood friend who was bed-ridden. She was a nice lady, whose favorite past time seemed to be rolling quarters off her pillow to see how far they’d go. Her boyfriend, or whatever he was, was this really overly nice man named Frank.  All I knew of him was that he smiled alot, had no teeth, and had a huge hump below his waist. As an adult I learned it was a hernia, that he couldn’t afford to get corrected.  She had a son that was a few years older than me, and my grandma thought we could play together when she’d go over their house to handle whatever affair needed handled.  All I knew of him was that he smelled weird, and acted funny. As an adult I learned he was mentally handicapped. He taught me everything I know about Super Mario Brothers; And, I know alot about some Mario.

One day, I was invited into his room to watch him play Super Mario World for the super Nintendo. He showed me where all these secret places were, and when he let me try to play, I died on one of the first little Goomba guys. He took the controller from me, and made me feel inferior. My built-in reaction was to make him feel inferior, so as I left the room I said something along the lines of ..”It’s okay..I might’ve died in your game, but at least I’m not almost 18 and have never had a blowjob”.

He told my grandma, and she gave me a stern “talkin to” in the car on the way home. Of course, I lied and told her I didn’t even know what that was, because…I wasn’t about to get in trouble for it. So, I blamed it on someone at school. Yeah. That’s where I learned it! Some other little bastard!

Bastard was another word I used once. I was younger, in like first grade. And, my dad turned off my favorite show. “You Can’t Do That on Television”. So, to pay him back, that next day I rubbed an entire bottle of vaseline on the television screen. When he started yelling at me, making me put away my “paint by number” activity book, I retaliated with “You’re a bastard”.

I wasn’t lying when I told him I didn’t know what it meant. I didn’t, but he didn’t seem to like it. So, from that day forward everyone on the bus was a bastard.

I learned that, people really don’t like it when you call them names. And, it’s more enjoyable when they don’t even know what it means. It doesn’t matter if you do, as long as they think you do.

This behavior followed me, and contributed to the adult I am today.

I say things, that people don’t like.

I’ve never really had that part of your brain that says “Hey! Wait up! Maybe you shouldn’t say that…it might not be a good idea!”

My theory is that if you have to try to not say something, then maybe it needs to be said. Why hold back? Why bite your tongue. Say what you say, and then you can say “well…at least you know what I think”.

Not everyone can be like this. Not everyone feels comfortable being disliked, or looked upon as an asshole. Not everyone can be completely honest about what they think. And, for arguements’ sake, not everyone should.

Hell, even I have gotten myself in too deep on more than a few occasions because I said something, that…with proper time to ponder it, I might not find prudent to vocalize.

I’ve turned into a strong willed, sharp-tongued adult. And, I can’t say that I would change that quality if I could.

I like that noone steamrolls me. I like that I’m pretty confident that if anyone fucks with me, I’ll fuck back. There’s nothing I welcome more than a verbal spat. Bring it, I say.

That moment, in the car my grandmother told me what a blowjob was. And she told me never to say that to him again, because he had mind problems, and it might hurt his feelings.

The next time I seen him, I called him a retarded virgin, who would NEVER get a blowjob. He called me a queer, and said if my grandma wasn’t there, he’d make me give him a blowjob, then we’d talk about who’d never get one.

If that isn’t some Miss Cleo bullshit, I don’t know what is.

I wish, that as a child, I would’ve been a little nicer to the innocent people.

There was this little old lady who lived in the apartment next to us when I was 12. She was always complaining about something. She had this beautiful rug outside her door. It was burgandy, and ruffley, and I wish I had it now.  I took it for a walk one rainy day, and dropped it into a big mud puddle. I left it there for a few days, then decided to recognize the Good Samaritan in me. I retrieved the rug, now muddy, stained and gross looking. I carried it back inside the building, knocked on her door and told her that I found it outside on the ground. Then she gave me five dollars, as I told her I thought it was the little boy on the first floor that threw a spitball at me on the schoolbus.

That summer, my cousins and I did all sorts of shenanigans. We made fake outgoing letters, with peanut butter all over the back and placed it in the outgoing mailbox. We broke eggs open on the tops of cars in the parking garage. We threw pop cans at cars driving down Glendale Avenue.

The worst was this poor retarded guy that we teased and heckled for months.

We meant no real harm, we were just little bastards, trying to have fun.

Luckily, I grew out of it. I realized that acting that way towards other people is uncalled for.

Why risk getting into trouble with the po-po, when you can just say what you think. Nothing hurts like the truth.

I apologized to the retarded man. His name was William, and when he shook my hand and thanked me, I remember the feeling I got.

It left me feeling good.

Not only could I make other people feel bad, but I also had the ability to make others and myself feel good.

That summer was the last time I ever acted that way towards another person.

Sure, I’ve called some people ugly, or made fun of them. I’ve probably done it to half the people that read my rants and random bickerings.

I guess the point of all this is just this.

When I look back, and reflect upon the person I am now, and the person I was or the person I could’ve been…I’m elated by the knowledge that I haven’t turned out half bad.

People might think I’m an asshole, but at least I’m not a bastard.

Like Lady Gaga says … “Show me your teeth”.

A Power Struggle.

Last night I was inspired to update after reading an old friends’ blog. She’s an amazing writer, and an even more amazing person.

She’s very confident in her writing abilities, and it’s something I’m envious of.  Genuine talent is arguementable, and I wish I could see more of it in myself.

She talked about writing things that were really powerful. She’s been doing this cute little thing where she writes a few short sentences about all the different people that have impacted her life.

I read, and I started wondering. I came across one question I wanted answered.

“When am I going to write something powerful?”

I ultimately gave up the pondering, and tried to go to sleep. But, sleep didn’t come. Instead, I think I tossed and turned for about five hours. See, Thanksgiving and Christmas bring out the absolute worst parts of me. I become overly emotional, needy, depressed,  and just sad in general.

As a small child, every week was Christmas. My dad made very good money, and he bought me anything I wanted. I was spoiled rotten. At one point, my bedroom was covered in toys so much that literally you could not see the floor. You had to walk over toys to get to the other side.

After he became a crackhead (the first time) things changed. He went to jail, and I went to live with my grandparents. And, things were never the same. The time I spent in the months leading up to his arrest, were flooded with things that I still can’t forget. Memories I can’t escape. Moments that I may never stop reliving. So, a year later when he got out of prison, things were never the same. I wanted things to go back to how they used to (getting anything and everything I wanted) and, that was not possible.

I think the months of neglect, abuse, and pure abandonment pretty much secured the fact that I would resent my father for the rest of my life. And, I think those very same things are what keeps him his grasp firmly around a soiree of guilt.

It took me a long time to reach a place of comfort with him again. And by the time I did, I was realizing that things were going to change again when he found out I was gay. And, they did. But, I think his guilt led him to try to give me as much as he could. And for the first year of my adulthood, I didn’t work. My dad gave me money, paid my bills, bought my meals. Everything.

Then, of course he became a crackhead again, and went to jail for seven years.

I’m not sure that we’ll ever be close. I don’t know that either of us will ever really be able to let go of everything that’s happened. One of us blaming the other, the other blaming himself too much.

On most days, these things barely phase me. I remember them for brief moments, and trek onward without much more than that. Unless of course it’s the holidays. Everyone talking about family, and this and that.

It’s hard to explain to people how most of my life it was just him and I, and how difficult it us to lose that, and pretend that it isn’t lost. People don’t grasp the feeling that I get, because they don’t understand that while I have sisters, I never knew them. I never talked to them, I never seen them.

It’s hard to go from having everything, to having nothing. From getting anything, to getting nothing.

As an adult, Christmas has turned into a time when I feel bad for all the things that have happened. And, there’s been alot.

A long time ago, I developed this ridiculous notion that somehow everything was my fault. Deep down, I definitely know that it isn’t. But, sometimes I tend to be self depricating.

The last few years I’ve spent Christmas alone. One year my boyfriend flew home to be with his family out of state. Another year, I turned down offers to be with other people and their family, who had graciously invited me.

Another thing people don’t understand is how hard it can be to sit in a room with other people and their family and see their faces as they share that day with the people that mean the most to them. They don’t often relate to how that might make a person who lacks that sort of thing feel. And, I’m glad that they don’t. I’m glad that not everyone has to be envious of that. Not everyone has to feel what it’s like to feel like they don’t have that comfort.

Bleh. This isn’t really turning out the way I was originally shooting for. FML.

I guess the big thing is, I find myself angry at the person I love because he’s going home and spending the night with his family. I find myself not thinking of what he’s used to, because I’m being selfish, and thinking that I don’t want to be alone. It’s not fair of me, and it makes me angry at myself that I’m like this.

I guess deep down, I spend so much time trying to convince myself that it doesn’t matter that I don’t have strong relationships with my family, because I always feel like I have a really strong support group of people I love and care about around me.

And, the only time that I feel cracks in that support, is when I realize that they don’t need me, nearly as much as I need them. Because they have something else to fall back on. They have other people to be there for them.

It’s only a few days out of the year that it bothers me. Unfortunately, those days seem to be the longest, hardest, most challenging ones to get through.

And, when I think of writing this all down, I realize that I reach my goal in writing everytime that I do.

Every single thing that I write, is powerful. Because it’s real. It’s raw. I just sit here and try to find the perfect sentence. I don’t struggle to think of these amazing words to captivate anyone.

I write. My words are my heart. My power is my experience. My life is my pen.

Everytime I write, I give a piece of myself. It might not always be one of my better parts. But, it’s always me.

And it’s one of the few things I have, that I never have to worry about losing.

This blog has been approved by Gloria Gaynor. (not really)

I may have mentioned a time or two, that after my eighth grade year, my dad decided that homeschooling was a better option for me. It ended up changing the course my life, robbing me of both big opportunities in schooling, and a certain social aspect of life.

I grew into an adult not able to hang out with friends, not getting to go anywhere. My freedom was limited, and every aspect of my life was dependent upon my father.

I realize that when I write a blog, my father is rarely depicted as a nice guy. And, while I don’t know that he should be, I’m sure one day I’ll have something really nice to say like “my dad once *insert really cool thing*” but for this story he’s a bad man.

I was always the kind of kid to speak my mind. So with all of this, I grew into very sarcastic teenager. (typical?) I learned at a decent enough age that I was a smart guy. And, that it probably wouldn’t take too long until I surpassed the intellect of both of my parents combined.

When I became an adult and starting meeting people with the option of doing what I wanted, when I wanted, and with whom…I came across as very reserved.

I didn’t speak alot. I wasn’t out going, I wasn’t funny. I was quiet.  I was shy. I was, not confident enough in myself to stand behind myself and say fuck you if you don’t like me.

And, for awhile I wanted everyone to like me. I wanted attention.

For so long I secretly wondered if given the opportunity to actually interact with people, would they like me? Was I capable of forming bonds with people. Could I establish friendships, Could I maintain a relationship with another person.

Eventually, I found that I wasn’t some social outcast. My father was just a ridiculously bad parent.

Once I entered the bar scene, my whole persona changed.

Sure, I always had a penchant for making fun 0f people. But, I was never really around enough people to make fun of. lol

The bar scene opened me up to a world of truth.

I’ve worked in a bar since I was nineteen years old. And, the amount of life lessons that it has taught me, is undeniable, teaching me things about  etiquette and a list of other bullshit. Mostly, just people.

I’ve learned that people are the most confusing thing in the entire world. They say things, and then often deliberately do things that seem almost unfathomable, seemingly just to contradict themselves.

All this time, I’ve grown de-sensitized to bullshit. I’ve learned to read body language. I’ve grasped the ability to hear things said in a whisper from several feet away, (even if I say “huh” to everything that you say directly to my face) I’ve mastered the ability to tell when someone is lying to me.

Over the years, I guess everything I’ve gone through, all the ridiculously miserable relationships, the lies, the cheating, the outright deceptions, the backstabbing, the shit-talking, etc etc etc, I’ve developed a certain attitude that not everyone can appreciate.

I don’t take shit. I don’t let people walk over me. I don’t let people put me down. I also, very rarely let someone else get the last word, or feel like they’ve one-upped me.

I don’t let a person disrespect me, and if they do I make sure that I return the favor.

I don’t people take advantage of me.

Also, I’m the most honest person I know. Often times, people disagree with my tact.

If you ask me if I like you, or why I don’t like you, or what my problem is with you, I will tell you. I will tell you everything. Anything.

And, while I appreciate that in return, I’ve learned that most other people aren’t like that.

Because of my honesty, my bluntness, and often times my brutal choice of words..I’ve gained a reputation.

I am an asshole.

I get it all the time.  “You’re an asshole”.

“You’re mean”.

“You have attitude”.

For a long time, I’ve welcomed this. Accepted it, and joked openly about it. But, if I’m being honest, it hurts my feelings sometimes.

I don’t know why speaking the truth, and saying the things that other people think or want to say, garnishes one with the reputation of being an asshole. Shouldn’t the asshole be the cowards who can’t speak up? Those that are afraid of what people will think of them or say? Those that speak ill towards someone behind their back, yet wouldn’t dare say it to their face.  To me, these are the assholes.

I’m not sure when putting yourself first became the thing that assholes do.

I don’t know when people decided they’d like some sugar coated, askewed version of the world, handed to them on some silver platter. When did we stop searching for truth?

When did hearing what we want, overtrump hearing what we need.

Perhaps if the world were more honest with itself, it wouldn’t be sucha fucking  mess.

So, while it hurts me to know that people misjudge me, and think that I’m this heartless bitch, who is mean for no reason, or purposely rises in the morning with the inspiration to treat someone like crap, I lie down at the end of each night comforted.

I feel comfortable knowing that I’m a kind individual. I would give for those that I care for, long before taking for myself.

I take comfort in knowing that when people look at me, they get what they see. They won’t be duped later.

They’ll never say “oh wow..I thought he was going to be something he isn’t”.

Like Gloria Gaynor says ..I am what I am. (lol)

I lay it all out there. Sugar-free. Bullshit free. 100% honest.

If that makes me an asshole….then fuck off.

And die.

lol.

Did I really just quote Gloria Gaynor?

God, maybe I am an asshole….