Las Vegas. *blech*

We have now left Las Vegas. I couldn't be happier.

Now, don't get me wrong, I enjoyed the time I spent with my brother and my mom. Mostly. Well, all of the time with my brother. I was prolly a bit too apprehensive about my mom's reaction to Brit Boy to enjoy all of the time I spent with her. So there you go.

This was my first trip to Vegas. And while I won't say that it will be my last, I'm not sure that I'll be rushing back there any time soon. "Why?" you might ask. "Oh, the humanity," would be my response.

The Vegas Strip. It's... cute. Glittzy. Flashy. And has no more substance to it than a grain of displaced sand in the former desert that is Las Vegas. The throngs of people going to and fro. The massive traffic jam that is the strip. The sheer idiocy of the people wandering with no comprehension of other people around them. The... I think I might actually be at a loss for words.

However, Las Vegas did have one redeeming place. And that was actually Las Vegas. The old Las Vegas. See, The Strip, other than one major casino, isn't actually located in Las Vegas. It's located in "unincorporated Clark County." It was the old Las Vegas that I kinda liked. It had a more local feel. There were still lots of people (but not as many), there was still traffic (but not the parking lot that is Las Vegas Blvd), and there were some idiots out wandering around. But for the most part, it was comfortable. Sure, there were the lights, the sounds of the slot machines, bad carpeting, and tacky displays of consumption. However, it was just a little less... in your face. Just a little. And I liked that.

and breathe...

Brit Boy has now met my mother. And my mother has now met Brit Boy. Red mohawk and all. My mother's acknowledgment of the fact that I was bringing someone to the family Christmas gathering was... well... nonexistent. I talked about it. I explicitly said I was bringing someone. I continued to talk about Brit Boy and all the things we were doing. Her response?

*crickets chirping*

Yeah, there was nothing. So, when we arrived at the Las Vegas airport on Christmas Eve and met up with my brother and my mother, I was a little apprehensive. As was Brit Boy. My mom was polite. She was cordial. A good Southern woman. When we got to the hotel and the desk clerk was talking about "yes, we have you in a king non-smoking room..." she didn't bat an eye. Where was the woman that has been subtly and not so subtly been telling me for the past 13 years that I'm not really gay? That I'm just waiting for the right woman. That I need to settle down and have children. With a woman.

Well, I'm sure she was there somewhere, just not on the surface.

We dropped my mother off at the airport earlier today. She turned to my brother, "You need to come visit. Yes, come in February or March." She turned to me, "And you too... come to visit, come to see me." And then she turned to Brit Boy. "And you too, you can come and visit too."

My jaw almost hit the floor. Well, sometimes it just takes being actually confronted with something to make you recognize it. Or maybe I'll have an earful on the next phone conversation after the holidays. We shall see.

New boyfriend

Well, it was just a matter of time, really. Things change as time goes by, and in this area of life of my life, there is no exception. It looks like I have a new boyfriend. And to be honest, it looks like Brit Boy does too. Actually, it looks like we've been adopted as such by the same guy.

We recently ventured up to Dallas to go to a show of some electronic music that Brit Boy was really excited about seeing. Psy-Trance or something like that. So, up we went with Silly Girl and her boy to see a show. Now, while the show turned out to be frequently mostly by candy-ravers, in all their glory with pacifiers, glow sticks, and dust masks filled with Vick's Vap-o-rub, it was actually a really good show. I even danced. Quite a bit, actually. Brit Boy commented that he's never seen me dance that much. Not even when we're at Burning Man, which is normally the only time I'll allow myself to dance in the U.S. Cuz, as I've said previously, the music here pretty much sucks.

N-E-way... somewhere along the way we met up with Davie**, an 18 year-old kid from a small town just outside of Dallas. At first he was looking for directions to the club where the show was being held. Then, after I had txt'd him to make sure he found the place (I am a nice guy, FYI), we kept running into one another. He was always rather insistent that we "hang" with him for a while. It was all fine... the four of us were having a grand time, but didn't really know anyone else at the show.

Then, he realized that Brit Boy and I are a gay couple.

"Whoa, Cary and Brit Boy are gay?!?! Really?" I heard him exclaim at one point. "But they're so cool!"

Apparently Davie was a bit of a homophobe. He even admitted as much to me. "Cary, you're so cool. I mean, I've always been a total homophobe, but you and Brit Boy are like the coolest people I know." (Sidenote: Well, yes. We are.)

Such discussions continued for most of the evening. Davie was continually amazed at Brit Boy and me. How non-threatening we were. How much fun we were to be around. At the end of the evening, he didn't want for us to go. It was so cute. Like we had found a lost puppy that didn't want to go back to its owner.

The next morning, he started texting that he missed us already. It was so cute. He has even called me up to invite us to another show in Dallas over New Year's Eve, and offered to split the cost of gas for us to drive up from Austin. To say he was disappointed that we had plans to be in San Francisco, CA, over NYE is an understatement. Again... so cute.

So it looks like Brit Boy and I have a new boyfriend. He's ever so nice? Can we keep him? I'll just tuck him away in my pocket.

And you shall be known as...

I've been offered to have a first-born child after me. On a couple of conditions.

See, Brit Boy is, well, British. And as such, he knows other people that are British. Funny how that works out, isn't it? And to really pull this full circle, they have British accents. I know this is totally blowing your mind, but stay with me.

Well, a was chatting with a friend at the Capitol who apparently had no idea that my boyfriend was of the British persuasion. She got really excited about this because of his familiarity and friendship with other people of the British persuasion.

"So he knows guys with British accents?"

"Yes."

"Black guys? That are available?"

"I think so."

"OHMYGOD!!! That is the sexiest thing ever! If you could set something up, I'll name my first-born after you, boy or girl."

Really? That's all I have to do? No requirement that I perform miracles, feed the hungry, listen to George Bush speak, or help the homeless? Wow, I think I'm getting off easy.

So mature...

I posted previously about my tiny bit of OCD when it comes to folding towels. Brit Boy read my post. He was less than amused. Well, he was slightly amused. Maybe. Possibly. I think there was a hint of a smile on his face when he told me where I could put my properly folded towels.

So in response to me basically saying that I didn't like the way he folded our towels, he responded in the most mature, well-reasoned, and thoughtful way anyone can.

By basically going "pbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbt!!!!"

Is there any question as to why I love him so?

But it's only wafer thin!

Everyone has fears. Some are logical and totally understandable. Others are rather irrational and, well, silly. Mine falls into this latter category.

Sidewalk grates. I'm afraid of sidewalk grates. You know, those flimsy pieces of metal that cover deep chasms of underground tunnels, pipes, and all the creepy-crawly things that live down there. Those flimsy pieces of metal that could snap at any moment, plunging the passerby deep below the surface of the Earth. I shudder every time I even think about walking over one. So I don't. Walk over them, that is. I avoid them at all costs.

Last night, however, was my worst nightmare. There's a particular stretch of roadway in downtown Austin that due to the construction on the street and the sidewalk that connects to the pedestrian/cycling bridge, I was forced onto the sidewalk in front of City Hall for half a block. This half of the block, however, contains a 20-something foot expanse of sidewalk grates. A 20-something foot expanse of sidewalk grates that I was forced to ride across as there were other people on the sidewalk. A 20-something foot expanse of sidewalk grates that threatened to buckled and fail as the tires of my bike rolled from one grate to the next. A 20-something foot expanse of sidewalk grates...

"Just keep pedaling, just keep pedaling, just keep pedaling..." I kept singing to myself. "What do we do, we pedal, we pedal... just keep pedaling..."

After what seemed like an eon... After what seemed like 600 miles of sidewalk grates... I finally got to the end and was able to make my way home. It took at least a mile or two for my apprehensiveness to subside.

Toweling Off

Brit Boy and I are entering our third month of cohabitation. All seems to be going swimmingly. We're goofy, silly, happy, cuddly, etc, etc. He's getting out and making friends and exploring Austin, and we seem to be settling in nicely. Except...

Towels. Now, there may not be too many things about which I am a stickler, but the way the towels in the linen closet are folded is one of them. I mean, when they're folded all nice and neat, it just looks so nice when you open the door to grab one. Well, apparently not everyone agrees with my philosophy.

I opened the linen closet the other day to grab a towel to take to the gym. This is what I found staring back at me.

Well, I just couldn't have any of this. Order had to be restored.

Much better, no?

Help, help! I'm being repressed!

My aunt and uncle have arrived to take over the care-taking of my mother while she recovers. It's nice to see them, as it's been... I couldn't even tell you how long it's been since I've spent some time with them.

However...

I am now in a house filled with McCain/Palin supporters who espouse the Republican Party's talking points on why McCain/Palin are the only ones that can handle the country and that Obama is a socialist and a terrorist. Yes, with one breath they are saying that he's a socialist working to build up the power of the state, and with the other they say he'll destroy the country. They've now gone so far as to turn on the McCain/Palin propoganda machine... Faux News.

"There's no place like home..." *click* "There's no place like home..." *click* "There's no place like home..." *click*

Recipe for a family.

One of the missions my brother charged me with while I'm up at mom's is to find our dad's chili recipe. This has been no easy task. Both yesterday and a good portion of today has been spent searching through cabinets, boxes, and trunks for old recipe books and boxes. And then proceeding to sift through these books page by page due to the fact that my family likes to simply stuff recipes into books just willy-nilly.

My mom and I were sitting at the dining room table earlier today doing just this when I commented on my own recipe organization. I print out recipes on their own 8 1/2" x 11" sheet of paper, insert it in a plastic sleeve and then keep these sleeves in 3-ring binders. I have different binders for different things. Sweets (which is my most full binder), entrees, specialty drinks, and so on. My mom seemed rather impressed by this.

"Well," she started, "since you're so organized with this is sounds like its time for you to start a family."

Ummm... What?!?!? So I pressed the issue. "Umm, how does me having good recipe organization equate to me needing to start a family?"

"Well, it just says that you're at a point in your life that you're ready for the next step."

"And the next step, of course, is for me to start a family?" I inquire.

"Yes," she said simply and continued sorting through recipe after recipe.

Ummm.... well.... ok...?

It's a good thing she's pretty.

My mom's cat is a bitch. A cute, loving, demanding little bitch.

When I arose this morning to make my mom her breakfast, it wasn't long until her loving little Hop-a-Long (the cat only has three legs) came to join me in the kitchen. At first she sat quietly by my feet as I cut up a cantaloupe. When I didn't realize that this meant she needed to be fed, she made her displeasure known rather loudly. Fine, alright. Cat's like to meow when they want something. No big deal.

After eating her fill (which was really only about two bites) she ran over to the basement door and started scratching to her hearts content. "I want to play in the basement," her eyes said to me. Fine. I'll open the basement door for you. She ran down the stairs and I could hear her just tearing around down there. For only having three legs, this little fireball sure does get around.

At some point, she quietly reentered the kitchen and went about trying to look out the floor length windows that overlooked the backyard. She was thwarted, however, by the fact that I had yet to raise the blinds. Determined, she let her intentions be known by pawing, head-butting, and then simply sticking her nose through the blinds. At first I was simply amused, but then the clanging of the blinds was too much. "Fine," I exclaimed. "I'll open the damn blinds."

Apparently this cat has a set routine and doesn't like for it to be changed.

Umm... did I just write a blog posting about a cat? Damn... I need to get home to Brit Boy soon.

You wanna put what where?

I'm at my mom's in Kansas City helping her recover from recent medical issues. This isn't the first time I've been to her house here (she only moved in a couple of years ago), but this is the first time I think I've really explored the place. It's funny the things you notice that would drive you absolutely crazy in the design and layout of an abode. I know I couldn't live here. Why?

The closets are WAY too small. I wouldn't even have room for my shoes!!

Some people really ought to know better!

While wandering near the UT campus this afternoon, I spotted a rather attractive, young undergrad striding toward me. From a distance he seemed like a nice candidate for some good eye candy. Tall. Short, dark hair. Broad shoulders. He even seemed to have a slight swagger to his walk. As he drew closer, however, I noticed that he was slouching. "No matter," I thought. "His backpack must be crammed full of books."

And then, just when he got close enough for me to determine whether he was a Monet or not, I noticed them. Those hideous... things... that so many people are wearing these days. Crocs. But not just any Crocs. Burnt Orange Crocs. With the Longhorn logo emblazened on the top of the "shoe."

Ugh...

So I had to come back to my office and find some real eye candy. Chad White.

Enjoy!!

I don't like being corrected.

I knew that when Brit Boy got here and we started getting settled as a couple there were definitely going to be some adjustments in how things functioned around the house. Compromises. Negotiations. When these things are being discussed, it is always important to approach it with care and sensitivity. It's important to be open to new ideas.

Well, Brit Boy stated that he thought it wise for us to reduce our electricity consumption by line-drying our laundry. "You see," he said, "In England, line-drying laundry is very common even though its raining three-fourths of the year. In Texas, with all the heat and sun you get, why don't you line-dry?"

"Ummm... well... uhhhh...." I stammered for a while as I tried to rationalize tumble-drying clothes for the past few decades. Cuz really, I have no excuse. It's a waste of energy to machine dry when we have the sun beating down on us so consistently. But I just like... um... *sigh*

He's totally right. I just hope he doesn't make a habit of this being right thing.

grumble, grumble... groan, grumble...

I'm at the office. It was a beautiful ride into work this morning with the sun rising slowly as I entered downtown. The kettle is on in preparation for my morning tea. I have "Addicted to Base" playing.

Yet, tired does not even begin to describe how I'm feeling this morning. I have to say, this early rising so that I can make it into the office at a decent hour is causing me to go to bed at a respectable time. I mean, I stayed up till 11pm to watch Project Runway (how the HELL did Kenley not go home last night?!?!?!?) and I'm paying the price for it now. Really? 11pm is too late for me?

*le sigh*

I have a decision to make.

I started a new job today. Yes, with less than one year in my last position, I was recruited to another legislative position as the legislative session begins to loom in the not-too-distant future. To answer the question in the back of your mind: Yes, I am that good.

So, as I left my last position, I had to turn in my Crack-berry. It was more challenging than I thought it was going to be. Even today, four days after turning it in, I find myself reaching for it to check my email. However, all may not be lost. I was informed today that if I wanted one, I could get a Crack-berry in my new position.

If I want one.

I feel myself about to cave into temptation. The desire to check for new email messages is strong. The want to play a game of Brickbreaker is overwhelming. The ability to surf the web on the tiny screen of the cute little PDA is so... compelling.

Help me Obi Wan Kenobi... you're my only hope!!

It wasn't my fault!

This morning... I spit on a woman. Well, almost.

I was on my way into the office after a trip to the dentist. I was sitting at a stop light, on my bike, just kinda looking around, poking at my novacaine-numb lip with my tongue. (Hey, y'all know you all do that!!) A woman entered the crosswalk in front of me. I grabbed my water bottle, took a big swig, and attempted to swallow.

Now, it didn't occur to me that I didn't really have full control of my lips as I attempted this tricky maneuver. As a result, I nice fountain of water spewed from my lips, arcing beautifully roughly two feet in front of the woman crossing the street.

She stopped dead in her tracks, whipped her head around to look at me with the nastiest look on her face. I thought she was gonna come over and whoop my ass.

"I dust hab denbil werk," I mutter roughly as I tried to express utmost shock and horror with my eyes and body language. She continued to look at me as if she was gonna pummel me into the ground. Then she just busted up laughing, started shaking her head, and walked on.

Oh, that's why!!!

Work. Ride bike to gym. Workout. Ride bike downtown. Meet friend for Happy Hour drinks. Roommate picks me up and brings me home.

Notice something missing? Oh yeah, dinner! Perhaps that's why only a couple of drinks made weeble and wobble.

I've become a surrogate

Tonight, I was asked to become a surrogate. "But Cary," you might say, "you're not able to carry a baby!" Well, I was not asked to become that kind of surrogate.

My straight boyfriend asked me to read a straight sex letter sent to him by his lover cuz he couldn't read her handwriting.

Me, I like the sexy-thing. You?

It should, by now, be abundantly clear that I'm a pretty open-minded guy when it comes to sex. "Whatever juices your pickle" is pretty much my mentality. Do what you wanna do, but be informed about it. Which is one of the reasons I love Sue Johanson so much.

Well, with Sue leaving the tv airwaves (she's focusing on her Canada-based radio call-in show) there is now a gap in the availability of sex-information that needs to be filled. The need for frank, to the point, truthful information about our bodies, sex, and our sexual interactions with others is paramount. Ignorance is not bliss in this matter. Its dangerous and deadly.

There is a group in the midwest that is doing their part to chip in. Yes, the midwest. The red states. The flyover states. The states where it's not appropriate to talk about such things. Well, they're talking about it . In a funny, engaging, and open manner. In the midwest. Which means their job is doubly hard.

And they need help. They're raising funds to keep going. Stop by and see what you think. And contribute if you can.

I like the countdown...

17 days. Brit Boy arrives back in Austin in 17 days. Excitement doesn't begin to describe my emotions right now. However, this wasn't always the right descriptor.

Some off y'all aren't aware of this, but when Brit Boy arrives here August 17, it's not just a visit. He's moving in. He's moving from London to Austin to give this thing a go. Excited? Yes, very. Scared? You better believe it.

As recently as two weeks ago I wasn't sure that this was something I could do. It was the usual "what-ifs" filling my head. "What if the connection is no longer there?" "What if we can't stand living together?" "What if he gets annoyed with my cute little waking-up noises?" (Yes, I make little whining noises as I wake up. Someone once referred to them as pterodactyl cries.)

Needless to say, those concerns are pretty much gone. We've spent a good deal of time living together already (before he went on his round-the-world journey), we've traveled together (domestically and internationally), and we really have this great skill called communicating. We seem to do that rather well. Go figure.

Anyway, 17 days. 17 DAYS!!!! (thanks be given to Shiva, cuz lord knows I need to get laid)

Let's Buy Some Shoes!!!

I. Like. Shoes. I mean, I *really* like shoes. I feel it's just so important to have a large selection of shoes to choose from when putting your outfits together.

These are my shoes. Well, most of them. Some of my friends say I have an addiction. Some have tried to stage interventions. All to no avail. I keep searching for new acquisitions.

Especially after this past week. Cuz this past week, tragedy struck. I lost a pair of boots. Brown suede Kenneth Cole ankle boots, to be precise. To recount the events that led up to the loss simply fills my eyes with tears.

I was at the gym. I had changed into my workout clothes and put my street clothes into my locker. I worked out. I came back into the locker room to shower and change. That's when I realized. That's when I realized I had basically abandoned my boots. I had left them out when I put everything else into my locker.

So, someone, somewhere has my boots. Someone took my babies. I hope they treat them well, cuz they deserve to be loved. Caressed. Brushed on a regular basis. Paired with a cute pair of jeans, dark button-down shirt, with the sleeves rolled up.

So what does this all mean? I need to go shopping. For there is now a vacancy in my shoe rack. And we all know that nature abhors a vacuum.

Visit to the Coast

Yoakum, Texas. Population: 5,731

Goliad, Texas. Population: 1,975

These are the locations that comprised my business trip today. I know, I know, glamorous. Don't you wish you had my job? Thankfully, the day has ended in Corpus Christi, Texas. Population: 277,454. A city with an Omni Hotel. That overlooks the bay.

Now, there was this tiny, almost insignificant, little storm called Hurricane Dolly that slammed into the Texas coast yesterday just South of here. Which has resulted in a rather wet and windy trip. But, it's all worth it. Tomorrow I head out into the gulf for a weekend diving trip. Here's hoping I'm not susceptible to sea sickness.

Homo-say what?

Let me set up the situation:

I'm out having a few drinks with friends. The watering hole where we are partaking of these libations is giving away tickets to the current running of The Altar Boyz. I end up winning a pair of these tickets. Immediately, several of the other gayz start asking if I'll take them with me to see the show. (Really? Tickets aren't THAT expensive, just buy one). Several of these individuals know of my current situation with Brit Boy being gone, and me not having had sex since I last saw him in Thailand. Several of these individuals joke that if I take them with me to the show, they'll put out.

After a few times, I finally look at one of my friends and say, "You know, I don't even really care about sex anymore. I don't think I've masturbated in over a week. Put out, don't put out. Fuck me, let me fuck you. Or don't. I really just don't care about it right now." To say that my friend was shocked is the understatement of the month. Me. Mister take care of things four times a day. Me. The guy that has had sex six times in a 24-hour period. Several times, actually. Me. The guy who's laptop hard-drive is over half-full of porn. Yeah, I'm not really feeling the sex thing.

Which I guess is a good thing since I don't really have an outlet for it right now. But it does kinda concern me. Since when did I become an old man?

ouch... OUCH!!!

I am of the opinion that it is a good idea to keep yourself in a presentable state. Keep your hair maintained. Shave or keep up the trimming of your beard. This even applies to body hair. Legs, perhaps not, but chest hair should not be all out of control.

And yes, this also applies to where the sun don't shine. Not only is it nicer to look at a well maintained crotch, it's just polite. I mean, really. Who likes to be picking hair out of your mouth when you've been rather friendly with someone?

Seeing as a group of people see me naked at least once a week, it is rather important that I keep up with all these personal hygiene routines. Well, for anyone that has ever had to shave anything on their body on a regular basis, you might very well be familiar with a certain malady that accompanies frequent shaving - ingrown hairs.

Now think about having an ingrown hair in that special place. An ingrown hair that is irritating and painful. An ingrown hair that is preventing me from... umm... taking care of other matters.

This is not a good situation.

Demon Spawn

I'm in a coffeeshop having lunch, taking care of a few matters for my next yoga fundraiser. There are two toddler boys running around, screaming, yelling, climbing on things. I have tried to trip them no less than 4 times.

They are annoying me to no end. And the parents? "Matthew Collin... will you please sit down." "Andrew... if you sit down I'll get you a cookie."

Great. Just what's needed. Bargaining with sugar.

Tasty, flavorful snacks

I ride my bike to work most mornings, and I have a fairly set route that allows me to dodge most traffic heading into downtown. Since I travel this route regularly, and am quite familiar with all the houses, potholes, and dog walkers, I do tend to zone out slightly. However, when I round a corner and see a tall, attractive, naked man leaning over a series of grey plastic trash barrels, it definitely catches my attention.

I slow down slightly and give him a slightly gutteral “morning.” He quickly lifts his head from his task, his bright eyes instantly connecting with mine. “Morning,” he replies with a smile. When I ask what he’s doing, he very casually responds that he’s washing peanuts in order to season them and sell them as snacks.

“Washing… peanuts…” I think to myself. Kinda odd. Only after I myself lean over the trash barrels do I realize what he’s talking about. In each of the three consecutive barrels are hundreds of Styrofoam packing peanuts floating in water.

“Interesting,” I finally say out loud. “Need some help?” I ask, as if it’s the obvious reply in such a situation. I mean, really. Attractive naked man. Washing Styrofoam packing peanuts. What would you do?

As I start helping him dunk, strain, and lay the peanuts out to dry, another cyclist rides up, also asks what we’re doing, and offers to help. He’s cute-ish. Not my type (translation – shorter than 6’2”), but not bad eye candy.

At this point, the entrepreneur states, absent-mindedly, that he needs to apply sunscreen to his legs. Nothing too out of the ordinary about that statement. This is Texas. In June. It’s damn hot. However, the not-totally-cute cyclist offers to help. My ears perk up. I look over and watch him apply sunscreen to hot, naked guy’s calves. To his thighs. To his inner thighs.

At this point I’ve stopped washing the peanuts and start to think, “Hey, haven’t I seen this porn?”

It’s when not-so-cute guy starts to ensure that our studly entrepreneur won’t get sunburned where the sun don’t shine that I drop what I have in my hands and walk over to… help.

The rest… well, I can leave that up to your imagination. All I can say is that with two and one-half months left before I get to see Brit Boy again, I can only imagine that my dreams are gonna get more and more… um… explicit.

There's a hole in the bucket, Dear Liza...

Apparently, butts can make holes in walls. I was informed of this earlier today.

While I'm stuck in suburban, midwestern hell, Sincerity is having a lot of fun back at the house. There were... shenanigans on Friday night. I like shenanigans. Shenanigans are lots of fun. Partly cuz the word, shenanigans, is fun to say.

These shenanigans, however, made a slight detour somewhere along the way.

Headstands and handstands are difficult yoga poses to master. It takes time to learn all the intricacies of the poses, as well as to learn how to best use your body to hold each pose. I should note, as a professional, that yoga while inebriated is not a wise idea. Especially poses that flip your legs up over your head.

The consequences can be rather severe.

Fucking Kansas!

I'm in the suburbs. Suburban hell. Suburban, midwestern hell. Suburban, midwestern hell, with my mother.

Everyone kept telling me that it's only for a weekend. Only two days. Well, it's been less than 24 hours, and I'm ready to be home. My brother is here with me, for which I am very thankful, but there are reasons I only visit my mom once a year.

I might not be as upset if my mother hadn't started chastising me for chatting online with Brit Boy last night, rather than talking with my family. Well, that was the first opportunity in at least a week and the last opportunity for me to chat with Brit Boy for the next two weeks or so, as he's buggering off into the mountains of some-such-i-stan in Central Asia. I tried to inform my mother of this, but she was insistent. So now I'm being a grumpy Gus. A pissy Peter. An annoyed Andre. I swear, I feel the urge to revisit my teenage angst and just turn on my iPod, start reading a book, and completely ignore her.

Dramatic?!??! Moi?

Oh, and I'm trying to put the final touches on a yoga fundraiser I'm organizing for next weekend, while I'm several hundred miles away. And it's so NOT working. Frustration level is high.

Weight

Me: Ugh. I'm getting fat!
Sincerity: Oh, please.
Me: I have!! I've gained like 7 lbs!!!!
Sincerity: That's, what... about a three percent gain? That's nothing!
Me: But it's all in one place...
Sincerity: ...um... yeah, I was gonna mention the cankles...
Me: I so hate you right now!

It's so... SHINY!!

I'm not sure, but I think it's been since elementary school since I've seen a display like this. It was pretty common back in those days seeing as it was a new activity for little boys. They weren't quite sure how it all worked. How to stand. What to hold on to.

But for a man easily in his 50s? He should know by then.

I was leaving the locker room after spinning class tonight, and there he was. Early 50s. Grey... I mean Silver hair. Workout shorts AND jockstrap around his knees. Hands on his hips. Pissing in the urinal. Big, flabby ass hanging out for all the world to see.

Really?!? Around your knees?

Big. Gaping. Hole.

I could never be in the medical profession. Nevermind all the biology courses and pharmocology courses. Nevermind all the years spent in school combined with even more years training in hospitals and clinics. I just can't handle wounds and blood.

I had minor surgery yesterday. No big deal, just the removal of a cyst. But this now means that I have another hole in my body, albeit temporarily. And I have to change the dressing. And put ointment on the wound. And... deal with... um... all the stuff that goes with having a gaping hole in your body.

I had such a hard time cleaning the wound this morning. Where's my nurse? When do I get my sponge bath?

Hallelujah!!

Praise be to the gods! Sing honors to Shiva! Give atonements to His Holiness the Pope (I just want his shoes)!!

Last night, was glorious. The satisfaction. The overwhelming joyousness. The excitement with which I can shout from the rooftops!!

I slept until 8:15am this morning. ...and I was able to stay up till almost 11:30pm. On a Saturday night, I know. I'm such a rebel. Such a wild, party-going carouser. Really, I need to be stopped before I hurt myself and others.

Sleep... I want sleep!!

Jet lag has never really affected me that much. Normally when I return from abroad, it only takes me a day or so to get back to a normal sleeping schedule. Not so much this time.

So far this week, since my return, I've arisen at 4am, 5:40am, 6am, and today - 6:30am. Slowly getting better, but due to my early rising, it's been so challenging to stay up late. And by late I mean past 9pm. The past two nights I've fallen asleep on the couch while trying to stay up to a decent hour.

I'm hoping tonight will allow me to get back to a more normal sleep schedule. I'm heading out with Kelicious and Aussie Boy to celebrate my birthday, since I was on the other side of the world when it came around.

Oh yeah, don't think y'all are getting away without wishing me a happy birthday and showering me with gifts and affections. My Week of Celebrations is still forthcoming.

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

It's 10am in Tokyo, Japan. I'm about half-way through my 38 hour return journey. Yes, the journey over to Thailand to meet up with Brit Boy only took about 30 hours all told, but the return journey has been a bit more... um... complicated.

It started around 10am, Sunday, May 4, on the tiny island of Koh Tao, Thailand. South in the Gulf of Thailand. See, it was supposed to be relatively simple, albeit a bit tight on the timing.

10am boat from Koh Tao to the city of Chumphon, where we were to catch the train to Bangkok for me to catch my outgoing flight.

Easy, right? Hrmph!!!

Oh, did I mention that this was Labor Day Weekend in Thailand? Where loads of people, much like in the US, go off traveling for a long weekend? Yeah... that muddied things up a bit.

Well, that and the fact that there are a number of travel-related monopolies that stymy your attempts to get anywhere.

You want boat to mainland? Ok. You're catching the train to Bangkok? Yes, we will provide free transport from the pier to the station. You want to get there on time to catch your train? No, that won't happen. But we'll tell you that it will. So now that you've missed your train, and there's no transport from here to anywhere but the island you came from, you can take our bus to Bangkok. Yes, we can sell you the ticket now that you've missed your train. Oh, and it'll cost more now cuz you thought you could get away with trying to use someone else's services.

In reality, the extra cost equated to about $3.20 US. No big deal. However, in a country where $3.20 US can get you a massage (with happy ending), a pack of smokes for after, and a stiff drink for when you realize you've had sex with a 13 year-old (purely conjecture here, folks...), it's a lot of money.

That and the Thai have this remarkable ability to comlpetely ignore the fact that you exist when you raise a point of contention. Or at least that's been my experience. "You have a problem with something? Ok. Now let me ignore you as a human being while I reach through you to continue servicing the people that have no problems whatsoever so I can simply say "thank you" and begone with them."

In reality, I had a great time in Thailand. Please don't let this little post let you think otherwise. It's just that while I'm sitting in Tokyo's Admirals Lounge drinking my fourth mimosa (hey... it's 8pm back in Texas), I'm letting it out. Mainly so I won't take it out on some pore unsuspecting gate agent.

More details of the trip to follow.

And I'm off!!

Well, I'm on my way. At 5:45am this morning I boarded the plane for the first leg of my 28 hour journey across the globe. Yes, all told, from start to finish, I will be on a plane or waiting in an aiport for 28 hours (at least) as I make my way to Thailand. What can I say, Brit Boy was willing to cross an ocean to come to me. It's the least I could do to return the favor.

I'm currently in the Admiral's Lounge in Chicago O'Hare. I've just been lounging without having to fight for a seat at a crowded gate. Without having to suffer children screaming and crying and running around. WIthout having to listen to people prattle on about all sorts of shit that no one really cares about.

It's rather unlikely that I'll be posting anything for the next two weeks. I mean, not only are there all the Buddhist temples to go to, shopping to be done, and SCUBA diving to enjoy... but um... I haven't seen Brit Boy in three months, so there's definitely some reacquainting we need to do. *grin*

So... hard...

I leave tomorrow morning to meet up with Brit Boy. When we meet in Bangkok, it will have been three months and one day since I last saw him. I know some things have changed - he no longer has a mohawk for one (he thought it best to cut it off when traveling through SE Asian countries that are a little less than stable. No need to draw extra attention to oneself.

Excited can not even describe the feelings I have right now. I'm bouncy, I'm smiley, I'm joyous. I'm pent up.

I started withholding from myself on Sunday. Yes, you read that right. Me, the guy that takes matters into his own hands at least twice a day has gone without since Sunday. Three days ago. I wanted to "rev up the engine" for when I get to be with my man again. However, right about now I feel like my crotch is about to burst out of my pants.

Drunky-McDunkville

Transportation Conference. Full of engineers and lawyers. And a few politicians thrown into the mix. Sounds exciting, doesn't it?

Well, I can't really say that I've actually been attending too much of the conference. Gabbing, schmoozing, drinking. That's more my style at these things. So yesterday, when I faced the prospect of a 16 hour day with my co-workers, the last 10 of which were spent drinking, I was up for it. I am, after all, a professional drunkard.

What I wasn't really up for was the 10 hours of drinking in a full suit while it was 85 percent humidity.

It was HUGE!!

I looked. I'll admit it. I mean, some people will say they don't, but there I times I do.

I look in the locker room.

Not always. I mean, most of the time, you really don't want to. And this wasn't' one of the times Iwanted to look. This was a time I needed to look. It just *called* to me.

I was standing in the locker room, getting ready for my workout, and the guy next to me had just gotten out of the shower. When he removed his towel to do... god only knows... that's when it caught my eye. Literally, out of the corner of my eye I saw it. And it drew my gaze in.

Now, I had to be all natural and nonchallant, but it drew my gaze nonetheless. It was huge! All big, black, and bushy. I swear it sprouted out at least 4 inches from his body. It covered all hints of a penis completely.

My question: How the hell do you even function when your pubic hair completely hides the fact that you have a penis. Wait! Maybe he didn't have a penis and he was trying to hide that.

Nah... he was just a lazy slob that didn't take his partner's dislike of hair in his/her mouth when going downtown. I mean, really!! There's a certain amount of respect in just doing a little bit of maintenance down there!

I think this calls for a celebration

Seventeen days. One. Seven. Yes... seventeen days until the anniversary of my birth.

Shocked? Amazed that you could have possibly let this wonderful event almost slip by? It's ok. I'm here to remind you.

Unfortunately for y'all, I'll be in Thailand during my normal "week of celebration." However, I'm thinking of holding a fabulous weekend of celebrations once I return at which point you all can shower me with well-wishes and gifts.

*Le Sigh*

S.C.U.B.A. diving, tex-mex, and margaritas. Is there a better way to spend a Sunday?

Excuse me?

A couple of weeks ago, it was a trip to the STD clinic. Shortly thereafter I went and got shot. In the arm. Several times. (Vaccinations for my impending trip to Thailand).

Today I went in for my physical. And I'm not really sure why it is, but why is it that when the doctor is cupping my balls, asking me to turn my head and cough... AND when he's rolling my testicles between his fingers for the testicular cancer check... why does he try to make small talk?!?

I mean, y'all know I don't have any issue being naked in front of people. Nor do I have any issue with men touching my junk. Just... um... small talk? Really?

And, I gotta tell ya, for someone that hasn't had sex in lord knows how long, I sure am getting poked, prodded, and having my genitals fondled by strangers a helluva lot.

Rest In Peace, friend

It's happened a couple of time thus far in my adult life, but it still hits me in the core of my being.

A good friend of mine died over the weekend after battling cancer. He was 33.

UPDATE:

I sat in shock when I heard the news. Seeing it posted, picture and all, just leaves me numb.

umm... wait. What?!?

"CRAP! I think I just accidentally set up a trick."

That was my call for help yesterday afternoon. I'll explain.

There were a couple of new guys in my Saturday morning Yoga class, and I was talking with one when class was over. Turns out he's in town for an extended business trip, and kinda came across the class by accident. As we're chatting, he mentions hanging out sometime, as he doesn't really know many people in town. I'm a friendly guy, so I agree and we exchange numbers. At some point in the afternoon, as I'm taking a nap, my phone rings. It's Dancer Boy (he's a dance choreographer) seeing if I'm available to hang.

"Sure, man. Sounds like fun. Wanna grab a bite to eat or something?" I ask groggily. I mean, I was taking a nap. "Why don't I just come over to your place, you're close by where I am, aren't you?" he responds. I agree, hang up the phone, and put my head back on the pillow.

"Wait! What?!?!" I exclaim as I bolt upright.

At this point, my mind starts racing. Is he thinking this is a hook-up? He know about Brit Boy, right? I mean, I was talking about him after class, as well as my upcoming trip to Thailand to meet up with him. Was I flirting with him when we were chatting after class? I don't think so. Crap. What is he expecting?

So I send out the text at the top to my Twitter friends. I talk with my friend Sincerity as we have plans to get together for dinner and drinks later on. Basically, I try to figure out if this is all harmless hanging out time or if he's wanting something else.

As it turns out, all that worrying was for nothing. When I talked to Dancer Boy I brought up the issue of what he was expecting. "I was just thinking it'd be cool to hang out."

It was fun. Sincerity thought he was a cool guy too. He showed up about the same time that Dancer Boy came over. I mean, I needed to make sure someone would know if I was dead. Killed by some psycho killer.

OUCH!!!

I'm all about lessons learned as of late. Today's installment?

Cotton swab inserted into your urethra when you're hungover = not fun. (Honestly, it's never fun)

Yes, boys and girls, this morning was the six-month trip to the STD clinic. I went mostly out of habit. Brit Boy has been my only sexual partner since my last trip, but I've said it before - I'm a creature of habit.

Homo-say what?

As I was getting ready to leave work today, I went back to my desk to get my "street" clothes so that I could ride my bike home. As I'm gathering my things, I say, "Hrmmm... now where did I put my clothes?"

My coworker pipes up, "Now that's not something you hear everyday at work."

I say DAMN!

As a side note to my adventures this weekend out in Spicewood, there is a lesson learned.

When, after drinking and hanging out in the hot tub for several hours, and you need to answer nature's call... if you choose to just run out in the field and "water the plants," make sure you either 1) put at least some chanclas on, and 2) don't stand *in* a fire ant bed.

Uncomfortable doesn't even begin to describe how my feet feel right now.

A Texas tradition

Spicewood, Texas.
Population 5,527

Not a place where you would usually find me. But there I was, sitting poolside on Saturday afternoon, enjoying a couple of nice, cold beers and watching the sun lazily venture toward the horizon. A friend of mine was having a BBQ housewarming gathering at his new place out in the Texas Hill Country. The weather was beautiful and the pool and hot tub were just fantastic.

We stayed up late, swapping manly stories, and made plans to make waffles in the morning. As the night wore on, each of our crowd started to make their way to their bedrooms. (It's a big, beautiful house out in the country). I curled up in my room and quickly fell asleep.

I was awakened just after 9:30am to my host coming into the room, wondering where her husband and another friend were. Cuz they weren't in the house, and a car was gone.

"Fuck," I said. "Well, when I went to bed around 3am they had started talking about going mudding," I had to tell her. So now my mind starts working. The party started around 3pm Saturday afternoon. We were drinking, casually, all day. By 3am Sunday morning, I know I was in no condition to drive, which was why we all were staying the night. And yet, these two f*ckheads thought it was a good idea to head out into the countryside and go muddin.

Oh, and they'd left their mobile phones at the house, so we couldn't call them.

I start picturing the Ford Explorer rolled over in a ditch, them layed up in the hospital. Or them sitting in the jail cell of the small town, backwater sheriff's office.

So, just as the rest of us party-goers are dressed and out the door to wander down to the river to see if maybe they had just driven down there to drink and ended up curling up all Brokeback style in the back, we get a phone call. I overhear "We did a really stupid thing."

They decided to go muddin, as we thought, and wound up with a flat tire on some rundown dirt road and were unable to change it. Without their phones, they were unable to call us. And so they slept in the truck, got up at daybreak, and then walked about 5 miles to the closest gas station.

To say they looked like hell when our host brought them back to the house is an understatement.

Hot DAMN!!

I think I may have bitten off more than I can chew.

I'm a flirt. A huge flirt. A gargantuan, colossal flirt. Brit Boy and I had a conversation about this at some point while he was here - I mean, just cuz I'm in a relationship doesn't mean I'm dead. So I flirt. Harmlessly. Shamelessly. And I think I got bitten by it.

I was out with Kelicious the other night, and we're just chatting away with all the cute boys in the bar - patrons, bartenders, shot boys, etc. The shot boy is just hanging out with us, taking a break, chatting away. He's cute. He's shirtless. He just got finished letting a patron take a body shot off of him. Classy.

He leans over to me, and asks if he can rub my head (I keep my hair cut pretty short). "Of course," I say. He leans over and rubs my head (the one on top of my neck).

"Oh, you meant *that* head," I reply, with a coy smile.

He put his hand on my leg, "I'll rub the other one anytime you like."

*eeep*

Overheard in Austin

In line for the bathroom:

Guy #1: Hey, do happen to have any...?
Guy #2: Blow? No, I can't seem to find any tonight.
Guy #1: Yeah, it's all these fucking California cokeheads. I mean, I'm all for SXSW, but they've drained all my normal dealers.

It's always the little things that get looked over when planning these huge events.

I feel there's something growing between us.

I was in a meeting this morning, a meeting to which I was only tangentially associated. As such, I wasn't really paying close attention to what was going on and was daydreaming. My daydreams, as is usual these days, were focused on Brit Boy.

Suddenly I have a raging hard-on straining against my slacks. And then I hear someone say, "Well that's about it for right now everyone..."

*shit* Meeting's over. But... um... I can't stand up. *eeep*

Is that hair gel?

Conversation on the way to a BBQ with my friend Sincerity:

Me: What the hell is that woman trying to do, ram her car up my ass?
Sincerity: Have you (and I'm paraphrasing here for propriety) taken care of business in the last couple of days?
Me: Ummm.... actually no, I haven't.
Sincerity: You need to take care of that pronto!!

See!?! All work and no... er... release makes me a grumpy gus!!!

Ring-a-ding-ding

Apparently strange things were afoot at the Circle K last night. As I have an early morning class on Saturday mornings, it's not very often that I venture out on Friday nights. That, and with my new job, by the time Friday evening comes around, I have no energy to do much of anything. (Or maybe it's because I taught a Spinning and a Yoga class back-to-back last night after work... hrmmm).

Anyway, I dragged my weary ass into bed around 10:45pm, and promptly crashed. Some time around 3am, my bedroom door opens and I damn near jump out of my skin. It's my friend Sincerity telling me that he cabbed it to my place (which is much closer to downtown than his) cuz of some strange occurences out at the bars, and that he was gonna crash in my guest room. (He has a key to my place).

I promptly pass back out.

When I awoke around 7:30am, I checked my phone to find all sorts of missed calls, voicemails, and text messages. Some were from Sincerity seeing if I was up and out to pick him up (which I would have happily done had I been awake at 2am), a few were from other friends seeing if I was out, going to be out, going to after hour parties, etc. Finally, there were some from some drama-encrusted people wanting to talk, bitch, vent.

I'm glad I've gotten over my light-sleeping since Brit Boy left and I slept through all that crap.

Leaving on a...

So y'all all know that Brit Boy is off chasing summer around the globe for the next several months. He returns to Austin in mid-August, just in time for us to head off to the desert. In the meantime, this has meant that we're both dealing with cold, empty beds and cuddling with lumpy pillows.

Fuck that shit.

I've booked a flight to Bangkok, Thailand so I can spend some time with my man. Granted, it's about 6 weeks away, but I've got something to really look forward to. Well, aside from the standard "I haven't seen you in three-months" greeting I'm sure we'll be busy with, we're gonna go S.C.U.B.A. diving, head to some buddhist temples, and just sort of skulk around Thailand.

Oh yeah, and on top of a fabulous two-week vacation in Southeast Asia, the legs of my trip are in either the first or business class cabins. Brit Boy asked whether I should save the money and fly coach. I'll say it once more:

Fuck that shit. If I'm flying over an ocean... I'm going in style.

Oh, that evil temptress.

Tonight I gave in to temptation. I'm in Dallas on a business trip, and met up with ScottoLuminus for dinner and a show. It was at the show, for an electronic group Justice, that I indulged. It was a simple slip. I didn't mean for it to happen. I had no idea that it was going to.

Tonight I danced in the United States.

See, I don't dance in the U.S. I gave that up a few years ago when I came to realize that really and truly the music here just freakin' sucks. And I mean it sucks my left big toe. So when I go out to the clubs, I don't dance. Now, before anyone says anything, dancing to 80s music DOES NOT COUNT. (Hey, this is my story, I get to make up the rules.)

I don't know what came over me. It started with just a little toe tapping. Then a little booty-shaking. Next thing you know, it's a full-on dance-like motion coursing all over my body. It was like I was in a game of Dance Dance Revolution!

Now, I have to admit that it was intermittent. I just didn't completely agree with the progression of some of the songs. Some were really catchy. Some, not so much. But, it was enough to lure me into shaking my groove-thang, which is a rare occurence indeed.

A size 7 feels so nice, I buy a size 8

Today was Sunday brunch. This means that a large faggle convenes over at a friend's place for mimosas (a.k.a. Buck's Fizz), trash talking, and various menu items from the W.A.S.P. Cookbook. Trust me - it's a southern thing.

Near the end of the brunch, our host brought out a pair of ill-fitting boots he received from his loving mother, offering them up to whomever they might fit.

Oh... did I mention these were Prada boots?

Well, after various of us tried to force our feet into the Cinderella shoes, it came down to three people. For one, the boots seemed slightly too large. For another, they were just a bit tight. And yes, dear goldilocks, one was just right.

So what's the point of me telling you this? Just as it seemed sure that Ms. Goldilocks was gonna go home with her Rice-A-Roni, a newcomer to the brunch blurted out, "Someone get me a salt tablet. I'll make my feet swell up so those damn things fit!!!"

Don't come between a fag and her Prada, m-kay!!

And I'm done...

Yet another Saturday night out on the town here in Austin. A good time was had. However, challenges are always lurking just around the corner.

Within minutes of arriving out tonight, I encountered SA Boy. I haven't seen him since he left my house almost 2 years ago. In line for the bathroom, I heard my name called. I turned and saw him. It was nice talking to him tonight, but it was definitely interesting.

When I started casually chatting with him he stated, rather presumptuasly, "you're single?" I had to reply that I was not. I mean even though Brit Boy is in Sydney right now celebrating Sydney Mardi Gras, we are committed to each other. Upon me saying, "no, I'm not," I saw the light in his eyes go out. I'm not sure what he expected. Cuz from what I remember he's not a casual hook-up kinda guy. But that's definitely the vibe that I got from him tonight.

And then there was Tina Boy. Also from San Antonio, this boy was brought into the group I was hanging out with by Kelicious. This boy was tweaking so hard on Tina that I feared for his future oral hygiene. I mean the clenching and grinding of his teeth made me cringe.

But even through all that, he was able to rub all up against me and make it known that it wasn't a simply admiration of my ass in my jeans that he was interested in. Hot? Yes. But DAMN!! Lay off the pipe, girl!

Anyway. It's late, and I need to be heading to bed. I mean, come on... it's sleepy time!

Surprisingly, College Station has something to offer

I spent the better part of today in College Station, Texas. Normally, I wouldn't go to College Station (the home of Texas A&M) if my life depended on it. But there's a fitness workshop that I attend most years that happened to be out at A&M this year.

There were, however, a couple of instances that made the trek out into bum-fuck Texas worth it.

1) There was a swim meet going on. When I went in to the locker room to change for my first session of the workshop - OH MY GOD!!! Tall, lean, muscular boys in speedos. DAMN!!

2) Also at the Rec Center was a weight-lifting competition. Muscle dadies GALORE!!

(At this point I was about to swoon)

3) And the best point of it all? My first boss from when I started working at gyms about eight years ago approached me. At first she wasn't sure it was me. She said that she thought it was, but that "I hadn't aged at all."

I think I love her.

It's for the children

This was my first conversation this morning, over text:

Kelicious: oh my
Me: Oh my what?!?
Kelicious: I woke up with a 20 y/o in my bed.
Me: That's right! I forgot you hooked up with that kid.
Kelicious: Child. He still has acne!!

This last statement amused me to no end.

I. Am. Not. Happy.

I am a person of routine. I love me some spontaneity, but I also really like the comfort of having my morning cup of tea. The joys of my morning... um... uh.. workout session. Etc, etc, etc. It makes me feel in sync with the world. Moving through a wonderful cycle.

So it should come as no surprise that I have a special ritual when it comes to voting. I am very involved in politics, but I don't do the whole results party type thing. I wake up early on election day and vote. No early voting for me. I turn off all tv and radio shows that might give me a clue as to the exit polls. Perhaps I go and see a movie. The next morning I head to the store and purchase a newspaper, and that's how I find out the election results.

Not this year.

My job is sending me to Dallas/Ft. Worth on election day. So I have to early vote.

I. Don't. Like. Change. Like. This.

(pardon me while I go to the corner and pout)

The Scent of a Woman

I spotted my target relatively early in the evening. From across the patio I saw the spikey blonde hair, stylish leather jacket, and the nonchalant stance. I swooped in for the kill. My pick-up line? "Hi, I'm Cary." It's the simple ones that work the best.

One minor problem. My target was a lesbian in town from Phoenix. Good thing the pick-up wasn't for me.

I have to say this is the first time I aided a heterosexual(?) girl pick up a lesbian.

Bicycle Experiment - Update

I'm back on my bike. I've actually been back on my bike since Christmas. Can't let being hit by a truck and a little flying through the air deter me. However, I have been having a few challenges.

My ankle is still giving me a little bit of trouble, but it is getting better. And everytime I approach an intersection where a car is waiting to turn left in front of me, my heart jumps up into my throat.

However, the main problem? My ass is getting bigger.

Firmer. Stronger. More bubble-like. But still bigger.

How is this a problem, you might ask?

My underwear no longer fits. It's getting to the point that it's digging into me... um... elsewhere. Perhaps I'll just start going commando.

This time, I was ready

This Sunday started early. 8am. San Marcos for my scuba certification dives. Then it was over to C's house for a champagne brunch. I have no idea how many bottles of Veuve Clicqot we went through... but DAMN. I got there around 2pm, and by the time Sincerity picked me up at 6:30pm, the counter was littered with bottles. Then it was off to a dinner and drinks. Then off to the bars for even more drinking.

That's when it happened. About eight hours after I started drinking, I saw him. As I posted previously, it's not uncommon for him to be in town visiting family. Whether it was that I truly have let go of all those negative feelings, or perhaps it was the champagne, vodka, and tequila talking, but I walked right up to Kevin and said hello.

We had a nice, amiable chat. About what, I'm not really sure. But it seemed nice and friendly.

And then he kissed me.

I like to think of myself as a mature, emotionally stable person. Someone who uses logic and reason to move through a situation or a problem. Cuz you know... that's what mature, stable, rational grown-ups do.

(You know... you could at least wait till you finished reading till you started laughing)

Saturday night. I'm out with Kelicious having a few margaritas. Followed by a few more. And just for good measure, a couple more. We were having a great time, hanging out with C, JM, and a venerable cast of characters. I went off to the bathroom, and while standing in a line that seemed to last forever, who should walk up? Shot Guy.

"Oh Cary, I've missed you. How are you?" He snuggled up close to me. Put his arm around my waist.

"I have a boyfriend."

"Oh... When I saw you I was hoping..."

I feel a hand on my crotch.

"...um.. that we could..."

And then he tried to kiss me.

I tactfully declined. Tempted? Sure. Remember all those margaritas? But really... if memory serves me right, it wasn't *that* great.

And then I turned, left the bathroom. "Fuck, fuck fuck!!" went through my head. "Is this what the next several months are gonna be like?" I walked across the patio. Completely bypassed telling Kelicious what I was doing. Made my way through the bar. Got outside. Hailed a cab. And went home.

See. I told you. All the actions of a completely rational, sane, well-adjusted adult.

C's Birthday

Tonight was C's birthday. I met him out for some drinks after my evening class, and... damn... we had some fun times. Between Sweet Georgia Brown, Take On Me, and various other 80s dance songs, we had a fabulous time. Even while hanging out with a former barback that admitted to not having had sex since the 90s... (I mean really... who hasn't had sex since the 90s?!?!?)...

So I'm off to bed... curling up with my fabulous pillows...

My pussy.

I'm seriously considering getting a cat.

I *knew* there had to be a reason.

I. Feel. Vindicated.

Y'all know that I'm rather... um... sexual. I like to have sex. I'm very positive when it comes to others having sex as well. I've stated previously how much I idolize Sue Johanson, the wonderful Canadian grandmother that wants to help people have great sex.

And with great reason. Apparently sex has positive impacts upon your health.

Now I understand why I was told tonight that I looked so much younger than my 32 years.

What the hell?

This morning I had an experience. Something that I haven't experienced in, oh a good number of years.

I was brushing my teeth. My tongue, to be precise. And... um... I gagged slightly. What the hell is that about? I haven't experienced my gag reflex since... hell I can't remember.

Two weeks. Brit Boy has been gone two weeks and already I'm losing my skills.

The wiley-ness of it all.

Brit Boy is gone. After having spent the last two months together, he's off to follow summer around the globe. Having him go has been rather challenging for me, but I know he needs to do this. He needs to venture forth and explore. I just have to wait until August for his return.

But I must say this... I think the universe knows I'm having trouble with him being gone. Cuz it's having a bit of fun with me.

Within 36 hours of Brit Boy boarding a plane and leaving the country, I was contacted by Shot Guy (remember him?) and Buddha Boy (not sure if I've talking about him) with a desire to "reconnect." I guess even though our little liaisons were of short duration, there remains something that is drawing them back for a little bit more.

My bed didn't even get cold before temptation started knocking. Luckily, my front door has this great little invention installed on it. It's called a lock. And I'm using it to keep temptation out.

Sorry fellas... the only reconnecting I'm doing these days is with the several DVDs of The West Wing I got for Christmas.

Well that... and my right hand. *grin*

Photo credit: "Leaving Station" by Paul Prober

And then he's gone.

We spend a lifetime putting up walls. With every tremor, every earthquake, they grow taller, more impenetrable.

Experience teaches us to be careful of people and Trojan horses.

With time we come to depend on these walls, rely on their protection. Until one day a boy walks by, touches the stone. The walls come tumbling down.

And then... the boy that you become so accustomed to having around. The boy whose arms you fell asleep in every night. Is gone. He promises to return. You know he will. But it doesn't make walking into that empty house any more comfortable. It doesn't make falling asleep in that empty bed any easier.

Soon it's simply your own tears that comfort you as you cuddle the cold pillows and burrow under the covers.

DAMN!!!!

This being the beginning of a new year, the gyms are packed with people. People that are trying to turn over a new leaf fitness-wise. People that may not have any experience in the gym. And because they're trying out a lot of new things in the gym, they come to my classes.

This past weekend I had over 50 people in each of my classes. It was so crowded I couldn't move around class and help with adjustments and modifications like I normally do. So I was forced to actually take my own class.

And let me tell you, it's been a while since I've taken my own class.

The next day... I. Was. So. Sore.

Damn my class is hard.

It's like cool... and stuff...

S.C.U.B.A.

I learned from Jo on The Facts of Life that this means "self-contained underwater breathing apparatus." Last night I learned that breathing underwater is freakin cool. And a little scary.

I mean, we spent a good three hours learning the basics on diving, the equipment, and even how to put it together. But taking that first breath when you're completely submerged underwater... it's kinda freaky. I wasn't all bug-eyed as in "OMG I'm breathing underwater.... WTF!?!?!" But I definitely had a tiny fear that after I finished my exhale, I wouldn't have any air to breathe in. Not that it really mattered when I was sitting at the bottom of a 4' deep pool.

Did she not notice my track lighting?

I love my mom. No really, I do. I'm being serious. (Hey... I have to remind myself sometimes). Remember how my mom used to try to set me up with any female around my age that just talked to me? Well, after Latex and I broke up, things got better. You may recall that she seemed to finally understand that it was not members of the opposite sex that sent my heart beating rapidly.

Or so I thought.

As I'm sitting in the Kansas City airport chatting amiably with my mom about what a nice holiday visit we've had, we both started to watch the antics of some unruly seven year-old boy. He's running around, looking for attention, with mom, grandmother, and grandfather trying to get him to behave. This is when my mom just drops the bomb.

"You need to have children soon. You need to have them to complete your life."

I try to tell her that I'm pretty ambivalent about having children, and that I really don't need to have children to complete my life. I then go on this thing about "if" I decide that I'd like children, I'd want to have a partner, and I'm just not at that stage with anyone right now. The relationships I've had with the Marks, Ricks, and Steves in my life just really didn't go the "lets start a family" route.

"Well, Cary, you never know. You could be waiting for the right Judy to come along in your life."

Really? Really.

Really??