Commitment

Commitment.
That's a huge word in many different ways. We attach so much meaning to words or just create what we think they mean in our head. One is one person's commitment is merely a guideline or a suggestion to another person. What we feel is so huge in the word 'commitment', some people just don't see or understand. We can commit to dinner plans. We can commit to a philosophical or spiritual truth. We can commit to a dogma or an ideal. We can commit to boycotting a company because of their funding or non-funding of an event or something we find reprehensible. We can commit to a shoe brand, a musician or type of music, a laundry detergent, a company, a country, a religion, a god, or even another person. We can commit to being charitable, spiritual, open minded, even handed, globally aware, believing in sustainability, or being green. We can simply commit to being on time for a change.

We pledge commitment to many issues, from personal growth to financial success, from happily ever after to happy never to see you again. Every day conscious commitments spin our interactions throughout the day. From whom we choose to be personal/ intimate with to where we'll eat lunch and with whom. We decide everything based upon our relationships and commitments we have with the world around us. From the toilet paper we use to the people we vote for, all of these daily and seemingly random decisions are based upon a conscious commitment. But how much of our lives are also controlled or even ruled by our unconscious commitments? How much of our daily routine revolves around commitments we've made that we aren't even aware of? And how many of these commitments, if brought to our attention, would we deny?

If you're in a meeting do you dread being asked your opinion? Is it because you self-sabotage yourself by thinking no one wants to hear what you think, or is it because you're afraid to look like a fool? Do you avoid committing yourself socially? Is it because you're shy or because you don't really want to be around the people involved in the activity? Do you dread going to a party, a club, or a bar? Is it again because you're shy or are you already presupposing that you won't have a good time, meet someone, or find it worthwhile? Do you go back on your word so often that people stop asking you to participate either in work or social situations? Do you start an disagreement with a co-worker, friend, or family member so you have an excuse not to attend or participate in an event or function, or even a discussion?

It's one thing to consciously make choices, but we sell ourselves short by relying on the unconscious ones. When you sit back and look at the 1000's of things we do on a daily basis, how many are done by rote and how many do you actually pay attention to? I'm not talking about things like breathing or walking, but things like participation, who we talk to & who we don't, taking advantage of opportunities or letting them slide by, being bullied or standing up for yourself, letting yourself be happy or just letting things be? Why are we so determined to shop at the 'right' stores, buy local & organic, drive the 'right' car, vote the 'right' way, associate with the 'right' people, and live in the 'right' area but not to spend that same kind of energy in finding out what is 'right' within ourselves. And if we don't think it's right, why can't we be honest enough or committed enough to own up to it and make the 'right' change for ourselves.

I'll make a commitment to you gentle readers, along with an apology.
I re-started this blog in order to write again. Put my words and feeling out into the ether in order to heal and to grow. But I forgot the basic tenent & rule of blogging . . . You Have To Write Every Day! You Have To Give The Reader A Reason To Come Back And Read Your Blog! So I apologize dear readers for not being consistent, no matter what excuses I can try and justify there is no reason I should not live up to our unspoken agreement. "If I write . . . They will read." I am, therefore, committing to putting text to blog on a daily basis. I ask one thing in return from you out in the blog-o-sphere, interact with me! Give me feedback, ask me questions, tell me what you want from me, and I promise to read and interact back with you.
Until tomorrow!

'Christian Duty'????

Christians refuse to tip waiter because ‘homosexual lifestyle is an affront to God’ (via Raw Story )

A group of customers refused to tip their 20-year-old server at a Carraba’s Italian restaurant in Overland Park, KS on the grounds that his homosexuality is “an affront to God.” According to KCTV Fox 19, the server went to the table after the…

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Adventure in the Desert: Personal Space

After all that, who needs company?
I want to be alone . . . please!          

Saturday night was supposed to be the big night. Dinner plans, cocktails & dancing by the pool, and a special drag performance by some of 'RuPaul's Drag Race All-stars! The stage was draped with enough sparkling black fabric to slipcover the Queen Mary . . . or at least a midsized Fat Boy! The DJ had the music pulsating, the lights were bouncing off the walls and water, and the people who were floating about au naturel earlier were now dressed to impress. And these boys were drinking like prohibition was about to begin again at sunrise! Big & Small boys were two fisting mixed drinks, shots, & beers as fast as they could. I know the desert could make you dehydrated if you weren't careful, but these boys were loading up like a fleet of camels about to cross the Sahara. This did not bode well, but I had done enough soul searching and reasonable thinking up in my room prior to coming down and joining the crowd. I was bound and determined to make amends to the gents I turned my nose up at and the guys I had looked down upon.
I know that I can be a real Princess more often than not, sitting high up on my gilded art nouveau throne and looking down at the rabble, giving a gracious wave now and then (back of the hand, above the pearls and below the tiara), a gracious smile to the deserving and a raised eyebrow to unfavorable. It's the way I was raised coupled with the way I wanted to be observed. My lineage was filled with stiff backed & stiff lipped matrons and patrons, my nobless was just a little more obliged than necessary.

But I digress, back to the party at hand. I girded my loins, hefted my breasts and waded into the crowd like a galleon under full sail. (Did I mention I was probably a tad overdressed?) I blasted a mega-watt smile while saying hello and inquiring if said person was enjoying themselves. I schmoozed like it was a party in the Hollywood Hills and I was casting my next blockbuster. A smile, a kiss on the cheek, a pat on the derriere, a touch on the forearm, a caress on the pecs, air kisses on both cheeks, a kind word, a silly joke, a double entendre, a droll comment, a catty witticism, Honey! Dorthy Parker had nothing on me that night. I was a success, I was beloved, I was in demand, and I was realizing that I didn't have to feel miserable and alone. Who were these people and why was I seeking their approval? What the hell was going on in my head that made me go to these extremes just to be liked? Simple, I had come to the point that I was figuring that if I wasn't putting out at least I could be entertaining & witty. If I wasn't going to put my tits and ass out there for one & all, at the very least I could make them laugh and distract them while I moved to higher ground. Instead of giving in and becoming someone I couldn't be, I decided to be engaging and humourous. I decided to be human and welcoming instead of stand-offish and disapproving. I decided to enjoy myself. It only took 2 days to get to that point & take the stick out of my ass, climb down off that throne, and just have a good time.
It was about damn time!

 And you know what? The next day was a blast! People sought me out in order to have a conversation not a grope-a-thon, to laugh and want to sit down and have breakfast with me or share a drink or two. I could wander around & join conversations and not worry about ulterior motives or hidden meanings. I allowed myself the chance to meet some very cool people and listen to some very interesting conversations.
Yes, there was still a lot of naked slap & tickle going on around me. Yes, there were naked men in abundance and in full view in and out of the water, but you know what? I didn't care any more. If that was what the participants were wanting to do right out there in front of a pride of voyeurs, then more power to them. I didn't need to watch and I didn't have to have it ruin my experience. To each their own and the freedom to enjoy it. After all, that's why it was a clothing optional resort and that's what the boys paid the big bucks to be a part of. No one and nothing gave me the right to rain on their parade or make them feel ashamed in any way. If there was baggage to hefted it was all mine. And you know what? From that point on I was packing light (but still matching & with no one else's initials on it but mine!).

Sunday night wrapped up with a wonderful dinner with a great group of people. I'm sorry I never had a chance to connect with them prior to dinner, I missed out on some truly great minds and insights. I'm so glad we met at dinner though, there's nothing like good wines and good food to get conversations going. I loved it! There were sometimes 3 or 4 conversations going at once, crisscrossing the table like a tennis match, mixing and rolling into each other, with laughter & good natured teasing between all the parties. I was in heaven! I really didn't want the evening to end and I was truly sorry that I had waited so long to join in on the revelry, I could've been having this every night if I'd only opened up my mind and my heart. Lesson learned! You've just got to strip away your preconceived notion and fears and take people at face value, leaving your own luggage back in your room. You never really understand how much you can color a situation by looking through your own non-rose coloured glasses and see something that's not really there. One more day in the desert kids, then it's back to the O.C. I go.

Adventure in the Desert: Testing the Waters

Saturday was the big day . . . All the events and all the Boys, Big and Small, were scheduled to be there on that day. The biggest crowd (in more ways than one) was expected to arrive after 11am on Saturday so more than a few of us were up at dawn to stake out our prime seating and territory before the interlopers arrived. It was pretty peaceful, even serene if you squinted your eyes a little and just listened to the gurgle of the fountain. Coffee helped. So did the spread of the Continental Breakfast. There's something strangely soothing about Cheese Danish & 'Fruit Loops' at sunrise. Bacon would've made it perfect but the restaurant next door didn't deliver until after 9am, even if you begged. (Believe me, I checked!) So I staked out my sanctuary for the day, trying not to make it the 'No-Man's-Land' I had the day before. I kept the double lounger, it was so roomy, but didn't wedge it against the planter. I laid out my towels and pool bag (packed with assorted sunscreens but leaving the spray-on puritanism back in the room), grabbed some bottles of water, then dashed up to change into the day's pool ensemble. I was going to keep my chin up, my tits held high, a smile on my face, and a twinkle in my eye.
I was ready for anything!

First, let me say a few things about the term 'Clothing Optional'. It's a good thing, meant to inspire freedom and free you from you inhibitions. It's used to promote an all over tan and probably to lessen the amount of luggage you drag around from place to place. It can also lead you to see things you'd rather not see. As with most things, even visually, one man's trash is another man's treasure. So let me give you the mental visual on this. This was a Big Boy pool party, for Big Boys and their Admirers. So there were a lot of Naked Big Boys and a lot of Naked Admirers. I'm no Tom Daley and despite the requests from many people there was no way I was going to be squeezing my buxom frame into a speedo or much less parading it around for god & everyone to see.

The reasoning on my part or the majority of it wasn't the fact that I felt self conscious, under the right circumstances I can appreciate air-drying the Big Boy or at least putting the goods on display, but I believe in keeping a little mystery going between you and your prey. Why give it all away? Keep a little something undercover for that moment of mutual exploration! Half the fun is the anticipation and exploration. Unfortunately for me these boys were not only putting it out there for all to see, but there were also putting it out there as free samples and there were a pool full of takers! Oh the humanity of it all! There was flesh everywhere, there was flesh floating above the water, there were body parts on display rarely seen in polite company, hands-feet-mouths-members were poking-prodding-grabbing-grasping . . . it went from bacchanalian to Caligula's House Party in a blink of an eye! And you just didn't know where to let your eyes rest, there were things going on in and out of the water. You didn't have to want or try to be a voyeur, it was going to happen whether you wanted it to or not. I really did want to be less anti-social than the day before, I really did want to engage and socialize, I really did want to meet new people and make new friends, but how can you have an intelligent conversation with a naked man you just saw having sex (foreplay-slap & tickle-etc.) with several other people only moments ago? Seriously! What do you talk about, the weather, the water temperature, their 'staying power'?

I didn't want to embarrass them or embarrass myself, I didn't know how to react, and frankly I was more than a little afraid of looking like a fool. This was a lot of territory for me to cover during one weekend. Had my break-up caused me to become such an introvert that I was afraid of human contact from someone that was expressing an interest in me? Was nudity something I was so afraid of now that seeing it go on around me caused me to be frightened and ashamed of my own body? Had I attached such a deep meaning to sex that seeing harmless foreplay and meaningless sex go on around me was causing me anxiety and nausea? Was my 'big' head messing with my 'little' head to the point that I have now become asexual, or even worse, that I was afraid of sex? I was spinning, feeling light headed & sick, and it wasn't from the heat or dehydration. Fear was overtaking me and I didn't know what to do about it. Dinner time and the cocktail hour were rapidly approaching. I needed to get out of the sun, get the pool area out of my line of sight, and get more than a few martinis into me so I could sit and think & figure out what was going on inside my head.

They used to say "Calgon carry me away!", right now I was counting on Grey Goose.

Adventure in the Desert: Things Float

Hope floats.
Expectations float.
So does Sorrow.

Big Boys float exceptionally well. And with buoyancy come responsibility, especially when you're around Chasers and Admirers. If you're out in the open water of a Big Boy pool party you have to imagine yourself festooned with signal flags like a large yacht. Except your flags are screaming "NOTICE ME!"

And if you're a Big Boy out in the open waters of a Big Boy pool party and you've decided to take advantage of the clothing optional portion of the 'clothing optional resort', well . . . you might just as well have salted the water with chum and jumped into the shark tank! Because sweetie your freak flag is now flying and reading "ALL ABOARD WHO'S COMING ABOARD!" You no longer have the metaphoric target painted on your back, you have a small plane circling around you trailing a banner that says "HERE HE IS! -->". You have become the number one offshore destination for all interested chasers & admirers for 2 reasons. 1) You're naked. 2) And you're naked! You've just taken the game to another level and made all the prizes within arm's (mouth, toes, feet, fingers, hands, penis) reach. Now you'll have to decide if you're repelling borders, swimming for shore, or having more people ride you than 'It's A Small World'.

And here I am. Safely ensconced on a lounger, a table by my side filled with cold beverages & snacks, and observing the mating rituals of the natives like Jane Goodall. Big Boys float, their admirers swim about like krill tempting a whale, some are bolder and just latch onto a Big Boy like a limpet mine, others play a little 'slap & tickle' while eying the edges of the pool for something larger or more accessible.The give and take of the mating dance, separating your prey from the herd, the belief that 'less is not more'. It's a party and Boys (Big & Small) just want to have fun.

And here I sit, above it all in more ways than one. Have I sprayed on my Victorian Morals as easily as my sunscreen? Why am I looking down my haughty and oh so aristocratic nose at all this activity and bubbling testosterone? Do I feel that I'm better than that, or am I just feeling above it all? Why am I building walls and defenses against well meaning gents that find me attractive? I mean literally . . . I've pulled a double lounger as far back from the action as possible, I've ensconced it partially behind a cast concrete table & a set of chairs, I moved a side table on the other side of the loungers to keep anyone from approaching from that side, and I'm keeping my nose buried in my 'Kindle' with a set of noise cancelling 'Bose' headphones playing Wagnerian opera at a pretty good volume, while wearing a pair of sunglasses so big & dark that Elizabeth Taylor would've envied. I'm so far removed from the action I just might as well have stayed in Orange County.
Why the hell have I traveled 90 minutes and 93 miles to come to this party and sit by this pool to not participate? Is it me, has my deep down shyness exploded forth with a vengeance? Is it the men, I remember saying at one point "Why the hell am I going to float along & let some guy grope me when I wouldn't even give the same guy the time of day at Starbucks?" Is it the fact I'm missing my former boyfriend so much that I've immobilized myself?

Flotsam and Jetsam float.
So does baggage.

Adventure in the Desert: Flora and Fauna

"A desert is a place without expectation" - Nadine Gordimer.
Obviously the woman had never been to Palm Springs. Oh there was plenty of expectation . . . Anything built within shuttle distance of Hollywood, Bel Air, Beverly Hills, & West Hollywood was ripe with expectation.
I drove down early Friday morning to Palm Springs, the traffic was laughable it was so easy to navigate through. What normally is a 2hr+ drive ended up being just about 90 minutes. Of course setting the cruise control to 90mph had a little something to do with it. So with a 'trenta' iced coffee in the cupholder and Vivaldi on my iPod I sailed onto Palm Canyon Drive like I owned the place. 


Palm Springs is a small town with a big attitude. Not a bad attitude, just a big one. What can you expect from a sleepy desert town that found itself becoming the playground of the rich & famous? Dot-Com kids found 'Zen' there, moneyed Republicans built their 'compounds' there so that world leaders could play a round of golf away from the riff-raff, Hollywood Royalty for generations found the healing waters of Palm Springs quite restorative, celebrities with bad 'habits' found healing at 'The Betty', the 'Rat Pack' played there, Bob Hope & Bing Crosby, Walt Disney had a house there, even Liberace found relaxation & young men in speedos in the desert. And where there are rich & famous, you'll find the gays. Who else is going to make a pile of sand chic enough, luxe enough, grand enough to spend millions on estates and 'get-a-way' homes. You're gonna need decorators, hairdressers, florists, caterers, architects, gardeners, shopkeepers, spa owners, and everything else you're going to need to feel pampered and adored.


There's a huge Gay Community out in the desert. Young & old alike find it a great place to play, and gay seniors find that it's a safe place to live out your rainbow hued golden years. There are LGBT restaurants, shops, bars, clubs, hotels, spas, a gay 'district', a gay pride weekend, the Dinah Shore Golf Classic, even an LGBT Center with many programs for all age groups. Think WeHo with sand! Palm Springs attracts LGBT vacationers from all over the world with freeway access and an international airport. Bears, Chubs, Club Kids, Twinks, Daddies, the Leather Crowd, Cowboys, Military (an air base & a marine base are nearby), Preppies, Log Cabiners, EcoGays, Rice Queens, Drag Queens, Biker Boys, MotorHeads, and even those undefined boys and girls can find a home or at least a place to play in Palm Springs.

So, back from the travelogue and back to the adventure. The reason for my sojourn to the desert was a 3 day party for Big Boys and their admirers. Why would someone throw a party like that you ask? Well, it's because Big Boys need some fun in the sun, and they need to be able to do that in a 'safe' space. Let's face it, how many people turn their heads or move locations when their view of the beach or poolside is marred when a big person plops themselves into your view? Ok . . . how do you think the big person feels when you do that, because let's face it, none of you do it subtly. It's always with sighs of exasperation as you move, stuff your things into your beach/pool bag, fold up your chair or grab your towel in order to move the offending fat person out of your line of vision. Am I wrong? If I am I'll apologize, but I doubt there are many of you that will demand that apology. In fact, there are more than a few of you squirming a little uncomfortably right now, aren't you? The truth hurts? Well, that's the reason for these little events, so that a Big Boy can strut his stuff without some jerk making him feel like shit because he doesn't fit into your parameters of beauty or hotness. What you have to understand is that in a chaser's or admirer's eyes, that Big Boy is the epitome of beauty & masculinity. Everything thing a chaser or admirer finds hot is manifested in a Big Boy's bulk. Now don't get me wrong, not all fat boys are created equal. We go up and down the scale as there are men who find us hot on various levels. Some guys like them husky, some a little fluffier than normal, some like them really beefy, and some have to have them as big as possible. There's a Big Boy and an Admirer for every pound on the scale.

 And whomever said that "No Man Is An Island" has obviously never been to a Big Boy pool party.

Blogger's Note*

Sorry Readers, I've been offline for about 5 days now and I apologize. I went on a mini-trip and left the laptop behind. That doesn't mean I forgot all about posting, as I wrote my observations out in longhand (How Barbaric!) and I now have transcribe my serial killer cursive into legible prose. Check back later today for multiple postings!

National Coming Out Day . . . "It Get's Better, Unless You're Fat"

I never had to come out as fat.

When you grow up overweight, everyone notices — not just your classmates, who are too young to have mastered the art of tact, but also friends’ parents and teachers. I knew I was fat because people told me I was fat, either directly (a slap to the stomach and an unkind word) or in subtler ways (having a teacher rifle through my lunch box and comment on the contents). I felt shame over my size long before I had any concept of my sexuality, and years after coming out as gay, I still feel anxious identifying as fat.
As an openly gay writer, one of the questions I’m asked most often is, “Were you bullied growing up?” And the answer is yes, but it’s never the answer they’re looking for. In many ways I was lucky to have come of age in a liberal enclave where my sexuality was accepted if not embraced. Oh, sure, I’ve had the word “faggot” hurled at me — and the sad truth is, I’d be shocked if a gay man hadn’t — but it was always secondary. The real source of my bullying was the extra weight I’ve carried since childhood. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been called a “faggot” to my face, but I couldn’t tell you how often someone has made a dig about my weight.
Outside of anonymous internet comments, the gay slurs have stopped almost entirely. Remarks about my weight, however, are a depressing constant.
I share this not for sympathy but for context. It’s an answer to the people who seem surprised when I explain that no, I was never really bullied for being gay, but instead got made fun of for being fat on a daily basis. They are open-minded progressives, and I appreciate their fixation on the way LGBT people are treated; obviously, I share their concern. But the treatment of overweight people is, for the most part, lost on them. And that’s largely because so many of my allies and fellow gay men championing equality — compassionate, forward-thinking individuals — are the same people delicately suggesting I lose some weight.
What it comes down to is good intentions. Call someone a gay slur and you’re homophobic. Use a racial slur and you’re a racist. But when you wonder out loud why I can’t just lose some weight, you’re looking out for me. At least, that’s the perception. The hurtful degradation becomes socially sanctioned, because being fat is considered to be innately wrong. The common understanding is that fatness is unhealthy and unnatural and always the fat person’s fault, despite the fact that science does not agree with these assessments. And suddenly, otherwise good people — those who are proud to not have a bigoted bone in their bodies — feel no shame in condemning us fatties. It’s not bigotry if we deserve it.
Being fat is never easy, but in the spirit of National Coming Out Week, I’m offering this potentially controversial perspective: As hard as it is to be gay, being fat and gay makes everything so much worse.
I was once told that coming out as a gay man was like being welcomed into the best club in the world. It was maybe an overstatement, but I understand the sentiment: When you first come out, you’re automatically granted inclusion — if not by friends and family, then by the gay community as a whole. They get it. They get you. And they’re eager to let you know that you’re not alone, and that you have a seat at the table. Unless, of course, you’re also fat, in which case, no, you can’t sit with us.
Certainly this isn’t true of all gay men: I’m speaking in generalities based on what I have experienced. There are, of course, gay men who don’t obsess over their weight or the weight of potential sexual partners. There are also those for whom going to the gym is not an activity to build one’s days around. But the stereotype of the gay obsession with body image and a six-pack is not unfounded. There is a widely held understanding that being gay means maintaining a certain standard of physical beauty, with very little room for deviation from the norm.
I can’t speak for all gay men, but I can tell you what I have faced as an overweight gay man. I can tell you that when I lost 15 pounds due to depression, a well-meaning older gay man told me I had done the right thing, because my only other option would have been to gain weight and become a bear. I can tell you that one person I tried to date helpfully offered, “You could be really attractive if you lost some weight.” And I can tell you that I deleted Grindr after one night when a stranger messaged me to let me know that if I shed a few pounds I “might actually be cute.”
It would be comforting to dismiss these as isolated incidents, but based on conversations with other gay men like me, I don’t think they’re all that unusual. The truth is, the gay community isn’t interested in embracing overweight people because we’re a blemish on the image of perfection. And much in the same way progressives as a whole can get away with ignoring anti-fat bigotry, gay men never bother examining the way they treat their overweight brothers. Ignore us or relegate us to the butt of hackneyed jokes: We just don’t matter. It doesn’t get better for us.
From the beginning, the “It Gets Better” campaign has been fairly criticized for its limited scope: Yes, it does get better, provided you’re an attractive, able-bodied white cisman. I want to be clear — it has gotten better for me since I came out. I don’t for a minute regret being an openly gay man, and I consider my life now to be a drastic improvement over life in the closet. At the same time, I can’t help but grimace at the “it gets better” trope for the way it glosses over so many problems within the gay community. Just because it gets marginally better doesn’t mean it ever gets good enough.
The internalized shame I feel about my weight is largely a credit to society, where all fat people are treated like second-class citizens. But adulthood should be about repairing those wounds and learning to love myself as I am. Instead, I’m surrounded by people who, despite having faced the same oppression I have as gay men, largely refuse to embrace me at my current size. The end result is that I’ve been out for nearly a decade, and I still feel like an outcast within the gay community. I wish I had faith in that getting better any time soon.

The above article was written by Louis Peitzman for Buzz Feed.
I agree with him 100%.
It's almost like he's been reading my journal . . . Or my blog.

Poking & Prodding

Anyone who knows me is aware that I've been dealing with some health issues over the past year that have led me to accept some unpopular truths. 1) Age may be just a number but unfortunately it is wrapped in reality. 2) I am getting to an age that denial just can't fight against any more. 3) Gravity sucks. Since I lost my job I have been without healthcare and before we all get into a discussion of managed care versus ObamaCare let me just say this, if your employer provides you with healthcare at a reasonable premium be thankful, the alternative can make you sick.

I was in for an Ortho Specialist consultation that was a referral through my county sponsored health insurance. I can't fault them on the referral, it's just the time involved to get from Point A (the initial appointment as a follow up to lab tests and x-rays) to Point B (meeting with the Ortho Surgeon), interspersed with various lab tests and x-ray sessions (as they can only x-ray & consult on one joint or problem area at a time). Total time from Point A to Point B? 43 days . . . And that was an 'expedited' time frame because of the pain that I'm in. Mixed into all that were repeated phone calls to follow up on questions raised, things stated by various medical 'professionals', and a whole lot of 'Hold Time'. I calculated the total amount of hold time accumulated just for this particular referral . . . 380 minutes! That's over 6hrs of listening to inane & insipid music interspersed with admonitions to stay on hold as well as thanking me for staying on hold. Really? I just want to get that time back somehow and put it to a more productive use . . . like spending time with a doctor.

Perhaps my harshest finger pointing and scowling should be made towards so called medical 'professionals'. I don't mean the girls (not nurses) at the front counter, at least they have a working grasp on what customer service or patient care really means, I mean all those people with the initials after their names: PHD; MD; RN; NP; & Etc. At least most of the front office staff understand what it is to be treated with respect, empathy, and especially kindness. They know we're not feeling well or up to snuff to begin with, they know that the people behind the closed doors are overbooked, they get that we're waiting patiently & hoping we'll be seen soon, and they know a smile goes a long way to building a bridge of respect. Unfortunately it's the people making the big bucks that have forgotten what it's like to be a 'normal' human being . . . a civilian, so to speak. I cannot tell you the number of Dr.s & Nurses I've had in the past 4 months that have treated me as sub-human, dismissed my issues or my questions as delusions or immaterial, flat out called me obese & chided me for wasting 'their' valuable time. Today was the limit. After I had a nurse walk me into an exam room & leave me there for almost an hour because she 'forgot' about me as the Dr. had patients that 'really' needed his attention, I demanded to speak to the Dr. and the office manager . . . NOW!

Now don't go thinking that all the Doctors and Nurses I've encountered have been cut from the same cloth, they haven't. I've had some truly wonderful medical practitioners that have become very dear to me, some I can call friends, and some I can still call upon even though I am no longer part of their insurance plan. These are the people I want to celebrate & thank for treating me as they would want and expect to be treated if they were the ones sitting in that waiting room or exam room. Those Doctors and Nurses truly understand what it means "To Do No Harm" in every way. It's the rest of these yo-yos that think they're god or what passes for a local deity that need to go back to school to learn what compassion is, or maybe they need to get sick and run into a 'professional' that's just as bad as they are. Do you think any lesson may be learned? Probably not.

Summing it up kids:
Be grateful if you have healthcare.
Don't look down on those that do not have it or cannot afford it.
Stay as healthy as you can.
And remember that compassion is a gift that returns to you tenfold, you also receive if you give.

Hurdling versus Hurtling

Us Big Boys were never meant to Hurtle at extreme velocities. Not through the vastness of space or upon re-entry, not on a roller coaster, not against gravity, and definitely not through your emotional mine field.

An emotional free-fall is a million times worse than say, a back flip off of the Empire State Building. Jumping off a building your biggest worry is hitting the ground and whether or not you end up taking out an innocent bystander or a wrong-place-wrong-time hot dog cart. An emotional hurtle will take you through several levels of pain before you even get to the bottom of it all. And there's no satisfying "SPLAT!" at the end . . . just more questions, pain, and much, much regret you even opened your mouth in the 1st place. And it's not a straight direct drop, emotions have tangents, and fall out, and recriminations, and memories, and scars. Big ugly nasty scars . . . that people never really let heal. Or they bring big canisters of salt along to the pity party just so you can hurt some more.

I've lived a life full of boxes and compartments for emotions. When something didn't go right it went in a box. When someone said or did something to hurt me, that went in a box. When someone belittled or subjugated a victory or a success in my life, that went into a box. When someone decided to cause me physical pain because it made them feel bigger, or stronger, or better about themselves, that went into a box as well. Instead of absorbing hurts and anger, fights and bruises, hatred and ignorance, I put them all in boxes & compartments big and small. I pushed them to a place where they didn't have to be seen and turned off the light and locked the door. Think of the final scene of 'Raiders of the Lost Ark' . . . that giant government warehouse where they placed the 'Ark of the Covenant'. That's what emotional life was like. I was too busy or fragile to deal with the immediate emotional debris and baggage, it was much easier to just pretend that it didn't exist, it never happened, or better yet . . . It happened to someone else. It was easier to walk away from it and leave it all behind. My energies were better spent building walls and defenses, go-to firewalls to prevent anyone from getting too close and allowing them to hurt me again. No one could derail the trajectory of my life if I didn't make a connection with them, if I viewed people and their lives as a necessary evil to get what I needed or wanted, so be it. I had my 'perfect' life and I didn't get my hands dirty with other people issues or dramas.

Unfortunately, there are more than a few flaws in that sort of logic.You're alone a lot. I don't mean sitting in a dark room pining away at the solitude of your existence, but the alone in a crowd kind of solitude. Celebrations or victories can be full of people, but when your walls are up there's really no one there to cheer you or be with you when the crowds are gone. When you don't let anyone in there's no one there when you need them, unless of course you're paying them for their time or interest in you. The biggest drawback of boxing up your emotions and putting them away is that the storage unit becomes full . . . or too full, even dangerously so at times. And you know what happens when you run out of room and you still keep shoving things in, that door is going to come flying open and you better duck because what went in is just bigger and badder when it comes flying out & aiming right at you!

Oh the carnage and debris you find yourself wading through . . . childhood traumas, high school fears & taunts, dating drama, breakups, exes galore! And if you're not prepared to deal with any of it you just become mired in your own self pity. You start buying self help books, stocking up on adult beverages, pills, or taking out a loan to pay for extensive therapy. All that denial you thought was helping you cope with life will just get worse because you'll believe that you're the one with everything together and it's everyone else's drama that they will have to deal with.

What's the solution? How do you hurdle over life's speed bumps versus hurtling through the drama? You deal. You break down the issue into it's basic components, the things you can change & the things you can't. Apologize for what you're responsible for and release the things you're not. You can't get back at Billy Johnson for calling you a fag in front of the swim team back in 10th grade, after he got you to 'play' behind the bleachers but you can let it go and recognize if not for his outing you'd never had the nerve to kiss Bobby Smith when he caught up with you later and asked if it was true. When you let go of something dark & painful from your past, you let the light shine upon the situation and maybe see that there was something there worth remembering, celebrating. Instead of dragging you down it could possibly let you rise to a better place. By giving something in your past the power to colour your future you cut short your chances for possibilities yet to come. By judging the current people and things in our lives by the actions, stories, & histories of people who have done us wrong in the past, we take away the potential these new people could bring into our lives.

I'd rather leave my hurtling for Disneyland Park than to free fall through my emotions and baggage. I need to hurdle over the speed bumps rather than let them denigrate the potential of my life. Who says it's wrong to go over or around the bumps in the road, would you rather be sitting on the sidelines waiting for someone else to do something about it? If you're not driving your life forward are you backing yourself into a corner?

"It's a great big beautiful tomorrow . . . "

Back in Ancient Gay History, Trannysaurous Rex roamed the earth along with fun loving LGBT who werked their fur loincloths and went to clubs instead of carrying them. In those ancient times there was such a thing as 'Gay Nights' at the various amusement & theme parks in California. The most beloved of those were at Disneyland. The organizers of the Disneyland Gay Nights made no bones about the fact that this was not an 'Official Disneyland Event' and that they were a profit making organization. Some of the profits were to be donated to various groups & charities but that was just an added bonus to having the entire Park to our Big Gay Selves! Oh, it was exciting times alright! Christian protestors marching up and down Harbor Boulevard decrying the befouling of the 'Magic Kingdom' by those nasty homosexuals! OMG! There was same sex dancing galore, same sex kissing in front of Sleeping Beauty's Castle, and heaven forbid some of those 'Princes & Princesses' were holding hands with other queens & dykes! It was all in good fun and some of the Cast members were heard to say when interviewed by various news-mongers that the "gays were OK, they were having a good time and everyone was smiling", they further stated "it's a lot worse when we have the lawyers & psychiatrists having a convention then coming into the Park." When the Cast Members were asked why they said in turn "the lawyers all ask about working conditions & sexual harassment, and the psychiatrists keep telling us about the 'sexual subtexts' of the various attractions & characters . . . those people are weird!"

In 1998 the 'Gay Nights' came to an end. It was getting to expensive to rent out Disneyland for a night and still turn a profit for the organizers and still make a donation to the various charities tied into the event. In fact much was made about the fact that the donations were getting smaller and smaller each year while the price of a ticket kept going up and up each year. Bottom line, the more expensive Disney made it the harder it was for the organizers to sell those tickets. In the end it all the Big Gay Fun stopped at the 'Tragic Queendom' and moved on to other theme parks like Universal Studios, Magic Mountain, and Knott's Berry Farm.

But the allure of frolicking amongst the Lands of Uncle Walt's Kingdom was too strong to ignore. Why buy out the Park for a night when all the Gays can mix in with the Civilians for just the cost of a 1 day ticket and get 12 hours of fun instead of just 4, and no protestors! 
Well my little gay children, this was how Gay Days Anaheim was born!

The first Gay Days Anaheim in 1998 attracted about 2,500 people. These days the event attracts over 30,000 guests to the Disneyland Resort each year over a 3 day weekend! That's Pretty amazing. What was once a small one-day gathering has become a full weekend event with parties, gatherings, group photos, scavenger hunts, private meals, and much more! Corporate (including Disney) sponsorship helps defray some of the cost of the weekend's bigger events while groups like the Family Equality Council & the Trevor Project organizer some of the smaller events. Yes, there are still protestors . . . but luckily they just don't get the press they used to and mostly they're just ignored.

So kiddies, wear your red shirts, put on your biggest happy face, and make your way down to Anaheim, California this weekend to have fun, see friends, be proud, be a queen or a princess, to laugh, to dream, to be a kid again, to make some memories, and most of all  . . . to believe in magic.

"A dream is a wish your heart makes
When you're fast asleep
In dreams you lose your heartaches
Whatever you wish for, you keep
Have faith in your dreams and someday
Your rainbow will come smiling thru
No matter how your heart is grieving
If you keep on believing
the dream that you wish will come true."

Things that go bump in the night . . .

"To Sleep . . . Perchance to Dream."

Do our dreams really change as we age? Do our fundamental desires stay with us throughout our lives? Or are we exchanging them for something newer, flashier, dearer? Do dreams come with an expiration date? Have we set dream goals? "If I don't achieve this heart's desire by the time I'm 21 then it's 'goodbye to you' and 'hello gorgeous'!" Has the speed at which our live are lived given us an internal 'Sell By' date for our dreams and emotions? 

I know that some of us have given up on that desire to be a ballerina, a fireman, a baker, or even Robin Hood. But I don't remember ever giving up the dream or desire to be happy. It takes a bit more than an extra Oreo, or a warm puppy to make me smile these days, but the basics remain the same. I want to be happy, I want to share my happiness with someone, and I want them to share their happiness with me. But what exactly is this happiness I'm pursuing? Is it money, cars, big houses, and lots of cash? Is it some zen-like sea or tranquility where I'm one with the universe and the conversation of crickets? Is it a bubble that two people create that excludes the world around them? Is my happiness the equal to someone else's? Are we supposed to be looking for our matching opposite, like a big emotional love & happiness infused Lego-like block of human being?

What happens when it doesn't work out? Are we only allotted one try? Is it like we are only entitled to one true love- one true happiness? So when it's gone it's gone are we then to begin a carousel of settling, accepting, shrugging our shoulders with a meta-physical "Meh!"? Who sets up these rules? Is there a book, a tablet, a scroll . . . something carved in stone? Most importantly, is there an appeals process? Can I talk to a supervisor? Will someone be taking anything I say under advisement? What is the lesson that we are supposed to be taking away from this?

I say that happiness, much like love, is in the eye of the beholder. Happiness is what we create for ourselves, not what we settle for or is foisted upon us. I believe that dreams do not come with an expiration date, the colours may change and the co-starring role may change, but a dream is something you hold true within the depths of your heart. That moment, that glimmer of magic that will make your heart catch, your breath go deep, your brain to recognize that this is what you have been waiting for. I don't believe that someone will come along and give you happiness, or that by their simply being will begin your happiness. I believe that happiness is something you give yourself, it's a chance you take, it's finding the magic within yourself to make your heart soar. And then, only then can you share that gift with someone else, with the world. You have to be happy with yourself before you can try to make someone else happy, or else you will resent them for taking your gift and you won't feel you've gotten anything in return.

Maybe what we bump up against during our dreams are the roadblocks we create because we don't believe we're entitled to that happiness.
Fasten your seat belt . . . this is going to get interesting.

Meaningless

mean·ing·less

[mee-ning-lis] adjective

without meaning, significance, purpose, or value; purposeless; insignificant: a meaningless reply; a meaningless existence.

When you're in line at Starbucks and someone bumps into you, what goes through your mind in that instant? "How clumsy"? "Stupid bitch!"? "Ass hat!"? . . . Do you attach meanings to an insignificant incident? "Didn't they see me?" "What am I, invisible?" "Obviously only thinking of themselves"? How would you feel if you noticed that they were blind? Or mobility impaired? Or crying?

What about when you're on the road? When a car 'cuts you off', do you react? Or is going slower than you feel it should? Or it looks like it's being held together by chewing gum and duct tape? Did the car really cut YOU off, or did the driver jump into your lane because they saw an opportunity? Do you tailgate them, blow your horn, flip them off, or go around them and then cut them off too? Do you ride the bumper of the car in front of you trying to bully it into going faster? Does mocking another car/driver make you feel better about what you're driving? What if that car is the best they can afford & the driving is praying it holds together just long enough to get to work so they don't get fired?

How much time to we spend in our lives assigning meaning to meaningless things? How much time in each day do we spend making judgements against things that we really have nothing to do with? How much time in our lives to we spend in the pursuit of anger? Manufacturing it, promoting it, feeding it, and worse yet . . . justifying it. How much time do we spend spinning the 'stories' of our lives versus living the moments of our lives? At the end of our lives, do you feel you'll be celebrating friendships and love or kicking yourself and regretting the accumulated hours-days-minutes spent in anger and lost opportunities? 

Oh, there are those Hallmark Card Moments we see in commercials . . . warm, fuzzy, tugging at our heart strings, but how many of us actually look for or create them in our daily lives? When your mother's/father's name pops up on your incoming call display do you answer immediately and say "Hi! I was just thinking about you. You must've heard me say how much I love you." Or do you say "Damn! . . . Now what do they want?" Are you the type that just reaches out to hold your loved one's hand, or do you just say "Pull my finger!"?  

Oh, I'm just as bad as anyone else. There is no 'Pretty Perfect Princess' living under this roof despite the abundance of tiaras in my chiffonier. I've built novels of 'meaning' into 'things that were done to me' while not actually seeing what happened or what was said. Why do we pick up the gauntlet all ready to fight when we should be fighting to understand? Have we hardwired our 'Fight or Flight' response as our 'go-to' for every occasion?  When did civility go out of style, or compassion, even tenderness? Some days it's just to hard to watch what goes on around me, the things that are said, the emotions expressed, the actions against others. So much bullying in so many shapes and forms. I've been guilty of it too . . . looking down my nose at people-places-things . . . my very own form of snobbery.

So what can I do? What can we do?
We can stop buying into our own drama. We can stop being the diva in our own opera. Stop being the observer or narrator and maybe actually get our hands dirty and get involved. We can maybe be the hero for once, the ingenue, the best friend, the good guy. 
We can live our lives with out the stories, we can live the moments of our lives. I want to . . . do you?

*Editors Note:
I'm very sorry that there's been such a gap. I went through the Forum over the weekend and spent Monday recovering . . . Yes, it's that intense.
Insights and observations to follow!