New horizons

Okay here's the thing....I'm starting this new thing because of my mom.

She bought me this book: 365: Make Something Every Day and Change Your Life! A Daily Creativity Journal by Noah Scalin. I know, longest title ever. Here's a picture of the cover...

So I've decided that this isn't a bad idea. I SHOULD do something everyday for a year. It'll be healthy for me. It'll give me direction and a creative outlet. It'll give me something to do with my days besides sit around and get fat. I've also decided to include getting slimmer into my 365 days. I've decided that before I sit down at my desk, I'm going to do two things: 1) take the dogs on a walk to clear my head, get me out of the house and seeing new things to inspire me. 2) Take a picture of my desk. I'll put the picture at the beginning of each blog post so that you can see my ever changing desk and work space. You can see what I'm dealing with and if you have questions about anything on my desk, please feel free to ask.

So I started reading the book (there's a small introduction at the start) and it says that I need an audience. That's where you come in! I need you to be an audience. And a participating one. If you like what I'm doing, tell your friends. If you have an idea, let me know any way you can. If you see something that you think is cool, tell me! I'll need support and encouragement to do this. I've been sitting around for too long. It's time to take some action and get some creativity out.

I should probably write about what I'll be doing every day for a year. Well, I'll be writing. And taking pictures. I might do a video or two but writing mostly. I'm a writer, it only makes sense. So I'll be writing every day for a year. Sometimes I'll be using the prompts from the book and sometimes I'll just sit down and vent. For a while now, I've been toying with the idea of working on a memoir because I like the idea of having a medium in which to look back at my life and remember everything I've done/worn/eaten/seen/heard/all the good stuff. And what better way to do that, than to write every day for a long period of time and then pick out all the good stuff and publish it in a novel. So I'll be writing. Words are my theme and I'm sticking to them. I also have this idea to make things OUT of words. See also WordWorld on PBS (http://pbskids.org/wordworld/index_flash.html) So that might end up on here. Anyway, I just wanted to write this post to 1) warn anyone who is subscribed to my blog on their RSS feed and 2) get the word out so that I can get the support I need. :)

So yeah....here goes...365 blog posts are coming. I say "coming" because I haven't decided on when I'll start. I want to pick a good, solid date to start on......and I want a few more days of laying around before I get down to business. haha

Souls

What are souls? What are they made of and where are they? Why can we feel them but not describe them?

Sometimes I imagine we're made of a billion points of light swirling around creating something beautiful. Every once and a while our points of light fly out and mix around with someone else's light and then it makes two souls again. And that's how soulmates are made. I beloved I have a soulmate. And sometimes I wonder if it's a man, or my best friend S.

What if my soul mate's light is too far away though? I think it has the power to trandscend. I need it to.

Hello Everyone

So I recently realized that many people that know me in real life read my blog. So, HELLO REAL LIFERS!

Anyway, in other news, I got a mannequin for Christmas. His name is Hank. He's awesome. Everyone thought I was going to start making clothes, and maybe I will, I dunno. But I really wanted him so that I could put outfits on him so I can see what they look like before I wear them.

Does this sound crazy to everyone? Am I the only one who thinks this is a good idea? Because I do. I think it's great. When I explain this to people, they don't understand. They give me looks like I'm a psycho. Why doesn't this make sense to them?

I also got a bunch of stuff that I'm really grateful for. But I'm just really glad for a second chance. I feel like being 24 has given me this feeling of complete and udder renewal. I need my life to pick up from here. I just feel like it's been pretty bad lately and I have some good karma coming my way. You know? Like does anyone else just feel like they take stuff over and over and over so SOMETHING good has to come your way? Yeah. Well, I feel like 24 is that good stuff coming my way.

December 14, 2011

It's my birthday today...I'm 24 years old. I'm 24 years old and I can feel my bones creaking.

I don't know what it is about 24 but all of the sudden, I'm dreading getting older. I suppose it's because it's a reminder of what I don't have: a degree, a man, a real job...you know, the things that everyone wants and apparently has now.

Sometimes I sit around and dream of a rich doctor or lawyer or artist or something will come into my life and sweep me off my feet, give me everything I ever dreamed of and we'll live happily ever after. But it's just a dream.

Sometimes while I'm unloading the dishwasher, I think about the stories...the countless stories that buzz around in my head but never seem to make it onto the page. Mostly, they're incomplete and that's why they never make it. But to be complete, they have to make it to the page. It's a terrible catch-22 that I've imposed on myself.

Sometimes I think about college. I consider going back and finishing my English degree...or maybe starting over and going to culinary school or beauty school or maybe I'll just stay where I'm at and live vicariously through characters on the television, people I invent on my pages and my family and friends.

I'm 24 years old today and I can feel my bones creaking.

So this Heather I know...

Every once in a while, you come across someone in life who understands you in a way that no one else does. And I kind of feel that way about all of my friends. But the one we're discussing tonight, he's gets me a little differently than everyone else. Now, I know that at least 3 out of 5 of my friends read my blog so you others, don't get upset. I've blogged about all of you too. It's his turn now.

By now you know that none of my friend's names are revealed on my blog and this one will be no different.

I met T only a few months ago. Once I had reconnected with my now-over high school crush J, (see http://tinyurl.com/7dkt77t for more information) he invited us to meet his boyfriend in Galveston. S and I couldn't have been more excited to get out of the apartment so we jumped at the chance to lay in the sun with a pair of gay boys. But here's the thing. I had dyed my hair platinum blonde like two months before that so my roots had grown out, my eyebrows looked like caterpillars on my face and the wash had rinsed out leaving my platinum blonde looking more like lemon yellow...it was bad. But I was poor. And I told J that I was embarrassed about the state of my hair and he said, "Oh, don't worry about it. He won't say anything." That's a direct quote. DIRECT QUOTE FROM THE BOYFRIEND!

So there we are, a little drunk, covered in sand and trying not to burn. Being incredibly embarrassed by my hair I figured it was best to just bring it up and apologize for the state of it before anyone had a chance to get in any snide comments...*cough*J*coughcough.* Here's how the conversation went down:

T: I like your hair.
K: Thanks...it's not my natural color.
T: (*completely sarcastic*) Really? I never would have guessed.
K: *mortified*

In hindsight, the situation was pretty hilarious and I really did set myself up for that so while I'm STILL embarrassed about it, I've learned to laugh at it. Anyway, the reason why I told that story was because it was at THAT moment that I realized that T was no bitch to be trifled with. He was fierce and fabulous and completely unexpected.

As T and I got to know each other, we realized that we really needed to take our relationship to the next level. So one night, when getting to know each other, we discovered that not only did T love RuPaul's Drag Race just like me, but he also had aspirations of being a stiletto stomping drag queen! For those who don't watch RPDR or have never seen the 1988 film Heathers, four drag queens called themselves the Heathers because they were the prettiest girls in the competition (RPDR.) Heathers, the movie, was Mean Girls before Mean Girls; they were the prettiest girls in school. And one night, while J and I were drunk and he called me Heather. Then he looked at me, gasped and shrieked, "Oh my god! We're Heathers!" So I shrieked and called T. It should be noted that this is the first time I had ever called him ever and he didn't even have my number yet. Anyway, I left him a voicemail that ended up sounding something like this:

T, just in case you were wondering, you, J and I are now Heathers and we're gonna call each other that and that's who we are from now on. So I'll call you Heather and you call me Heather and we'll both call J Heather because we are WHAT?! Sickening. Heather.

I was drunk. Whatever. The point is, we were no longer friends. We had become girlfriends. And for those of you that aren't gay of for you gay guys that maybe aren't close with other gay guys, you might not understand what that means or what that feels like but it's real. We really are girlfriends. I'd do anything for that girl because we're more than just best friends, we're Heathers.

Odd Things

So sometimes in my life, I sit around and notice how odd everything is. Nothing seems to quite fit and yet, it does.

What I'm talking about is my roommate. She has this way about her that just doesn't seem to make sense to me but to her it does. And honestly, I just have a "Whatever gets the job done" attitude towards it. I think you need a few examples.

Last night I was sleeping peacefully on the couch after a long, hard day of watching shitty television and half-assedly cleaning the apartment. At some point, my roommate sweetly covered me in a blanket and then proceeded to film me snoring. Why, you ask? Because I sounded like a boat....and it's funny and cute when I snore....It makes her imagine what my life will be like when I'm an old man....

Sometimes she'll say things and it sounds like she's talking to me and she's looking at me so I think she's talking to me. But as it turns out, she's talking to herself.

She has a srangly close relationship with animals, particularly dogs. Like...she gets so emotional over animals that I occasionally have to mute the ASPCA commercials and brace myself whenever we drive by people selling puppies out of the back of their van.

White walls make her feel like she's living in this apartment only temporarily. Like she'll have to move back in with her parents when the semester's over.

Mexican food cannot be eaten without sour cream. No exceptions.

She shakes her foot constantly. Like non-stop movement, always shaking the foot. And it shakes the couch and my desk that sits behind the couch. It shakes my soda with it's ice and straw. It shakes the floor and my chair and the lamp on the other side of my desk. It shakes the world. But she does it because without it, she can't focus. Whatever gets the job done, right?


These are just a few examples and I'd love to come up with more but I'm afraid that if I do more than 5, she'll murder me in my sleep....that's another odd thing. She threatens me....but in a kidding manner? No one can be sure.

A Look at Life

So I've realized that there are both awesome and shitty things about my life presently. Here are the lists in pairs (blue for awesome, red for shitty) for your enjoyment:

Last Sunday I had two cups of coffee and an aspirin for breakfast.

Last Sunday I had two cups of coffee and an aspirin for breakfast.

I spent all of today watching television and shopping on-line.

I told my roommate yesterday that if it comes down to it, I'll strip for rent money.

My DVR is filled with shows from Bravo, Logo, the Food Network and all the major networks.

Because I don't work during the day and nothing is on, my DVR is filled with shows I've already seen.....twice.

Sometimes I don't wake up until noon.

Sometimes I don't go outside until after the sun goes down.

I've now planned my wedding, decorated my dream home, revamped my wardrobe and learned how to socialize in rich society thanks to TV.

I've realized how lonely life is when your only human contact is the TV.

My roommate is my best friend.

My roommate is one of 6 people I speak to on a regular basis. (I'm used to that number being somewhere in the 20s.)

I've come to terms with the fact that I'm a hipster.

I'm a hipster.

I usually don't go to bed until at least 3 AM.

I usually get about 4 hours of sleep.

I am a drag queen.

I know nothing about make up.

I've realized that having pets is a lot like having kids.

I have two dogs.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed my list. I find it's nice to take a moment every once and a while and just assess your life. Find the good, the bad and the ugly and try to make it all good. It also helps make me seem like I'm not a complete pessimist. The world's not all THAT bad.........sort of.

Teacher friends

So I have this theory that there are certain friends in your life that are your Teacher Friends. They're the people that you're destined to be friends with so that they can teach you something. Maybe it's how to tie your shoes. Maybe it's to teach you how to love. Who knows? But they're there and they're teaching.

Anyway, so since I was thinking about this. I decided to share with you a few of my teacher friends...

The first one of note came in the form of a short little girl with a crazy last name and huge glasses. We were in love. Well, as in love as two 8 year olds could be. Her name was Trina. (Don't worry, all of these names have been changed.) Trina was an interesting little girl. She didn't have many friends but that didn't seem to bother her. She would just continue to draw little horses in the margins of our text books. She loved horses. And riding bikes. And *Nsync. But most of all, she loved me. She really did. She loved me innocently and without requirement. She didn't care if I loved her back or if I even liked her. And one day she turned to me and said, "You know Kaleb, it's okay that you're different. I'm different too. That's why we're so cool." To this day I don't know why she said that to me. And I'm still not entirely sure what she meant by "different" but I realized that it really WAS okay that I was different. And I loved myself for that. So thanks, Trina, for teaching me the difference.

Another one of my teacher friends has got to be my friend Mitch. Everything about Mitch is huge. He's 6 foot something, a huge personality and a giant heart. He does his best to see the best in everyone and give everyone a fair chance. I've always admired that about him. And I think the day he taught me something was the day that he forgave me for something I once said. I was accidentally mean to him, said something without thinking and really hurt his feelings. But nevertheless, he gave me a second chance.  Mitch taught me that everyone, no matter who they are or what they've done, they deserve a clean slate. Thanks Mitch for teaching me about creating a fair world.

The last one that I'm going to share is my friend Jalell. Jalell is an amazing person. He knows exactly who he is and who he wants to be with for the rest of his life. He's kind, mature and knows how to laugh at life and let things go. Jalell is one of my favorite people on this earth. Recently he taught me how not to be afraid, to go after what I want and REALLY go after it without inhibition or hesitation. He showed me how to fling myself into the universe and not care how long it took me to get there, just as long as I get there eventually. He taught me to be okay with my decisions as long as they were my own. It's because of him that I've really started thinking about my hopes and dreams and forming tangible plans to achieve them. Thank you, Jalell, for teaching me how to dream again.

These are just three of my Teacher Friends. In real life, I have hundreds. I mean, honestly, I have something to learn from each one of my friends. But some stand out more than the others.

Marriage

You know, I think I told myself a long time ago that I would never get married. At first it was because I couldn't get married in a church. I thought I needed faith to enter into the ceremony. But as I grew older and lost what little faith I had in God, I decided that getting married in a church wasn't so important to me. But I still didn't want to get married. I couldn't tell you why, I just never thought that it would happen for me and I was okay with just a boyfriend for the rest of my life. But now....now I think I'd feel guilty if I got married.

I mean, if I'm going to get married, I'm going to want my family there. And the only way to make sure that they'd all come, it'd have to be in Texas. Plus, there's just something about getting married in the state I've lived in my entire life. But let's be honest, Texas will surely be one of the last states to legalize gay marriages, if it does it at all. And I'm just not keen on moving to a state just so that I can get married. I feel like I'm cheating the system and I don't want my marriage to begin with me cheating the system.

And then there's my platform. I have this conviction against getting married while there are still states that will not legalize it. I feel like I shouldn't get married until everyone can get married. I know it sounds silly but why is it fair for me to be happy while "my people" feel oppressed and their lifestyles are considered illegal? I know that I probably won't see all 50 states legalize gay marriage in my lifetime (considering it's only legal in 6 states and DC and I'm 23. [Technically California does not allow it but it's awaiting appeal.]) It just, I dunno. It's my tiny protest. I know it doesn't make sense because I'm giving them what they want but I don't know what else to do from my tiny apartment in Houston.

But I dunno. I think about getting married a lot. Especially recently because a lot of my friends are getting engaged. I think if I'm completely honest with myself, I would say that I've been thinking about what my wedding would look like since I was about 13. I've always pictured it in a church. Not because of religion, I just really like the image of the inside of a church. I imagined clean lines with the flower arrangements with either greens or pale purples but not both. I know the song I want to walk down the aisle to (and yes I will be walking down the aisle.) If my fiance also wants to walk down, that's fine. If he wants to walk down with me, that's fine too. But I will be walking down the aisle regardless. I want to write my own vows and I want a friend to officiate. In my fantasy, it's the friend that set us up because I think that'd be a nice sentiment. I'd have a new suit, my father's cologne, cufflinks from my brother and blue socks. S will be by my side as my maid of honor and any of my brothers that want to be there with me will be welcome. I'd want me and my fiance to wear the same suit and all the men wearing the same suit but I'd want it different than what my fiance and I were wearing. The girls could all wear whatever dress they wanted as long as it matched the flowers.

The reception would be classic. In the evening with chicken and beef served. My cake would be lemon with buttercream frosting. I've picked the song I want to dance with my mother to and the song I want to dance with S to. I know exactly what I want my engagement and wedding pictures to look like. I have an idea of what the invitations would be like.....Needless to say, I've thought about it a lot. But that's kind of the sad part about this blog isn't it? I've spent so much of my life imagining my wedding but it might not happen. In all honesty, it'll probably never happen. And I don't know what I would say if I guy got down on one knee and asked me to spend the rest of his life with him...I don't know. I'd be torn. Am I crazy?

A little progress

Sooo...I've been practicing and practicing with make up. I've tried different colors, different brands, different styles. And I've come to the conclusion that the eyes are a bitch. Seriously. It's SO difficult to get the eyebrows just right. And there's a delicate balance between drag queen and alien. I'll  show you what I mean.

This is me with relatively pretty drag queen make up on. I know I'm making a weird face and my hair is a mess but let's just try our best to look at the make up, shall we?

This is me as an alien. I know that I'm making an even WORSE face but let's just be honest, it's mostly the make up. And what's sad is this was a legitimate attempt at being pretty. It did not work out. It's the eyes. Always the eyes. It also doesn't help that my fake lashes are coated in mascara and lash glue. This was also the day that I broke down and was depressed because all I want for my life is a drag mother to show me how to do my freaking make up.

But I think I can repeat that first picture and make myself at least kind of pretty....right?





There's more to a dragformation than just the make up. A dress is important. Here's the dress as I got it from a friend of mine. It was an old bridesmaid's dress from...who knows. A funeral probably.

And being the crafty gay I am, here's what it'll look like after I'm done with it.

Of course, there's still a lot of sewing and it needs to be bejeweled. I'm also thinking of adding some fun color. Blue, green, maybe a hot pink. Don't worry girl, it'll be fabulous.

There's also the issue of hair. When taking this picture, I realized I HAD to shave my legs. They are way to hairy to ignore. Not only that but I'm going to need to shave my armpits and.....the area in between. I'll spare you pictures of that.

So yesterday, I decided that it was time to get rid of the hair. I went into the bathroom and got my hair trimmer and started going to town. While shaving I realized two things: 1) my legs are WAY more freckled than I thought and 2) if you go 23 years without shaving your legs and then do it in the bathroom, the bathtub can look like a furry creature. So after shaving my legs ONCE with my hair trimmer, it was time to bust out the razor. And let me tell you, for all you readers who are first time shavers, shaving the backs of your legs is impossible. Legitimately impossible. I tried to impose good shaving habits while shaving my legs (going with the direction the hair grew, using shaving cream, never shaving the same area twice without reapplying shaving cream) but all of these when out the window when I kept finding tiny little strips of stubble on the back of my legs.

Half an hour later, I came out with these.

 OOoooOOO! Ahhhhhh! So silky smooth! But now I have the burden of maintaining them. I don't think it'll be a problem. My roommate has gone MONTHS without shaving and she still passes for a girl. But we'll see. When I have more of my transformation complete, I'll upload more pictures. I should be getting a dress and a wig and shoes soon so I'm almost there! Everyone get excited! Too bad I still need a name though...ugh!

Fine. I'll say it.

I've been keeping a secret from people for a while. Sort of just slowly telling people in a sort of "one toe at a time" kind of thing as opposed to "cannon ball into the deep end."

But anyway, I've decided that I want to try drag. I'm not really sure if I'm going to do this professionally or if it's just "yeah maybe I'll do this once in a while" but I want to try it. I've been thinking about being a drag queen for a few months now and I've only been serious about it for a few weeks. So far I've tried to do my own makeup (beat my face, for those not in the know) and it turned out....interestingly. I think the lack of wig really pulls back from it. But I'm pretty broke and finding a nice wig is difficult when you're in the poverty way.

ANYWAY, so yeah. K the drag queen. It's hard...making this decision. For a while, I was kind of embarrassed. I didn't know how people would react.(I still don't know.) But it felt like coming out of the closet all over again. I feel like I have to tell everyone I know about this new chapter in my life and cut out the people who are unwilling to be supportive.

I also feel the need to explain my decision to everyone...if that makes any sense. I need people to understand that I don't want to be a drag queen because I want to BE a woman. I will NEVER want to cut off my penis and replace it with a vagina. It's just not something I want for my life. I want people to still see me as a man. I am a man. And I'd still like to date men who like men. Being a drag queen is like dying my hair blonde. Sure I could change it but why? I like the way it looks and it's fun. So there. I said it. I want to be a drag queen. I am a drag queen......bitches.



Okay so do you want to help me choose  drag name? First, I have to say that I'm in love with all the names that my friends have suggested which is why I'm having such a hard time picking one. I feel like my drag name needs to reflect my drag personality. But what is that? Sex kitten? Silver-tongued she-devil? Innocent but slutty? I'm not really sure. And I'm not really sure how to go about figuring that out. In fact, I'm not really sure about a lot of things. Just kind of flying by the seat of my skirt around here....

Anyway, let's get to the names. I've gotten a lot of help from my friend M, a gay man well versed in gay culture. M suggested Startini as his favorite name. But I'm just always questioning, "Is this right for me?" I mean, I love the name and I do love martini's. And I kind of see myself as a star (cut to me yelling at my roommate, "I AM A CELEBRITY! PEOPLE KNOW WHO I AM!" while drunk at a wedding.)

S, my roommate, suggested Minny Skirt and Tequila Mockingbird. I do love myself a good miniskirt and Tequila Mockingbird plays at my literary side. (Trust. If I could turn Wuthering Heights into a drag name, I'd be all over that shit.)

If I go the sterotypical way (first name = first pet last name = street I grew up on) it'd be DJ Bristol. Which has a fun ring to it but I feel it gives off the wrong vibe. I don't need people asking me to make a remix. Fuck y'all. Do you want to see a man dressed as a woman lip sync for her life or do you want to see a man dressed as a woman punch you in the face because only one of those is happening and I don't hear any music playing.

But anyway. That's my secret. I'm a drag queen with no wig, no dress, no shoes and no name. I've got some make up here though so that's fun....

Shamlessly Stolen

So I'll have to admit. This blog post idea is shamelessly ripped from a friend of mine. She, also a blogger, wrote about the days of the week (no, seriously) and that "feeling" that each gives you. You can read all about it here: http://tinyurl.com/3utjm57 

In fact, you should read her entire blog. She's pretty great at it. She used to write about teacher (http://bothsidesofthedesk.blogspot.com/) so go read that too. ANYWAY, the days of the week. Here's how I view my week:

I mean, let's just be honest here, I only work two days a week. Which, in theory, sounds nice. But when you're living on 100 a week, it blows. But alas, that's my provincial life. And what really makes things worse is those two days are Friday and Saturday. So Sunday through Thursday, I'm sitting at home, working for my job that I do from home...and eat....and watch shit TV...and sleep....a lot. So yeah, on Friday nights when everyone else is getting ready to go out, I'm getting ready for bed. Since I have to wake up at 5:00 AM, I try to be asleep by midnight which means going to bed at 10:00 PM. I repeat this same cycle on Saturday night which sucks because it's, again, a night usually set aside for frivolity.

But, like my blogger friend, I've learned to adapt and change my mindset on which days of the week are dedicated to different activities. Sunday nights are my Friday nights. I beg my friends to go out and drink or dance. Mondays are more like my Saturdays. Lounging around not doing a whole lot. Then Monday nights I'm itching to do something fun. By the time Tuesday rolls around, I'm not really what to feel. I don't have to go to work but I've already had my two days off relief from my work "week." It's kind of like...a second Saturday. I'm typically doing laundry, going to the store, cleaning the apartment, or some other chore that I've put off. Wednesday, I'm typically catching up on reading, writing some and filming for my youtube channel. Thursday I'm cleaning myself up from my week off, posting my videos and planning out my days coming.

It's not a very glamorous life. It's not even that interesting, in my opinion. I'm actually kind of regretting this blog post as I write it but alas, here it is. And it's a lot easier to hit "Post" than to delete all of this. But it makes me curious about what other people's weeks are like and if they have a typical work week or if they're more unconventional like mine....Probably the former. No one's as interesting as me...duh.

Partime Bar, Partime Coffee Shop

Working in a combo bar/coffee shop is....interesting to say the least. Most people are confused by us. "So you're a coffee shop..." they start, their voices trailing off in confusion. "That also sells beer, wine and liquor. Yup." I usually finish the thought for them.

Since I've had experience serving coffee before, I'm saddled with the delightful shifts of opening every Saturday and Sunday morning. Even though the hours are early and they usually keep me from going out with my friends who have "normal" jobs, I actually really love the job. I'm not sure if it's the relaxed dress code of "Oh...I don't know. Some pants and a dark shirt." or the spunky girl that I work with. And apparently I'm the only person that can work with her. I think it's because we're the only two "morning people" that work there. But this entry is less about the awesomeness of my coworker and more about the psycho's that come in to see us.

Like any restaurant/cafe/bar/coffee shop/hipster hangout, we have our regulars. I often wonder if these people have real jobs or if they just sit around and grow organic vegetables and wonder why more people don't wear more burlap. "Once you get past the itchyness, it's really not that bad." I seriously heard that a month ago. All of our regulars can be categorized into three categories: 1) Old hippies that think they're cool because they came to use our free WiFi 2) Hipsters that want to complain about the music we play and won't order anything but will surely smoke pot behind the building and play the vintage Mrs. Pacman machine we have in the corner and 3) Crunchy vegans that will buy all of our vegan pastries and talk about being vegan all the time. What's one thing they all have in common? What could possibly bring this hodge podge of people together? They all LOVE to be overly specific with their drink orders. Here's a sampling of the orders I get twice a week, every week, without fail...

"I want a frosted pint glass, filled with ice and hot coffee poured over it." (By the way, we have iced coffee that's already cold...I'm just saying.)
"I want a coffee with 3/4 of a pump of chocolate."
"Small coffee to go and a small coffee in a RED mug." (We have about 6 different colors...they're all the same size and shape.)
"Large coffee with four pumps of hazelnut, two vanilla, three sugar free vanilla and 1/2 pump of almond."
"Americano with about 2 oz of water."
"Will you just steam some soy milk?" (This one's not weird unless you see the girl. She doesn't drink it, she spends the morning smelling it. I can't make this up.)
"One part coffee, one part Bailey's, three parts Whiskey." (I'm still not sure how we get around serving liquor at 8 AM.)
"Half dark roast, half light roast, simple syrup and pass me the soy milk. You never put enough in."

These people, they're nuts. I firmly believe that they think the more complicated their drink order is, the more sophisticated they are when in fact, it's only bringing them closer to death because I seriously want to jab their eyes out.

But my ALL TIME favorite orders are ones that don't involve coffee at all. Before I get into this, I need to give you a little insight. I don't drink beer. I will if I have to but generally I'll avoid it when I can. The girl I work with is "allergic" to alcohol so she doesn't drink ever. I can tell you what any alcohol tastes like and can even make most cocktails but if you have a beer question...well, it's better if I show you.

Customer: What kind of pale ales do you have?
Me: *blank stare*
C: *Expectant look*
Me: Um....I think Dos Equis is a pale ale....This...this one says pale ale. Do you want this one?
C: Um. No. What else do you have?
Me: Dos.....Equis?? Is...is that a pale ale?
C: Can I just have the Bass on draft?
Me: Surrreee...*walks over to the tap wall and stares at it blankly*

Clearly I have no business working in a bar. Coffee shop? Sure. Me working in a bar is the equivalence of me owning a sports team. I have no idea what I'm doing and would rather make the cheerleaders drag queens, change the mascot to an Abercombie & Fitch model and change the colors to something that complimented my eyes. As I end this blog post, I'll leave you with two more situations: another overly complicated drink and a time when someone asked me about beer. Keep in mind, we open at 7:00 AM.

Time: 7:05 AM
Me: Good morning, good morning! How we doing today? (typical greeting from me.)
Customer: Nothing's good. It's not morning. I'm still asleep.
Me: Um...okay. Maybe you should go home and go back to bed.
C: Are you kicking me out?
Me: No! Of course not! I'm just saying, if you're sleep walking, maybe you should go back to bed.
C: That's just an expression. No one is ever awake until after coffee.
Me: Oh. I didn't know that.
C: *looking around for the girl I work with who's smoking out back* Can I get someone else to make me coffee? This kid's an idiot.
Me: Sorry, just me today. What can I get you?
C: Cubano Americano. Large. For here. Three Splenda's and a splash of soy.
Me: Alright...
*the girl I work with walks in as I'm pulling the espresso shots*
C: YOU LIED! *storms out*
Girl: What did you lie about?
Me: Existing.

Time: 9:18 AM
Customer: What Belgian beers do you have?
Me: *turns and faces the refrigerator for about 3 minutes. Pulls a random beer out.* Thinking "This one came off the shelf that says Belgium." Is this what you want?
C: Shiner Ruby Red? N-no....I want a Belgian beer.
Me: *blank stare* Soooooo.....not....this......one?
C: I'll have a coke.

It happens

Sometimes, I weep. I'll just be sitting there watching TV or reading a book or writing in my journal and my emotions overwhelm me. And I weep. Not loudly, not really even noticeably but I do. Sometimes I weep without tears. Sometimes I weep without reason. And every time I do, I breathe calmly and allow it to wash over me. My emotions are extreme; they always have been. I go from literally jumping up and down with happiness and then I'll hop in the shower to wash the day's sweat off (because it's in the triple digits here in Texas and every day is a new layer of sweat) and I'll find myself pressed against the wall, hands on my knees, water smacking the back of my neck and tears just streaming down my face. I feel overwhelmed. Money overwhelms me. The dogs we keep overwhelm me. My family overwhelms me. And I weep for them. I weep for the animals that have to be euthanized because no one will take them home. I weep for the children that go to bed hungry. I weep for my mother who still supports her sons even though we should be standing on our own feet.

I weep.

I weep out of terror.

I weep out of joy.

I weep out of love.

I weep out of longing.

Sometimes, I weep. But I always.....ALWAYS, collect myself, wipe my face and smile in the mirror. Crying is one of those strange events in life that seems tumultuous and never-ending and strange but afterwards, people feel cleansed and renewed. It's the hurricane of emotions. Our emotional winds blow and the rains fall and afterwards, our worlds are quiet and we begin again.

Let's just be honest

Look, here's the deal, if you're pissed at me. You need to freaking tell me. I hate people that play games and act passively aggressively towards me when they're mad or frustrated. Now, I'll admit that I, on occasion, will act passive aggressively HOWEVER, it's usually a reaction to situations that are just not worth hashing out.

But if you're legitimately mad at me, you need to tell me. HOW ELSE AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT YOU'RE MAD?! Don't give me the, "If you can't tell by the way I'm acting, then I don't even know what to say..." How about telling me why you're mad at me?!

I'm so frustrated with the world sometimes. Why play games? What does it accomplish? Who does it help? How can situations be fixed if people don't discuss it?

Isn't this also the first step towards world peace? Okay, that's extreme. But seriously, peace is a chain reaction. If there's peace in your home, there's peace in your workplace. Then there's peace with strangers. And peace with people in other cities. And peace with other states. And peace with other nations. See what I'm saying? World peace starts at home and grows from there.

I have the best relationship with S because we calmly talk about EVERYTHING! No matter how small or large. Well, okay, sometimes I won't bring up the little things with her but again, that's usually because it's not worth hashing out. But when there's a real problem, we sit each other down calmly, like adults and always begin and end with, "I love you more than anything." It's a great system. I just wish others would be comfortable with this same system. They don't have to say that they love each other but calmly discussing the issue at hand is always a great solution and works 99.9% of the time. I just don't get how others don't see that...

My High School Crush

Well, it's about time I blogged about this and I'm PRAYING that he never reads this but here goes...


In high school, I met a guy named J. He was a friend of a friend and honestly the sweetest guy I had ever met (not to mention easy on the eyes.) We only hung out a few times but every time I had a blast. He was funny and interesting and just an all around sweet guy. J and I were not really "friends" we were more acquaintances. I mean, he was the straight guy with a pretty serious girlfriend and I was the silly gay boy with weird fashion and even weirder hair. We went to different high schools and our circles rarely crossed over BUT like I said, he was a nice guy so I never complained when he was invited. ANYWAY, so one day, being the ridiculous high school boy I was, I mentioned to a few of my girlfriends, "J is so hot, I just want to rub him all over my body." I know, it's the silliest thing I could have ever said but there it is. A few weeks later, I found out that one of those girlfriends TOLD J what I had said. I was mortified. I didn't want to face him ever again. I never objected to him being invited after he found out I said that because I didn't want to be rude. But every time I saw his face, I'd blush bright red and avoid eye contact. I was so embarrassed and I was sure he thought I was the biggest freak of them all. I mean, honestly, who says that?

So life went on and all of us went our separate ways to college. A year later, we got back together for a friend's birthday. It just so happened that this friend and J had remained friends at college and since they're birthdays are pretty close together, they threw a joint party and I was invited.  Great. How can I go to this party, face J, not blush and not get so drunk that I spill everything about how I feel to him. I still had a crush on him and I was certain that he hadn't forgotten what I had said a year later. Well, the party went off without a hitch and thankfully there was someone else there that caused a bigger scene than I ever could so I just stayed in the corner, got drunk and tried not to say something silly.

Now, this seems strange but flash forward five years. The same friend of mine that celebrated her birthday with J invites a bunch of us out for drinks before she goes off to her second year in college. I walked in and who do I see sitting next to her? J....of course. I nearly turned on my heels and ran out of there. All of my embarrassed feeling came flooding back. I was certain he remembered what I said and even more certain that he thought I was the strangest person alive for saying it, not to mention uncomfortable. Rarely do you come across a straight guy in Texas that is okay with being hit on by a gay guy like that. But I stayed because it was important to my friend going to law school. Everyone was talking and drinking and J was sitting on the other end of the table from me. I glanced over and noticed that he was wearing the same shirt I had only in a different color so in attempt to make polite small talk, I mentioned it to him. We slowly started talking and I noticed a certain....flair about him. I texted my roommate S, who actually went to high school with all of these people, "Do you think J is gay? Find out and tell me." So she goes out for a cigarette and takes J with her. By the time they get back, everyone was kind of ready to leave. I invited everyone over to my apartment to hang out and catch up but most people had other things they needed to do. J and one other person were the only two that were cool with coming over. So, we went to my apartment.

In the car, I pressed S for information. Come to find out, J IS GAY! My mind exploded. This straight guy I had a crush on for so long turns out to be gay. I wanted to cry. It was incredible news but also mind blowing because I had just always thought of him as straight. I could really care less if he was straight or gay, it wasn't about his sexuality. It was about the fact that this man that I had a crush on for so long was so unattainable and now...now he wasn't. I couldn't believe it.

At the apartment, S sort of mentioned in front of J and I that he was gay. He looked at me, smiled and said, "You didn't know that, did you?" and I was like, "YES! LET'S DATE!" but said, "No, but that's cool! I'm glad you're happy!" and smiled way too big. As the night wore on, I got up the courage to ask the ultimate question, "So...are you single?" He phone rang before he could answer. He picked it up and talked for a few minutes and at the end he said, "So you're just gonna go home? Okay. I'll see you tomorrow. Good night, I love you.".....I love you. The sound of the words rang in my ears for a minute. He turned back to me and said, "No. I have a boyfriend." My heart dropped out of my butt. With the most honest smile I could muster, I said, "That's great! How long have y'all been dating?" His response? "Um...about two years now." My heart broke through the floor boards and was plummeting towards the Earth's core at this point.

My high school crush, the man I pined for for so long, not only was gay but also had a pretty serious relationship going on. Ahhh the pendulum of attainability swings so quickly. Of course, J is still the sweetest, most hilarious and interesting man I know. I suppose he was always destined to be a crush and never a relationship. I truly am glad that he's found happiness in my life. And I'll just have to settle for friendship with him because I know he'll be a great friend. It'll just take some time to keep my heart from sinking a little every time I see him with his love. And that's okay. I'm used to picking up my own pieces.

Maybe

Maybe I should just move. May e I should just sell all the stuff I can't carry and just move. Out of the city. Out of the state. And just go as far away from here as I can get and start everything over. I could change my name, my hair, my job, the clothes I wear. Maybe I could become a completely different person and just leave this K behind. Its not that I don't love this K. I do, I mean I've been working on him for 23 years. But I can't help but wonder how unbelieveably refreshing it would be to just start everything over with no preconceptions, no judgements and nothing tying me to whom I am here. I don't know. Can I just leave my entire life behind? I might have to if I really want to find out who I am and live the life that will make me happy. Will I ever be happy? Who knows? Maybe...

I am who I am.

I am a bitchy gay man. I am! I know how conive and scheme to get my way. I can cut you down with just a glance. I've been perfecting my doublespeak ever since I was old enough to form sentences. I am a bitchy gay man and if you think that just because you come around me with your beer and sports, I'm gonna go fucking mountain biking with you. I don't want to discuss how you think you know how to play the game but you actually have no idea. I don't like your judgements about how much I smoke and if you make that fucking face at me one more time, I'll rip it the fuck off.

I am a bitchy gay man and your hair is stupid.

I'll just be mad

This blog post is useless. I'm not saying anything interesting or new. No, what I really want to talk about is how angry I am. I'm just so mad all the time. I'm mad that I can't afford to go back to school. I'm mad that decisions in my life are made for me. I'm mad that I allow others to be selfish to the detriment of my happiness. I'm mad that I can't talk about what I want. I'm mad that I can't live the way I want. I'm mad that the guy I want to date just wants to be alone. I'm mad that as much as I tell myself I'm a writer, I still feel like I'm not. I'm mad that I'm poor. I'm mad that I feel like I'm fighting all the time. I feel like my life is a constant battle against something or someone. I'm mad that "I'm sorry" doesn't have meaning any more. I'm mad that "I love you" doesn't either. I'm mad that it feels like I never get what I want and things never go the way I want them to. I'm mad that I have to compromise. I'm mad that at 23 I can't focus on myself even a little bit. I feel like I'm always considering others when I make life decisions and I'm mad that it feels like I'm the only one doing that. I'm mad that I'm mad. I'm mad that as I write this, I can just FEEL the comments building up. "Let's talk about this. I don't want you to be mad. What's wrong? Here are 100 excuses for why you shouldn't feel the way you do." Fuck you. I'm mad and I have a right to be!
It's the most frustrating thing in the world because of how I have to censor myself because of other people. THAT makes me mad. I'm mad that 44 states have yet to legalize gay marriage. I'm mad that I want to get married. I'm mad that this blog post started out about something else and morphed into a post about anger and loathing. I'm mad about wrinkled clothes. I'm mad about dirty dishes. I'm mad about rotten food. I'm mad about high pitched voices. I'm mad at tobacco companies. I'm mad about drinking water. I'm mad about baby talk. I'm mad that I can't let things go and let little things drive me up the wall. I'm mad that I'm so unwilling to compromise. I'm mad that I'm self-centered. I'm mad that I'm vain. I'm mad that I'm apathetic. The phrase "Look on the bright side..." makes me mad. It makes me mad that funerals are being protested. Of all things in the world to protest, you choose funerals? Really? I don't think you could sink any lower. I'm mad that I feel alone in the world on most days. I feel like I'm in high school again with no one to talk to about the problems I'm experiencing in my life.

I wanted this blog to be about happiness and pleasant experiences.  I'm just so angry. And it makes me MORE angry that society acts like it's not okay to be mad. I just want to be mad and not have someone try to fix me or make me feel "better." I feel mad. Let me do that. Let me feel mad and don't try to fix it. You have two choices here: sit down and tell me all the things you're mad about or get the fuck out. Seriously. If you're not in the mood to be mad with me, then just stay the fuck away from me because this anger needs company. I suppose I know the real reason why I'm so angry. I need a gay friend. I felt EXACTLY the same way in high school when all of my friends were straight. Back then, I chalked it up to teen angst. Now that I'm in my twenties, living in my hometown again, with all straight friends and have gone through these feelings before, I understand that I'm mad because I don't have someone that I can just go to lunch with and talk about gay things. Much like men need man friends and women need girl friends, gays need gay friends. And I think this is completely reasonable. I suppose for now, though, I'll just be mad.

Is this thing on?

First, I'm sorry for not posting as much. I told you I felt a reading cycle happening.

Here's what I'm thinking about today: do you ever have perfect moments? When you're just at the right place, at the right time, wearing the right outfit, holding the right prop, with the right music playing, the right lighting and the world is spinning at just the right speed? I had such a moment just now.

It's Tuesday, for one which is perfect. Tuesdays are always the best days for being productive and lazy at the same time. When I realize that it's Tuesday, I always thing, "Well, I should get stuff done because I didn't do anything on Monday because I was so hungover. But on the other hand, I have the rest of the week to get all of this stuff done so I'll just do a little bit, plan my week out as I go." See? Productive yet lazy.

It's also right around noon. I think of all times of the day, noon is my favorite. It means it's lunch time. It means the day is half over. It means that I can stop saying "Good morning!" because no one likes mornings that much. The sun is out but for some reason, it's not hot. There might a breeze but it's not noticeable. The cicada's are out and I can't tell if that's normal or weird.

I have my iPod playing the jovial tunes of Owl City. Hey, I know what I like, okay? And I like pop music. Get off me. B, the dog, has come to visit and lay on top of my dirty underwear on the floor. I have a coffee mug of Dr. Pepper because I'd rather drink out of a coffee mug than anything else and I'm just not in the mood for actual coffee right now. I'm smoking in my room which makes me feel not only aloof but also incredibly cliche and I love it.

The only thing that could possibly make this better would be the gentle humming of my typewriter sporadically interrupted by the thwacking of the keys. I miss that old girl. She died recently. Her name was June (the month I bought her in.) She died of a fatal ribbon rupture. I was attempting to adjust it and ripped the ribbon. They have ceased manufacturing typewriter ribbons now. So she sits like a ghost in my closet. A useless, romantic dream of a 20 something writer hoping to make it big.

So my moment was perfect. I feel if more of us treasured perfect moments like that more often, the world would be a lot happier of a place. We would realize how trivial some of our problems are and grudges would be let go. Beauty queens everywhere would get their wish: world peace.

Oh. My. God. That was either brilliant and beautiful or incredibly sappy and disgusting. I can't really tell which.....you know...it's interesting how quickly emotions can change. I was JUST having a perfect minute and now....Now I miss R, my friend in the Peace Corps. I wish she were home and I hope she's happy. I worry about her happiness sometimes. I feel like she's always looking for it but doesn't realize that it's all around her. Happiness is a funny thing if you think about it long enough. It happens like waves on the shore. Sometimes the waves crash quickly and pull back over and over. And sometimes the waves will swell and seep deeply into the sand, warming itself in the sun. Yeah, happiness is a funny thing...

Let's talk about cliches for a minute. You know how sometimes, people want that "movie moment." They want to be Carrie Bradshaw and live lushly in New York. Or they want to be Bruce Wayne, billionaire by day, striking Batman by night. Maybe it's not even that extravagant. Sometimes they just want that perfect movie minute where their handsome boyfriend takes them for a walk in the snow and leads you over to where he's written "Will you marry me?" in the snow on the path and  the next thing you know, there's a ring on your finger and you're crying and nodding and kissing and embracing. I'm not saying everyone wants these moments but they are out there. And I am one of them. And sometimes I wonder, are these movie moments cliche? And what does that say about the person who wants their life to be cliche?
(By the way, how cliche was THAT moment when I wrote that last line? I was SOOO Carrie Bradshaw minus the New York and plus a penis.)

I Write, You Read

So I've been struggling to write recently and I've discovered that for me, writing comes in waves. I'll go through about a three week period where all I want to do is write and be creative and explode all over the place. And then for about another three weeks, all I'll want to do is read and be silent and observe the world. I can feel myself slipping between these cycles and I'm afraid that my reading cycle is creeping back early this time. I read four Vogue magazines in a day, cover to cover, even the articles no one reads. So I've decided that I'm going to combat this oncoming cycle by rambling on in my writing and forcing something, anything to come out. I will not edit and I will not write entire blog posts and then delete them because I think they're trivial. I will write and throw it to the world because that's what writers do.

I can tell this plan will work. Just by sitting here and writing this post, I am bursting with ideas for more. I've had to start a list just so I can remember it all. This is what artists do: the create because they have to, not because they want to. I can't breathe, can't sleep, can't work unless I've written something that day. I have so many thoughts and so many emotions whizzing through my head that if I didn't allow them to escape, they would continually bounce and terrorize my brain until I did. I am a tea kettle, explosive with steam. I don't live so that I may write, I write so that I may live.

I don't know if I've mentioned this before but I struggle with confidence. I often feel like I'm good at a lot of little things but not great at one thing like everyone else seems to be. And so I often struggle believing that I am a writer. I have to wake up everyday and repeat to myself that today I am a writer and one day I will be an author. There's an enormous difference between the two. Its akin to saying, "I am a singer" and "I am a star." Anyone can be a writer. I'd say that 98% of the world's population are writers. But to be an author means to present language in a way that moves people, changes them and challenges their very thoughts. To be an author, you have to have the ability to enter peoples minds, implant a story and make them believe that it was there all along. And then convince them to share that story with everyone they know, spread it around like warm butter on hot toast.

No, I am not an author. Today I am a writer. But one day, I will be an author.

Cerebral Ceremonies

I think that I think too much. I feel like I'm constantly in my head, having conversations with myself, playing through scenarios in hopes of preparing for all the possible outcomes. And what sucks is that sometimes, when someone asks me a question, they think I didn't hear them because I've gone off, staring into space trying to erect an answer while at the same time, try to guess what you're reaction will be.

This gets me into most trouble during funerals. I spend the whole time trying to create the most appropriate reaction for the situation that I forget that not only is no one looking for my reaction, but they don't care. And so I sometimes forget to just allow my body to react naturally and then I forget to grieve. (Grief usually catches up with me about a week later when I can do nothing but cry.)

I also find myself doing this at any important, crowded events. At weddings I'm focused on looking so happy I'm almost crying but also dapper and sophisticated. At award ceremonies, I try not to look expectant and more "just happy to be here" or "they totally deserve this award."

I know I'm not the only one who does this. We all have different masks we put on in social situations like those. Especially if our true feelings are inappropriate for the event. Which is usually my problem. At funerals, I don't feel sad typically. It's more like...reading an out of order sign. I'm not emotionally invested, I just sort of let it happen to me. I mean, I'm not a robot, I do feel some level of sadness or disappointment or regret but I'm not weeping over it. I mean, it's an out of order sign. I simply accept the experience and move on.

Weddings are a different story. Weddings are supposed to be joyous and celebratory. Meanwhile, I'm sitting in the back pew, sipping out of the flask I snuck in and trying to decide if I should make a scene or not. I don't give up attention very well (Youngest Child Syndrome) so attending weddings and having the entire event all about the couple is something I haven't gotten used to yet. So I usually spend my time flip flopping between secret disapproval (I'll admit to a hint of jealousy in there. Someday I think I'd like to get married and I'm jealous that they can and I can't) and being regal and classy. This is all for the ceremony mind you. At the reception I am all about four things: drinking, dancing, hooking up and cake.

At award ceremonies I am typically seething underneath. As with the weddings, I don't enjoy attending events like that where I'm not the center of attention. If I'm not nominated, I'm not going. And if I AM nominated, I practice my "Just happy to be here" smile and gracious clap for at least two days before attending. It's not that I'm cynical, I just know two truths: 1) I win about 1 out of every 100 awards that I'm nominated for. 2) if I DO win, I want my surprise to be genuine. So I prepare to lose everytime.

I'm aware that in all of these situations, I'm completely self-centered and unapologetic for it. But I'm 23. If I've ever been allowed to be self-centered its now. I know all too well from watching WAY too much Will & Grace and Sex and the City that your 20s is the time for you to find out who you are and completely focus on that. Will I eventually be able to express sympathy for the family instead of trying to put on my best "tragically upset" face at funerals? Probably. Will I be able to attend weddings and not want to casually knock over a candle in the middle of the ceremony? Yeah, probably around the same time that I learn how to attend an award ceremony and not care who wins.

I'm 23. I think too much and I'm only concerned with myself....sometimes...for now.

Character Introduction: Scout

Soo...while writing, I realized that I need to flesh out some of my characters more. Scout is my main character and the realest to me so I figured I'd introduce you two so you could get to know him (and tell me what you think.) If you have other questions you'd like Scout to answer, please post them in the comments.




Tell us about yourself.
My name is Scout Thanos. I'm 17 years old and sooo close to graduating high school. I really can't wait to get out of that place. It's suffocating. The teachers are always telling you what to do and where to be, what to wear and how to act. I don't understand how anyone can survive with all those rules.

What do you do for fun?
I spend most of my free time keeping myself from being bored. Sometimes I watch TV or chill in my room and listen to music but for the most part I like to go out and find something fun to do. One time I got home from school and spent the rest of the day gathering all of the pillows, mattresses and blankets in a pile outside of my bedroom window and then I called my friends over and we all took turns jumping out the window onto the pad. It was a blast! It felt like I was flying... Someday I'm gonna fly right out of this place, I swear to God.

Can you tell us about your family?
I have two older brothers, Eric and Jonathan. They're alright. They've both been away at college for the past few years so I don't really see them. When they lived at home though, they used to drive me nuts. Eric would always come home and change the TV to some anime show he liked, even if I was already watching something. He was really annoying growing up. He kind of seemed to calm down when he left for college. I don't know if he matured because he's at college and not living with Mom and Dad anymore or if he's matured because he's gotten older. Haha! Jonathan still comes home every weekend. He went to the community college on the mainland so he's only a half hour drive away. I don't think he's changed as much as Eric has at college. He's still the same, quiet Jonathan that stays out of everyone's way but makes a point to do his own thing.

And your parents?
My parents are alright. My dad, Will, is a truck driver. He's been all over the United States and most of Canada. He's home about 6 times a year and never for more than a weekend at time. When I was really little, I used to beg him to take me with him on one of his trips and he'd always say, "When you're older, Scout." Then he'd hop into his cab, make the engine scream to life and drive off. He's always driving off. My mother, Molly, raised us pretty much by herself. My dad would send her money throughout the year but I still don't remember a time when my mom wasn't working. She's been the receptionist at Dr. Scalaf's office since before I was born. There's nothing really special about her. She's a good mom. She taught me to tie my shoes and pee in the toilet instead of my pants. But I honestly can't remember a time when she kissed my knee after I scraped it on the ground or smoothed my hair trying to get me to close my eyes while I fought off sleep. I don't remember her reading to me as a child or telling me how good my finger painting was. She just isn't an affectionate mother. She's reliable, that's for sure, but definitely not affectionate. But I mean, I don't think it changed me at all. I'm okay. I go to school. I make alright grades. I have friends. I'm not socially awkward. Yeah, I'm alright.

What are your favorite things?
My favorite things in life is kind of a complicated subject. My favorite color is anything bright. I like things that catch people's eye. I want them to stare and wonder what the heck I'm wearing or what I've done to my hair. I don't mind being the center of attention. I guess I get that from being the youngest in my family. I like doing anything that's outside: running, biking, swimming, sailing, laying in the grass, going on walks. Staying inside just seems so boring to me. I need sunlight in my life.

What are your friends like?
My best friends are Mena, Catherine and Greg. We've known each other since elementary school and it SUCKS that we're all going to different colleges. Well, they are. I'm still not sure if I'm gonna go or not. I told them that I applied to all these places but in all honesty, I haven't sent out one. It's not that I'm scared, I'm just not sure it's something that I want. Who wants to move out of their parents house where they have to pay for everything and CHOOSE to go to school? No one. Especially me. No, I'd rather spend my time sailing around the world or going on an archeological dig and finding the next King Tut. I'd rather be having tea with Queen Liz or meditating with the Tibetan monks. I guess I just want more of an adventure and college just can't offer that to me.

What do you want to be when you grow up?
You know, I'm not really sure what I want to do with my life. I think I'm too young to decide on that right now. I figure I'll just see where this summer leaves me off and go from there.

An Open Letter to My First Love

My First Love,

I want....no, I need you to realize that I loved you first. Before you ever loved me, I was head-over-heals for you. I locked eyes with you and lost a part of myself in their deep blue abyss. You took a piece of me and honestly, I don't want it back. You can have it. It's yours to keep forever and ever. I will always be incomplete because of you. I've grown to accept that. I've learned to compensate. I limp because of you. I hide bits and pieces of myself in fear that someone might steal them from me like you stole that part of me. Just the important parts, though. Just the parts I'm afraid of losing because I just don't think I'd survive another theft like that.

It's important that you know that I don't blame you. I don't hate you. In fact, I still love you....very much so. I still have dreams about you. I still wonder what it would have been like if we had fallen into deep, real, long-lasting love. I wonder what it would have been like if you left me whole. I wonder what kind of a neighborhood we would have lived in, if we would have had kids, if we would be friends with our neighbors and participate in the PTA. I wonder if you'd beg me to let you paint my writing room the same way you begged me to let you paint all over my writing notebook....to "inspire" me, you said. I still have that notebook, you know. I can't bring myself to throw it away. I don't know if it's because of what I've written inside or because I'm still clinging to you through that paint you left on the cover. It's just attached to me like a tan line that won't fade. It's always there. Sometimes I take it out and look at it. I flip through the pages of my sobbing teenage years and smell that scent you always had on you: paint mixed with a subtle hint of crayons. And I remember. I remember what it was like to be with you, to laugh and argue and make out on the futon in your parents house. I remember watching you stare at the canvas, paintbrush in your mouth, smudges of color all over your face and in your hair. And I remember the way your arms felt around me when we would watch movies together. See? It wasn't all bad. Just the end. And I don't even really remember the end...or I choose not to. I'm not sure which.

I also need you to know that I never told anyone what really went on between us. Whenever I spoke of you, it was almost always a lie. When I was mad, I made up stories that turned you into a monster. But when I was happy, I turned you into a prince in shining armor. To my friends, you were whatever I needed you to be. I lied to you and about you. For that, I'm sorry. You have to understand that you fulfilled my teen angst and hormone-driven lust. You were my first love and very much a convenient escape. You made me feel like trash. You made me feel special. I was special trash to you. Special trash that you know is garbage but you can't bring yourself to throw it away. To you, I was that notebook I cling to.

Love,
your special trash,
K

A Piece of Paper

So today at work (for those that don't know, I work in a restaurant,) my boss's boss was in observing her (my boss) technique on the line. (Again for those that don't know, the line is where the food comes from the kitchen into the servers hands.) Anyway, he was in observing which immediately put everyone on edge because our boss threatened our jobs if we weren't cooperative. Cool. So already at 11:00 AM I'm stressed out. But I tried to ignore him and just do what I do everyday: take the shit orders, bag the shit food, give them to shit people and take their delicious money. I do try to help my friends out when I have the time. Mostly because their my friends but also because they help me out too. If I'm being completely honest, I bust my fucking ass there. I'm always doing shit for people, even the people I dont like. I greet tables, seat people, bus tables, just generally help out when I can. I mean, I'm a nice guy and if someone asks me to do something when I'm standing around not doing anything, of course I'm gonna help out. But that's neither here nor there, really.

At the end of the shift, my boss's boss gathered us all together to thank us for "allowing him in our kitchen." Whatever, he pretty much owns the place. But he was trying to be respectful, I get it. And after thanking us he said he wanted to recognize someone who was always available to help out, constantly refilling drinks, stocking and running food even though it wasn't his job or his table. That person was me. Hurray.....kind of. See, the company I work for, instead of giving monotary rewards (raises) for jobs well done, they give these slips of paper that say, "hey. Thanks for doing that. You're a real team player." ......mother fucker, does it look like I can pay rent with this shit? Don't get me wrong, I'm greatful for being recognized for doing a great job. I really do enjoy the praise. But if you're going to give me something in return, make it cash or gtfo. I have received 23 of these little slips of paper since I started working at this restaurant. 23! That's more than once a week! I just don't even know what to do with them any more. At first I put them on my fridge but that seemed silly. I didn't even want them in the first place so why was I keeping them? I WANT to rip them up and give my boss tiny paper cuts on her eyes...but I don't. I just give her my best "who me?! Thank you!" smile and take the paper home. It promptly goes in the trash but at least I take it home.

Maybe I'm ungreatful but I like to call it poor. I struggle every month to pay rent and all of my bills. I'm lucky that I have the most understanding roommate and parents in the world who are always willing to help me out. But seriously? I bust my ass 6 days a week for you and all I get is a piece of paper? This little scrap makes me want to NOT bust my ass for you. And maybe it's just me but giving out THAT many "rewards" so frequently doesn't really make them rewards anymore. They're more like their true form: shitty bits of paper with my name spelled wrong.

My Brothers

I need to take some time and discuss my brothers. I'm the youngest of four boys and while it has taught me a great deal of things, having only brothers, I also feel its left me lacking in some areas.

A - A is the eldest. He set the bar when it came to making rules for the kids and paved the way for the rest of us. He's always been a leader and a trouble maker. He taught me how to defend myself. The first time I was ever in a car accident, the minute I got home, I ran into A's arms. I have always felt safe with him and I think I always will. A got married when I was 18. The family flew to the Bahamas and watchedwith tears in our eyes as he said "I do." Since I was months away from leaving for college, giving A over to his new wife was pretty easy for me. I just figured that it was time for our family dynamic to change. And as I stood with my toes in the sand and waited for the photographer to stop taking pictures of me, I thought back to when he left for college and how, then, I wasn't ready for him to leave. I still needed him. I still needed to learn how to think logically when tackling a problem or how to pull someone off me when they're pinning me down. A taught me to pick up a shield and defend myself first...always.

D - D is the second eldest and radically different from A. D is aggressive and unbelievably cunning. While A joined the percussion in the school band, D went out for wrestling and football. D was the one who taught me how to throw a football, swing a bat and how to pee standing up. He taught me that it was possible to be creative and still be the toughest guy in school. He knew how to manipulate my parents from the start. D taught me how to attack as a means of defense. Use your words first, cut them deep and hurt their feelings; strike them only when they strike first or you absolutely have to. Though he never said those words to me, that was his message. Growing up with D was very much a trial by fire. I rarely have a memory of D where we weren't fighting or playing a game where we pretended to fight. It's no surprise that now D is in the military. Him being gone all the time is hard. It's hard on all of us. I know we all worry even when he's stateside. I just can't imagine life without him. D taught me to pick up a sword and use it. My best defense is a good offense. He'd probably rather me pick up a gun but that doesn't really fit into my imagery, does it? 

J - J is the youngest of my older brothers. He is shy and quiet. He has always kept to himself and always preferred to be alone rather than play with others. J was the peacemaker of our family. He always sacrificed himself if it would make his brothers happy. He too joined the percussion and finally found a means of expression. J taught me to be merciful and how to play. J gave me my imagination. He taught me to look at the world and only see what I want it to be. In a sense, J gave me a pair of rose colored glasses that I sometimes still struggle to take off. J taught me what it meant to be independant. He wants to do everything himself to make sure that it is exactly the way he wants it. He taught me not to care what people said or thought and to go after my own dreams and do what I want to do. J taught me to find my imagination and how to run away with it.

So there are my three brothers. They are the three people I always look to first. I seek their approval before anyone else's. They have been my teachers, my friends and my defenders. I can't tell you how many times my brothers protected me from physical attacks in school. I can't express the love I have for them. I owe so much of who I am to them, the least I can do is blog about it.

Figments of my imagination

Sometimes, while standing at my bus stop, I feel completely alone in the world. The cars and buses and trucks pass by without passengers. The other beings that exist on the bus seem like only figments of my imagination. Like I'm a dreamer who has lost control. It makes me ponder the truth behind things like love and hate. The figments had to come from somewhere. Are the people I love just the things I love about myself? And alternately, are the people I hate just things I despise about myself? In my dreamland, I am every person there is, ever was and ever will be. I burned millions of Jews in concentration camp ovens, I bombed and wiped out an entire city to end a world war, caused by and fought against myself. I have been President of the United States 44 times and every King and Queen of England and the Commonwealth that ever lived. I invaded China and then built a Great Wall to defend against myself.

These figments come and go so quickly, I stand in awe of how rapidly I can create and destroy such unique entities. The world is a testament to my imperfectablility. I am the world and the world is me. These thoughts I have are being shared with all of the pieces of me that I have spread so thickly across the earth. We are all connected, linked, sewn together so tightly that we rarely see the stitching that binds us: an invisible thread that makes us say, "I am you and you are me and we are we and we are all in this together because we have never been apart."

These figments of my imagination. I wonder if they even know...

Questions

I have a lot of questions for people that usually go unanswered. Mostly these questions are for people I ride the bus with. Here's a sampling:

Why are you carrying a bejeweled cane? I understand that you need it to walk but why the jewels? And they're not just regular rhinestones. These are giant princess craft time jewels. Did your daughter get a hold of your cane? Why didn't you stop her?

Ma'am? Ma'am...it IS ma'am isn't it? I was thrown off by your combo- exposed bra strap and full mustache. Anyway, why are you not wearing pants? I see you have some tights on but did you forget that they go under something else or did you forget that something else at home? Or did you spill something on that something else and took it off out of embarrassment? Either way, I just wanted to tell you that it's way more embarrassing that you're not wearing pants.

........ARE YOU WEILDING A SWORD?!?!?!

Um, bus driver...you forgot that old lady in a wheel chair. Like you legit closed the door in her face. What's that? You're an asshole? Oh okay then. Carry on.

I'm sorry. Did you not see me standing here, clinging for dear life as the bus careens down the highway? No, you're right. Your newspaper needs a safer place to rest than I do.

Is it because I'm white? Is that why you asked me for a dollar but ignored the other 15 people riding the bus? Or are my sunglasses just THAT convincing that you thought I was loaded? Let me tell you, there only there so I can give you the bitch eye in private.

And those are just my questions from this afternoon....bus riders are lunatics.

Bitter

I'll be the first to admit that I hold grudges sometimes. Usually it's irrational and childish but I'll cling to that grudge like it's the last cashmere scarf at a Bloomingdale's sale. I really will. And as I'm writing this, all the grudges I have had (and some I still do) are flooding into consciousness. One of the more trivial grudges is the one I hold against all Broadway dancers on So You Think You Can Dance. I still maintain that Evan not only should have won his season but is and always will be the best Broadway dancer the show has ever seen. All others can exit stage left with the other haters, thank you.

But the biggest grudge I hold and have held on to is one against a politically conservative person. And before I go into this rant, I want to say that I understand not all conservatives are like this and that I even have a few conservative friends  and coworkers that are very dear to me (they're hard to avoid in Texas.) BUT for the sake of argument and because the type of people I'm talking about like to lump all homosexuals together, I will be doing the same thing to them.

I'm getting ahead of myself. My roommate, S, works in an office with many many conservatives. Today one of them was distraught over the fact that she had to put down one of her horses because he's old. S texted me that she was resisting the urge to make jokes about glue and jello. And I couldn't help but wonder why? Sure, she's upset but why should I spare her feelings? Did conservatives spare my feelings when I wanted to go to high school and kiss my boyfriend before we went to class? No, we got the shit kicked out of us. Did the conservatives spare my feelings when I wrote an article about being sexually attacked at a party by another man? No, they made me change the narrative to a woman's perspective. This is what I'm talking about. The double standard. And I don't mean the political double standard (because that's a post of a different color.) I'm talking about the emotional double standard. Conservatives want to protect their children from being "brainwashed" by the "homosexual agenda." But in reality they're just teaching their heterosexual children about intolerance and their homosexual children to be ashamed of something they can't control. There's a reason why homosexual teens are the leading demographic in teen suicide in the United States. So in short, no, conservatives. I will not spare your feelings and I will attack you where it hurts. Because I'm hurt. And I'm not sure if I'll ever get over it.





Okay, readers, I want all of you to know that in my rant I was speaking to a very specific type of person. There are THOUSANDS of sympathetic conservatives out there that see the double standard and genuinely want to work to change it. The world isn't full of monsters and you don't have to be afraid of everyone that says, "I vote republican." They're not all bad. Alright? So don't live in fear. And to my younger readers, don't let my rant jade you. Leave your mind open and do your best to accept everyone and find the good in them. There IS good in everyone.

10 Fictional Characters I'd Totally Date

I know, it's ASTOUNDING that in the southern coast of Texas, I can't find a quality man to date. Let me tell you. But the truth of the matter is every guy I find has something that I'm just illequipped to handle. So like every other gay man in Texas, I fall in love with fictional men...here is my list.

1) Heathcliff - Wuthering Heights
He's dark, he's brooding, he's almost always depicted with long curly locks. AND he fucking fought for Catherine like a boss. That bitch didn't know what she had. In the world of Wuthering Heights, Heathcliff's only mistake was falling in love with Catherine. And really, who could blame him for falling in love? His life was ruled by his love for her. He did everything for her.

2) Jim Halpert - The Office
There's not a woman or gay man I know that watches this show and hasn't uttered at one time or another, "I have a TV crush on Jim and I live vicariously though Pam." And if they haven't, they will now. Jim is almost too perfect. He's hilarious, adorable, sweet...not too mention he's totally willing to settle down and provide for the woman (or in my fantasy, man) that he loves.

3) William Hayes - Definitely, Maybe
Let's all just take a moment and imagine Ryan Reynolds naked....delicious. And as if that isn't enough of a reason to date him right there, Will is probably the sweetest guy ever created. He found that girl's book that her father gave to her!!! He kept it for a few years but the point is, he eventually gave it to her. He's passionate about politics. I know jack shit about politics but I love a man who has passion in his life. And honestly, who can't love a man that tells a story like the one told in Definitely, Maybe?

4) Adam - Beauty and the Beast
Betcha didn't know Beast had a name did you? Well his name is Adam...allegedly. There's still some controversy about that. And I know he is a cartoon but still. All he wanted and needed in life was true love. I can't think of anything more endearing than that. Also, he's a hot prince...helllooooooo?!

5) Bobby Drake - X-Men
If you've ever laid a hand on my arm, touched anything after I have or sat next to me on a couch, bus or plane, you know that lava runs through my veins. I'm a good 2 or 3 degrees warmer than anyone at any given time. (Trust me, it may not sound like much but it is.) So because of that fact, Bobby's power to create and manipulate ice/water is appealing. Ever since I saw him kiss Rogue and her breath was frosty afterwards, I've been lusting after him. He's also a rare eternally good person. He honestly wants to save the world but doesn't want to be showered with praise because of it.

6) Spencer Reid - Criminal Minds
I love the fact that he doesn't understand how adorable he is. I find his fact ramblings fascinating and the limits (or lack there of) of his knowledge amazing. He's sensitive but willing to do what he needs to ensure goodness prevails.

7) Legolas - The Lord of the Rings
There are many reasons to date Legolas: fierce warrior, cunning and light on his feet not to mention, he's an elf. (If you're unfamiliar with the world of Tolkien, elves are among the most beautiful creatures in the world.) He's also compassionate and level headed. He's loyal and smart and fights for the greater good.

8) Jack McPhee - Dawson's Creek
Jack is wrought with emotions and issues. With his crazy ass sister, crazy ass mother, dead brother and absentee father, Jack is a whole bag of mess. So what makes him so attractive? He was there for me. When I was coming out of the closet and wasn't sure how I was going to tell my friends, much less my parents, Jack was struggling with the same issues. And while telling my parents wasn't quite the "sobbing on the stairs screaming 'No, I will not calm down and I will not be quiet!'" scene, he was there for me afterwards when I was struggling with my parents' acceptance. He taught me how to be okay with who I am and ignore what everyone else said.

9) Augusten Burroughs - Running With Scissors
Okay, so Augusten isn't fictional. BUT I kind of imagine him to be because of the impossible life he's led and because I only know him through the books he's written. Augusten is....in a word: peculiar. I often question the validity of his stories but I can help but fall in love with the way he thinks, the way he acts, the way he talks...I find him fascinating. He reminds me of a boy I knew that thought he loved me very much but it turned out to be only lust. He's neurotic and a little bit crazy and that's why I'm drawn to him.

10) Calvin -Calvin and Hobbes
Okay, before you go off on me about him being a boy, let's just remember that he doesn't even exist. Anyway, I have to say that Calvin's naivete (because he's a boy) makes him 10 times cuter than the animators drew him to be. He sees the world with honest eyes. He's an adventurer and a dreamer. I connect with Calvin on a creative level. He's who I wish I was when I was a child.

So there's my list. 10 men that I would TOTALLY date if they existed. Now to find just ONE man that comes close to ANY of these guys...

Am I a Bitch?

I've been called a lot of names in my life: fag, queen, pussy, baby, fragile, asshole, jackass, and, of course, bitch. The only one I ever thought had a ring of truth to it was bitch. I can be a bitch. I was the Gretchen Weiners of my high school and yes, my best friend was the Regina George. In high school I quickly learned how to manipulate and intimidate people to get what I wanted. I abused peoples trust, lied, gossiped, anything I could do to make sure that I was treated like royalty and everyone else was miserable. I was a perfect angel for adults that kept a close eye on me but a tyrant to my classmates. Yes, back then, I was a bitch.
But when I went to college, I changed and reinvented myself. I'm not sure if it was because I had matured when I stepped onto my college campus or because I had finally gotten away from the poisonous influence that was Sarah (my Regina.) I became a new person; I was nicer to people, forgiving, sincere and loyal. I made new friends and learned all over again what it meant to be a true friend to someone. I wasn't a bitch, I was brutally honest. There's a fine difference, trust me. A bitch says something mean while making it sound sweet. Brutally honest people say mean things because they need to be said.
But now I'm no longer in college and while I don't think that I've reverted to my high school ways, I can't help but wonder if my bitchiness ever went away or just redirected itself to another group.
I never dated in college. I was too busy going to class and getting drunk. I didn't have time for boys. But maybe if I had taken the time for them, I would have noticed this pattern before. I started hooking up on a regular basis when I moved back home with my parents and now I am the king of one night stands. I've hooked up with more guys than I care to count and most of whom I don't even know their names. I'm pretty sure there have been a few guys who's faces I never even saw. Don't get me wrong, anonymous hook ups can be fun and exciting and, I have to admit, make me feel pretty cool. But they're also dangerous and usually creepy or crazy or both.
And now, like most people, I've grown tired of faceless, nameless fucks and have started looking for something real. Someone I can bring home to my parents. Someone that's in it for the long haul. There's just one tiny little kink: I'm a bitch (or at least I used to be.) I'll find a really nice guy that treats me well and is hot as hell, go on one or two dates with him, find something I don't like about him and then just completely ignore him. Like cut off all communication with him, defriend him on Facebook, block him on Skype, unfollow him on twitter, all that fun jazz. (What can I say? I'm a product of the 21st Century.) I've become that guy that never calls you back and leaves you wondering why I won't return your phone calls or texts and when we see each other at Kroger, I turn and walk away. (I can always buy trash bags later but not when you corner me in the paper plate aisle.)
I don't understand why I can't just tell him that its not working out and I think we should see other people. I guess I'm just tired of having that conversation. I'm tired of being convinced that people can change and that it'll get better if I just give it time. If you rub me the wrong way, its over. Just take me ignoring you as a sign that we're through and move on. But does that make me a bitch? Or just sure of what I want?

Maybe I'm a bitch because its my only defense mechanism that's proven to work. Maybe I'm a bitch because I know what I want and I'm not concerned about other people or their feelings when it comes to me getting it. But people being too sensitive about their feelings is another story for another time. Yes, I may be a bitch. But honestly, I think I need to be a bitch when it comes to love. I refuse to let heartbreak jade me. And the way I figure it, you can't get your heartbroken if you don't give it to anyone to break. I'm happy being a bitch. Maybe everyone else needs to get over their stigma of bitches and realize that we're doing what we can to survive. Bitches.

The bag man

Today I saw a man sleeping on the sidewalk. He was tucked away in a doorway, off to the side and hardly noticeable. He was dirty and tired and just wanted to be left alone, or perhaps a dollar if you had one to spare. No one did.
Plastic bags, like the one groceries usually come in, were piled high around him. Some of them held belongings: a blanket with large holes in it, a windbreaker jacket, four left shoes and two right. The other bags just held more bags. As he slept, he rested his head gently on his bags and tried his best to cover himself with the others. He wanted to be invisible.
After a while, a man came out of the building where the bag man slept. He wore a nice, pin striped, navy suit and and expensive looking shoes. He walked over to the bag man, gently nudged him with his shoe and said, "Get up. You can't sleep here. Come on, get up." The bag man didn't move. He laid perfectly still in hopes that the man in the suit would go away. Again, the man in the suit kicked him.
"HEY!" he shouted, "GET UP! LEAVE OR I'LL CALL THE COPS." At this, the bag man stirred. He slowly lifted his head, peered at the man in the suit through sleepy eyes, and slowly rolled over onto his knees. He started to collect his bags and carefully placed them over his shoulder. The man in the suit stood by impatiently tapping his foot.
"Come on. Get your trash and get out of here." said the man in the suit, checking his watch for the third time. The bag man continued to slowly pick up his bags and place them over his shoulder. Once he had collected them all and they hung about him like elegant drapes on a large window, he shuffled away. The man with his suit caught my eye as he turned to go back inside. "Some people," he said, "just need to get a job."
I looked at him and shook my head, " He does have a real job." I pointed to where the bag man had stopped and was now loading his bags into a green recycling bin. "He's picking up after you." The man in the suit scoffed and hurried inside.

Still nervous about this

So, I got some good reviews of the first page (sans the last line) of this thing I'm writing so I'm posting a little more. I don't think I'll post this sequentially any more. I think I'll just post parts as I come to them. Also, I kind of want this thing to be published some day and if I post it all on here, there will be no point to buying the book so...yeah. Here we go...again...Still terrified. haha

It was hot. Scout reached up to wipe the sweat off his forehead that he wasn't quite sure was there or not.
"What a day to wear a polyester tent." he thought as he readjusted the brilliant blue fabric draped around him. His cardboard hat sat awkwardly on his head as it did for everyone else in his graduating class. And  like everyone else, he was growing increasingly bored listening to the vice principal list off the various do's and don'ts  of appropriate behavior for the impending graduation ceremony.
"Why do we even need a dress rehearsal? It's not like wearing this stupid thing changes the way I walk." Scout whispered to Alison Thyme sitting beside him. She completely ignored him and continued to text her best friend sitting three rows ahead of them. Scout sighed, adjusted his robe again, and slouched in his chair.
"What's the point of being funny if no one listens?" he muttered.
"Oh, I heard you," Alison replied without looking up from her phone, "I just don't think you're funny."
"Whatever, Alison. Go back to texting your lesbian lover." The heat was making Scout cranky.  After reading the rules, Vice Principal DaMarco began reading the names of every one of Scout's classmates. Knowing this was going to take another two hours, Scout groaned loudly and continued to slouch and ignore the world except for the first, 19th, and 23rd names. These were his best friends: Mena, Greg and Catherine.


This is terrible. Like for real terrible. Also, boring. So I'm sorry you read it but it's what I have and people have been asking for more so there you go. Bam.