Going home,

You know what I don't understand about going home?

I have slept in that bed many times. Over many years. I lived there for darned near 30 years. I have my own toothbrush and stick of deodorant there.

But somehow, I still get up and spend the day at work thinking, "I can't wait to get home tonight" like I've been somewhere on an overnight trip.

Makes no sense.

"the way we were"

The nicest thing anyone has said to me in a long time, "You look exactly the same." It was nice to hear, from someone who knew me a long time ago. It was a lie, but he said it with sincerity in his voice. I could almost believe him, and maybe I did, for just a moment. It was a good moment. With this blog, maybe I can remember the moment, hold on to the memory of seeing an old friend again.


Ah, enough of the memory and longing for a time gone by. Here's the good part - Said by a friend I probably haven't seen in a decade or more, who happens to look HOT. Great butt, big package, flat tummy, firm chest. I wanted to love him and hate him at the same time. His FB photo's had implied he'd held on to his hottiness. But up close, he has. He's got some weird issue with his hair. But still, he's hot. (Yes, I know he's got a flat tummy and firm chest because in my consumate gayness, I managed to cop a feel during a hug. So there.)

His sister, too. Gorgeous, like always.

Back to the memories:

Way, way back in the day, I had a bestest pal around town, a girl pal. I can pin point the exact moment I met her. Well, I can recall how we met, she says she knows what day. But anyway, after about 10 years of hanging tight, she and I had a falling out.

I thought she would call. I thought she would show up for my college graduation. I thought I would hear from her any day. It was ten years later that I came home to my first apartment in Memphis, pushed the answering machine button*, and heard her voice say "Happy Birthday." I kid you not, I slumped against the wall and slid to the floor.

Anyway, since then, we've tried to talk and keep in touch. Sometimes we do so much as spend a weekend sending texts trying to figure out if we'll see each other, only to not see each other. Then two years ago she called and said, "I made you dance with me twenty years ago, I'm making you do it again" so I was her date to her high school reunion. Though we've talked since, we hadn't seen each other since.

Then her father died this week in a tragic accident. Sudden, unexpected vehicle accident.

I was torn over what to do, when to go home, how much to "be there" for her. I mean, I knew I would be there for the visitation and the funeral. And once there was a time I would have been by her side throughout. But that time was long since over. Long since.

There was a moment standing beside her last night when it felt like I could take my old place again. No one else was standing there. I would wipe away years with a blink of the eye.

Then the moment passed, and I knew so had our time. At least in that way, the way it was, or to sing the Karen Carpenter song, "the way we were." **

But, as funerals do, they bring together old faces and I've seen old friends. There's the comment "Why do people only do this at funerals?" I considered staying for the luncheon, I knew there wasn't anything going on at work. But I think somewhere deep inside, I just felt like the time had passed. I did what any good former best friend/pseudo boyfriend would do. I quietly went away.

She asked me to go to the family lunch at the church afterwards. I could have. It might have even been nice. But that's not what happened, not quite what felt. . . right?

Anyway, in spite of the circumstances, it was good to see old friends. And better to see one in particular who is gor-geous and a total hottie. It felt good when he said, "You look exactly the same" even though I know it's a lie.

It was good to remember "the way we were" even if it was only for a brief moment.

Lesbionic Attire

* Uh - someone who reads this blog regularly might recognize herself in passing in this post. I'm not saying anything, I'm just saying.*

Typical lesbian dress: OK. When I moved to the Big City, my very first two friends in the city were a lesbionic partner two-some. I actually met them just a few weeks before moving up, and they were super super great to me giving me just sort of an anchor of friends.

The lesbionic partner two-some broke up years ago. (Not that you couldn't see it coming when one partner kept going to an ex's house "to get money for the insurance.) Some people didn't like ex-Partner S, but I did. And I think I said so. But I digress, because that's not really the point of this blog.

This blog is about lesbionic dress.

(You know, I really don't understand lesbianism. I don't understand why anyone would want to sleep with one woman, much less two together.)

So, I only run into Former Partner S occasionally, usually at Pride, which means just once a year. But I am reminded of what a good friend she was, and the first night we met at work, and the first night I drove up to the Big City and they took me riding.

So anyway, at Pride this year, "S" was in a karaoke competition to raise money for Pride. And she got up on the stage and belted out a version of "You can reach me by caravan, cross the desert like an Arab man, I don't care how you get here, just get here if you can" and I swear to you I thought "For someone to sing to me like that, I would cross the desert." I just did not know she could sing so well. Had no idea.

But here's what she's wearing that day. And I swear to you, as I sat in the concert last night watching Melissa, I thought "For all the show this is, I swear I could be watching S." Surely a rock star could have pulled off a stronger look than a karaoke competitor at a small city Pride competition.

Melissa Etheridge

I saw her in concert last night. I'm a huge fan (both physically and in terms of c.d. ownership and memory of lyrics). I've been looking forward to the concert for weeks now, and at the last minute (like literally, walking into the showroom) scored floor seats. (Not that there's very many bad seats in this venue, they were pretty much just handed to me).

I'm gonna tell you the best thing about the concert - her voice is spot on. Perfect. There's no difference between the voice on the c.d.'s and the voice in concert, which tells me she doesn't need any dubbing or working over like all those modern day little flittery sensations. Perfect.

I'm gonna tell you what I didn't like, and it's just a personal preference, not reflective of the concert quality (which was superb) or the recording artist (who is phenomenal) or the crowd's overall reaction (which seemed to be highly enjoying the show).

To me, "up close and personal" in that "unplugged" way translated into "without a band" really just means kinda "dull and dull" to me. It's not my favorite style. Not gonna be.

Now, the audience (every lesbian within driving distance. I met one who drove 5 hours for this) loved it. A big crowd of 'em rushed the stage and stood there the whole night like adoring sycophants (I have wanted to use that word for a long time, but it's hard to work it legitimately into a sentence). And I can't say I blame 'em (the adoring sycophants, not the creator of the word sycophant who didn't take into account how awkward it would be to use). I mean, she's a great singer/songwriter/piano player (who knew?)/guitarist. And like I said, that voice is spot on.

My biggest problem with it? Uh, why I gotta be better dressed than the rock star? Puh-leeze. If I wanted to see ANOTHER lesbian wearing a man's dress shirt hanging open around a t-shirt, I could have just gone to supper at any of a dozen restaurants in this part of town.

Honestly? A man's shirt. Please.

Quote

from my friend Gregory. I just thought it funny. He said it like it's a well known legend or old wive's tale, something we would have all heard as children.

"It's bad luck not to tip a drag queen" as he put a dollar in her jar.

If you ever meet my friend Gregory, you will love him. He is unashamedly himself, he is always planning big, and he is fighting loyal.

An example? My employer, for the first time ever, had a booth this year at the local Pride. A small group of homo's pulled it off in about four days, so we were glad just to have what we could manage. Gregory went to the basement of his division and dug up all kinds of old give-aways so there would be something fun going on, while a couple of girls handled the registration paper work and banners, etc.

Gregory had gone to Sam's Club and filled up two chests with ice and Cokes, Diet Cokes, bottled water, Capri Suns, etc. and bought snacks for us. Mind you, it was 100 degrees and no one else thought to do this. But Gregory did. When I asked if he was going to try to expense it back to the company? "No, I'm just so glad we're doing this."

Later in the day, he was convinced by next year we could have a two-tier float complete with d.j. in time for next year's parade. "Gregory, . . . . " I just didn't know how to finish the sentence. Then "I bet there will be ten more corporations here next year." because we were there along with Nike and FedEx (who have been there for a couple of years). Gregory's dreaming big and thinking we can help pave the way.

My second fave Gregory story of the day? Gregory has an outside voice all the time. All.The.Time. Inside doesn't matter, vicinity doesn't matter. He's on 'broadcast.' So somebody from Pride is taking pictures and Gregory is right next to me saying something. "Gregory, you're yelling in my ear."

"SORRY!"

then he tells the photographer something else.

"Gregory, you're yelling in my ear."

then he tells the photographer something else.

At this point I give up, with an inward smile, and just hope the photographer gets done and moves on.

Photo blog

It's probably a good thing this pic is so blurred. This total hottie in his perfectly pressed seer sucker shorts with an uber hottie girl had just finished gnawing a finger nail off. I thought I should go buy him a burger or something.

Story for the day . . . .

so it's been incredibly hot today and I've been out in it. But I felt giddy like a sugar high, so I forced myself to take a brisk walk.

Now, there's this couple, two guys, that seemed to live akross the skreet from me (yes, I spelled it that way on purpose) that are often taking their walk about the same time as I. Usually we pass going in opposite directions. The other night I gave some greeting and one replied something with a "sir." When that happened, my mind immediately had the bitter impact of my friend "Red" who does not care for a "ma'am" and I knew good and well them boys are as old as me. But anyway . . . tonight we ran into each other at an intersection going the same way. Only one of them was carrying a twin sized mattress. Just the one, not both. His partner was strollin' along beside him.

I said, "I've seen yaw walking some nights just like me. I just gotta tell ya, I would pick up a hand-weight or something, but if you're picking up furniture for your health, you just go ahead and lose more than me."

They told me their names, let's just say Guy 1 and Guy 2. Guy 1 was carrying the mattress and Guy 2 has a broken rib. Guy 2's mom stays with them sometimes and it's a one bedroom apartment so she just makes a pallet on the floor.

I've already offered once to help while we're walking and he's talking and I offer again. He says "Do you mind?" and I said, "Not if I offered twice. If I only offered once, I didn't really want to." So I help Guy 1 carry this mattress. As I tried to figure out how to hold it I said, "How do you want it? to which Guy 1 replied "Anyway as long as it's rough." A few seconds later Guy 2 said, "He didn't catch that." I said, "I did." Guy 2 said, "He's being polite." Really I had a smile on my face, it's not like I've never said anything like that. But it was just sort of funny, you know, the situation.

Just a split second after tossing it over my head and it landing on my hair, I thought "WHERETHAFRUCKDIDTHISCOMEFROM?" and I said, "Did the owners look clean?" (not entirely sure what his frame of reference would be) and he said, "It came from the fire station." To which I thought, "Well, I'd do any of them. So it's o.k. Besides, if they did have freaky sex with some uniform-chasing girl, they probably had sense enough to check her for cooties, right?"

So I help them (him, 'cause there was no them doing the carrying) take it to their house. You can't tell from the front it's duplexed up. Just about in front of Chick-Filet (a'comin soon) someone stops on Union Avenue to take a picture of us! Guy 1 said "You see some crazy stuff" not realizing the irony of his words. I said, "You see everything in Midtown, and sometimes you don't realize you're it." I'm sure we'll pop up on somebody's FB later tonight.

Up to the back of the house we walk in the kitchen and from-my-mouth-to-G-d's-ears there's Guy 2's mother laying on a pallet on the kitchen floor right up next to a 6 person dining room table laid out with a table cloth and gold gilded china. The kitchen has a fireplace left over from who-knows-what-original construction and they have stuffed every square inch with collectible Barbie dolls (cartoon princess versions like Cinderella are all I can remember at a glance) and the whole room is just vibing QUEEN! I mean, who sets out a china in a one bedroom apartment with a tiny kitchen? Come on.

Guy 1 tells the mother to get up a couple of times and as she's slung down on the floor on a cordless phone she has to end her call to pop up. She seems to be in perfectly good health. They lay the mattress down right there. And I pop out before they offer to show me anything else.

I know, I know, I should have been strong and just a demanded a tour. But I was just sort of experiencing sensory overload in the kitchen alone. I don't think I was ready to handle any other rooms.

Honestly, the two guys seem very nice. I hope I'm right.

One Sentence

I love that website/blog, whatever. This posting is too funny.

Ruby Soho

Apparently, getting absolutely smashed, calling him between pukes in the public bathroom, falling asleep on the street and waking up in his bed filled with mud was romantic only on my side.

tags: ex-boyfriend drunk alcohol fake hope [add]

2009-06-14 17:29:06 / Rating: 39.5 /

Extended Dance Remix

On my way to MyFella's house tonight, I popped in some of my old fave gay c.d.'s. I used to say that I loved any song when a gay guy took a 3 minute song and stretched it into 12 or 15. And even better when the intro is 5 minutes long, like Toni Braxton's Spanish Guitar. But I digress, the point is, I forgot. . . . and the music made me remember.

Young, or at least younger. It was '99 when I moved to the city, 10 years ago would make me 29. Still fairly skinny. The gay club was right down the street, at least one of them was and it was arguably the better club. Two sides, one for drag, one for dancing. Seemed like they remodeled every six months and switched sides.

Sweat, the long dance remixes. The way to hold your water bottle in your hand while you danced. The real skinny ones putting tucking their shirts in the back of their pants. The way the bass beat rumbled in your chest and the lights moved in rhythm. Sweat and the smell of it. Lean boys on raised up platforms with glow sticks twirling in their hands. Sweat and the smell of it. Familiar songs redone in extended mixes. A look from a guy across the way. Sweat and the smell of it. The strangers bodies pushing against yours. The guy is closer and his body takes the place of theirs. The pulsating rhythms push your bodies together and your sweat mixes, sweat and the smell of it.

I sometimes left the club as the sun was coming up and would sleep until noon. And if the dance was right, you could feel almost as good as having had sex even if you hadn't.

Oh, how I had forgotten. And how I miss the nights when I stood in the dance floor and let the music lift me, move me, make me. How I could lose myself in the crowd and the lights and the smoke.

I miss being young and gay. But at least I had it. It was mine for a while, right down the street. Many a night, many a weekend, many an over priced cover charge.

Carrying the gay masthead (no pun intended)

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Hi Gang,

Thanks for all your help thus far in jumping starting our GLBT community involvement efforts. I'd like to begin to formalize the process with this meeting. My goal is to establish (1) a set schedule of events in which we could participate, (2) specific marketing opportunities, and (3) a regular meeting schedule. Please bring any ideas or materials that you may have and please invite anyone that I may have missed - this isn't designed to be solely a marketing committee. I'm looking forward to meeting with each of you.

Have a great weekend and let me know if you have any questions before then.

__________________

OK, first of all, what makes him think I'm gay?

OK, quit laughing beotches!

But seriously ~ Uh, hello, and WTF?! I mean, seriously?! I just open my work email, and there it is, an appointment for next Tuesday for the GLBT Marketing Team?

OK, seriously. Now, I know I'm not in the closet. Just this past Wednesday I made mention to me and MyFella wanting to see a well known entertainer, who happens to be lesbian, who is performing in the area soon. But it's not like I am some sort of gay leader at work, or gay . . . WHATEVER? I mean, I just friggin' work there, for crying out loud. And everybody else mentions their wives, boyfriends, whatever. They don't get put on some committee without anyone even mentioning it to them prior.

See, it reads to me like he thinks I knew this was coming. I have a suspicion that one of my pals told him to put me on it. But this is my deal - this guy is MY boss and I meet with him TWICE A WEEK, on Tuesday and Wednesday. You don't think he had any time this week to mention it to me?

I'm sure Gregory "put this on me" as they say, or as they said in Talladega Nights "Don't you put that on me, Ricky Bobby." I'm sure Gregory did, without a thought. "Put Mike on it. He's gay too!" Just wait til next time I see him. I'm going to tell him his belt doesn't match his shoes. That'll get him.

OK, and if it's not designed to be solely a marketing committee, then what is it? What else is it designed to be?

But honestly, you know what really is annoying me? I'm mad at myself. These people use the Outlook Calendar function faithfully, and if you don't have something at that time, they think you are open. And I have a luncheon meeting in the city with an association on which I sit on the board, so now I have to either tell the boss or tell the association. So I'm mad at myself for not keeping my calendar updated.

Two positive things: The busier they keep you, the more you feel like your job is safe, even though that's false. The meeting is over lunch in a buffet restaurant that is pretty good.

Another positive thing? I AM gay, and I'm good in bed.