I've been so focused on school, life, and my music blogs that I'd kind of neglected/forgotten this place as a form of therapeutic spewing. A friend was visiting for the holidays and gave me a book that focused on writing something every day, regardless of how mundane or trivial. It made me realize how much I miss letting my fingers and mind wander instead of focusing my writing output on school, Tumblr, or Facebook. We'll see...

Just call me entitled asshole...

If I never hear the term "first world problem" again, it will be too soon. I get it: My husband spent 2 months in the hospital and almost died, hence he isn't allowed to work and is getting jacked around by his disability. I was laid off, am getting fucked over by unemployment, and bust my ass job hunting and going to school full time. I can't sleep at night because I am starting to worry about how we are going to pay bills and whether we may have to move into my parent's basement. So, I get it...it's not nearly as bad as a child starving in Africa or not being able to get clean drinking water. It still really, really fucking sucks and is wreaking havoc on me. I'm a pussy.

My Cock Is a Weapon of Mass Destruction...

i love when people say that "homosex is a threat to national security"…People have always said I was a bit to fixated on my dick, but I had NO idea that my dick was that important.

Queer...

Watching one man shows from Charles Nelson Reilly and Leslie Jordan make me so proud. I don't care how butch or queeny that you are, or how young or old you are.. if you are ignorant enough to think that we should be ashamed of the flamers and drag queens, the bears and dykes, the trannies and leatherfolk, the punks and the gender fuckers...the outcasts are the ones that fought this fight from the beginning...if you think that only clean cut gays that "behave" should represent us...you might want to reconsider...

Wheat Fields and Nose Rings...

Nostalgia can be a powerful thing. Sad, pathetic, dangerous...but sometimes a beautiful catalyst. I am so tied to my senses when it comes to remembering. There are so many smells, tastes, and especially sounds that trigger something in my head that remind me of being 5, 10, 16, 22...Being such a music fanatic, songs, more than anything hold the biggest power over my memory and mindset. Some songs can trigger a smile, a sigh, and a tear all in a few minutes. While I usually break out stuff from my past when I want that feeling, sometimes I luck out and something that I have never heard before sparks the same response. Tonight I listened to a band called Be Forest that did exactly that. They took me back to being an outcast, sexually confused, too smart for my own good freak. There was a moment in my early-mid teens when I realized that not only was I a weirdo, but that I fully fucking embraced that epiphany. Maybe it was taking a paint pen and dying my hair blue in 6th grade...or making out with Cindy Lucas to the smell of patchouli and Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me on the stereo. It could have been driving across Lawrence, KS at the age of 17 in a car full of fellow freaks listening to "How Soon Is Now?" or making love to my first boyfriend at 19 while listening to some 4AD album. All, I know is how fucking powerful knowing that I didn't give a shit about being popular or fitting in, and that I wouldn't trade being "weird" for anything in the world made me feel. I'm now 37 years old now and I'm sure many people think that I'm too old for my music obsession, or the tattoo on the back of my head, or the hunk of steel in my septum...The truth is that not only is it not something that I really consider...I also don't care. Despite my self esteem issues, my social anxiety, or my OCD...I'm pretty fucking happy with the man that I am right now. I may not have followed the path that I intended and it may not always be easy, but you know what...the weird punk/goth dork that lives inside the hard working, heart-on-my-sleeve man loves that a scent, a book, a film, an album, and a band can make him feel that all over again...That feeling pushes me to never just accept, but to always push and love where I'm headed...

Another thrilling Saturday night...

I really need to update this and stay more on it. SO much has changed in my life in the last couple of months. For another day...I am contemplating leaving this as my personal blog (and hopefully making it far more interesting) and doing an entirely separate music blog...

I've been thinking tonight...

The Westboro Baptist Church are kind of like AIDS...most people didn't give a shit until it started affecting straight people...

I'm only human...

So, from my random, sporadic postings on here and elsewhere, it isn't much of a secret that it's been a chaotic few months for me. Between the break up with Michael and him moving out, to job hunting, getting myself back into school, and some big financial issues, it's been a bitch and a half. While I initially had a pretty rough go of things right after Michael left, I've been shocked and kind of proud at how I've adapted and completely changed not only how I cope with things, but also my whole attitude and outlook. By no means am I claiming to be perfect or that I don't still have my issues, but I have had this odd sense of calm come over me. This realization that things are the way that they are and no amount of emotional breakdown is going to change that. Wallowing doesn't solve a damned thing and being proactive instead of reactive is such a nicer way to go about it. Where I'd once find myself exploding about something, I know give it some time to sink in and for me to mull it over. Often, I find that it wasn't nearly the big deal that I initially thought it was or, I was way off base to begin with. Cutting off my nose to spite my face never worked in the past. It only took me until the age of 37 to realize that. Finding that balance between being rational and emotional is very freeing. Through all of this, I have found a lot more confidence, security, and peace with myself. Not to be all Dr. Phil about it, but there is something to be said about self acceptance. It's fucking nice...

The one issue that I have been having a bit of trouble with lately, however, is loneliness. While I, by no means, think I'm incomplete without a man in my life. God knows, I have spent the better very large portions of my life alone, even when I have been in some of my previous relationships. It isn't something that brings me down or holds me back, but it does tug at me. Especially at night. I have offers from friends to do things, but my current financial situation doesn't rationally leave me room for going out and spending money. I crave companionship, but I also really miss intimacy. Sex is great and I'm sure I could log onto Craigslist or Bear411, or sign up on one of those hook up sites like Adam4Adam or Manhunt, right now and get laid in no time. That's not what I'm talking about. While I do miss the intensity of sex with someone that knows your body and what you like, what I'm having more trouble with is the little stuff. The kissing, touches, hand holding, cuddling, holding...the mushy intimate shit. Again, I'm sure that I could open up a website and find that stuff as well. Hell, I have offers for cuddling multiple times a night. I just have a massive problem doing that with someone that I don't have some kind of connection with. It's not a prudish, romantic comedy, bullshit Hallmark thing. It's just the design of Chad. I've had some pretty piggish sexual encounters with men whose names I didn't even care about, but I just can't bring myself to curl up in bed with a guy that I don't have something with. This is sadly, kind of the issue that keeps me up at night. While my head is filled with plenty of thoughts about resumes, financial aid papers, and bills, it's the feel of a furry belly against your back, breath on your neck, and a hand rubbing the hair on your chest that I'm a bit more consumed with. It's absolutely not holding me back, putting my life on hold, nor keeping me up teary eyed all night, but I'm man enough to admit that there is a small point every night where I feel like something is missing.

THE VEGGIE TALES CAUSE THOUGHTS OF SUICIDE:

This a blog I wrote on Livejournal 5 years ago tomorrow. Thought it might deserve a fresh viewing...

 
I cannot wait for this week to end...it's the last week before winter break, so, of course, it's an eternity...

Today was the last day of SafeBase (the afterschool program) until mid January. In one of the classes that I help with, the teacher decided we should just have a movie/popcorn party. Hunky Dory, except for one thing...she chose the movie... Now, she's a very sweet lady (she even brought me chocolate for Xmess), BUT she's also a Christian. Hence, the movie...A VEGGIETALES CHRISTMAS...are you familiar with these creepy little fuckers?? They are animated CHRISTIAN vegetable kid's movies. Ignoring the religious thing for a moment, they are hideously ugly...like not even remotely cutesy kiddie snugglebums...they are fucking bugeyed, limbless vegetables with faces...it's like watching quad amputees hop around a winter wonderland. The carrots look like vienna sausages and I won't even start on the cucumbers...there was one BLATANTLY racist vegetable on there...He was hispanic, and of course, worked for the bad guy. I couldn't even guess what the fuck kind of veggie he was supposed to be, but with his totally stereotypical accent (I WEEEL HEP YOU MEESTA), I am surprised that he wasn't a head of lettuce (I guess they figured he wouldn't be able to pick himself).

The whole theme of this animated abortion was that the veggie kids, or what the fuck ever they are called, had forgotten the true meaning of Christmas, due to the bad toy factory owner's advertisements on television encouraging materialism. A renegade toy wakes up in the factory and figures that there HAS to be more to Christmas than whining for more toys, so he ventures out to discover the meaning of it all. This goodie two shoes toy was so fucking irritating that I kept praying for the bratty kid from TOY STORY to come along and shove a M80 up his ass... Of course he discovers it from some wise old brocoli or something and he, with his new salad fixing friends, feel the need to spread the word (of course, we know how Christians LOVE to gossip). Off they are to spread the story of baby Jesus...who unfortunately never surfaced, as I was dying to see what he would be portrayed as...I was tossing back and forth between a brussell sprout and an eggplant with a breadstick crucifix and an onion halo...

Anyway, it was all warm and sweet and holy and all that shit, I suppose. I just spent the whole half an hour scanning the room for something to impale myself on. Elementary school chair legs NEVER looked so promising...Oh yeah, and kid feet stink to high heaven...like old cheese and moldy ass...just because we are watching a movie doesn't make it your living room children...


So, there is your warm hearted holiday story...now fuck off and get me a beer...

Happy birthday...

It's my 37th birthday. I spent the day with my family, which was wonderful. I'm lucky to have them in my life. I spent the weekend with Kendra and I'm not sure what I would have done without her here. She headed home about 30 minutes ago. Her David needs her and I can't be selfish. I'm sitting here in the silence. I don't care how pathetic or emo this makes me, but I just want to know why I can't stop hurting. I don't know that I have ever felt this alone and sad. I SO don't want to be "that guy", but my heart is absolutely fucking broken. I try so hard to soldier on. I job hunt, I am getting things going for school, and I go about my days, I try so hard not to show it to you...but it is hard. I hate that I'm not as strong as you...I hate that I'm not as controlled as you...I hate that I feel so intense and loud...Time is making things harder. I have never loved like this before and that it is out of my life is excruciating. I know the reasons. I know people have to be healed and whole before our paths converge again...I can rationalize all of this. I get it...What I can't get is how much this fucking hurts. As fucking Lifetime movie cliche as this hole in my life is. This sick to my stomach, ache that I feel for most of the hours that I'm not lucky enough to be asleep.I don't want to be this way. I am going on with life. I am functioning. I'm not wallowing...but I'm also not healed. I'm not ready for this to be life. For six fucking years I have seen a path of up and down and sideways and laughing and hurt and lust and tenderness...I saw titanium on my finger and a Cure song in my head. Life may go on. Things may change. I'm not sure where that path is headed now. Now, I'm not sure what I see...I just know what I feel...

The Livejournal logo still makes my heart ache...

It is interesting to me, thinking this evening, that I spent the last 4 years, feeling more loved than I ever have in my adult life, and yet, the last two weeks feeling more lonely and isolated than I think I could possibly feel...

December...

I'll finally try to sleep...the alcohol thinning of my blood, a last gasp attempt at being numb...the moving furniture and the stink of cheap beer, the shallow laugh track and remote controlled fingers, all a feeble distraction from what has led up to this...the defining moment...the time I knew I should dread, but still convinced myself was tolerable. Do you know that I put them on to drown out the silence? Do you somehow feel it? The suede banshees attempting to cure me of the lies I spent the whole night telling myself...there is something in that silence that I don't want to hear. Something that I pray that you hear too...something in that last beating picture of you that I cling to, as I stare at the ceiling, and pretend to understand.

A drowning man takes down those nearest.

I honestly don’t care how typically gay it may make me sound, but Who’s Afraid Of Virginia Woolf? is, without a doubt, one of the most brilliantly written and acted films that I have ever seen. I am always in utter awe of how hideously funny, yet emotionally eviscerating the dialogue is. It’s hilarious to me that every time I watch this classic film starring Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor, I approach it with the apprehension and emotional preparedness one usually reserves for some ridiculously violent European horror film. Watching the downward spiral of an evening spent with two people that love each other enough to absolutely fucking despise each other has always left me feeling stunned, squirming, and emotionally drained. To this day, I have never seen a film that manages to balance hilarious cocktail party quotes/insults with some of the most brutal commentary on human behavior, insecurity, and dysfunction that I have ever witnessed. I am very certain that this was the wrong film for me to watch tonight, of all nights, but I was drawn to , nonetheless….

why do my eyes constantly go to what is missing?

Much less emotional today. We finally talked again this morning and things aren't quite as grim as they seemed. He's viewing this more as a separation than a break up, and foresees us getting back together in the near future as long as some things change on both ends. There are things that need to be worked on. We've both kind of lost ourselves this last year. I completely lost focus after being laid off and kind of gave up. I'm now actively job hunting again and I've applied to start school in January. Despite being heartsick about this separation, I also feel good about actually attempting to put myself back on track. We both think that with some work on ourselves, that we'll be back to us in no time. We'll see. I'm trying to stay optimistic and focused. It's still incredibly tough and I'm heart broken. I'd give anything for him to change his mind and decide we can do this together, but I also am starting to understand and see that this isn't final and in the long run may absolutely work out for the better...keep your fingers crossed.

Becoming something that you don't want to be...

I'm trying to deal...and I'm not doing a very good job of it...something I, in all honesty, was silly enough to never imagine happening did. I am, apparently, now single...This morning Michael told me that he was leaving me. I spent the whole day, I'm sad to admit, bawling my eyes out in complete agony. We talked tonight when he got home and he says that he loves me and that it isn't our relationship, but that he is miserable and not himself and he needs some time alone to get back to being who he is. He swears that we'll be back together at some point. I'm not so sure. I have no doubt that he loves me, but I think that once he gets some time away, with no one to answer to, he'll want to stay that way. We sat there tonight, talking, me crying my guts out...he had such a look of pain in his eyes that I can't help but get that he's heartbroken about this. I just don't see how our obvious love for each other, the piles of shit we've gone through to be together, and our history don't equal figuring out a way to make this work. Maybe it's my parents' marriage of 39 years and seeing all the shit they have dealt with and gone through, that makes me ridiculous enough to think that love and the desire to be together is enough...All I know is that, at the risk of sounding like some fucking Lifetime movie, I now know what it feels like for a heart to break. I've been in long term relationships before, including one that lasted 8 years. The break ups were tough and sad, but there was this odd sense of relief or knowing that the break up made sense in those. There is no sense to me in this one. I don't care how pathetic it may make me sound, this break up makes NO sense to me and I am a fucking stupid mess over it. All I want is to put my big arms around him, my hand on his hairy belly, my lips on the back of his neck and for him to say "I can't do this...you're my lil bubba...let's figure out a way to work through everything...I love you too much to let this go..."

Unfortunately...that's not going to happen anytime soon...

we're inviting you anyways ...

I'm not sure how well I can put all of this into words. A lot of people think I'm crazy or immature because of my deep, borderline obsessiveness with the music that I love. From the thousands of cds I own, to the hundreds of bands that I have seen in concert, my words, my writing, my home, and frequently my mind are all a testament to a deep seeded love that goes back to my very early youth. My mother jokes that this is all her fault for placing headphones on her pregnant belly.

While my taste has continually evolved over the course of almost 37 years, I have never turned my back on anything I love. Whether it is trendy to love, utter cheese, or something random and obscure, I've never quite grasped the concept of "guilty pleasures". If I love something, I love it, whether it's Kurt Weill, Motley Crue, David Bowie, Boy George, Minor Threat, or Pink.

Although I'm always stumbling onto music that I fall in love with, it's extremely rare to come across an artist that truly gets to the core. That "goose bumps, tears in the eyes, shit eating grin" moment of joy I get when a song or musician kicks me in the gut. I was familiar with The Cure from their videos on 120 Minutes in the late 80's. If you were a little adventurous and weird, they were the go to band during that time. However, it wasn't until I heard DISINTEGRATION that I was absolutely overtaken by an album. It was such a profound moment for me and one that still stands to this day. After 21 years, 2 cassettes, 2 cds, vinyl, reissues, etc, it is still an album that I get lost in. I've seen them 3 times and it's always been such a moment for me. My fiance actually proposed to me during their show the last time I saw them.

I was completely certain that no other band or artist could affect me in that way, to that degree. Sure, the music of The Smiths, Joy Division, Tom Waits, Nina Simone, etc all have a special kind of hold and magic on me, but nothing quite touched that feeling that The Cure gave me.

In the early 2000's, I heard stories about this "weird" band from Boston who were taking Weimer Republic ideas of art and performance and melding it with a do it yourself, we're all a part of it, punk spirit. Being a huge fan of the free spirited, sexually liberated, art vs. camp spirit of cabaret, as well as just a big dorky goth/punk goof, it was something I knew I had to check out. While "Coin Operated Boy" was a creepy/cute little ditty, I put it aside and would break them out from time to time. It took the release of their second studio album, YES, VIRGINIA, for me to really take stock of what they were doing. I began to actually listen. Underneath this truly original melding of influences were two amazing musicians writing some of the most heart wrenchingly clever songs that I had ever heard. Beyond giving Kurt Weill a postmodern spin, these songs spoke to the outcast, weirdo fuck ups. The were love songs for the disenfranchised that while dark, and sometimes very angry, had a non sentimental glimmer of hope. Things may be shit, love is often nothing more than a rapidly drying wet spot on an old mattress, and the world may not fucking understand, but there are other fuck ups who know. There is music, and art, and books, and film, and those brief, often rare moments in life that make being a freak the most beautiful thing in the world.

Last night, that moment lasted two and a half hours. Although, I had seen them a few years ago, last night's performance was like nothing else. After a 4 hour drive from Kansas City to St. Louis, 5 to the car, we were all amped up and excited, but a bit worn out from the drive. From the moment they walked on stage until the final fade of their encore, this was truly one of "those" moments. It's rare to see a band so tight and on, while still being casual enough to carry on conversations with the audience, take requests, and joke around. Their shows are less like "concerts" and more like an amazing night with friends. At the risk of sounding like hippie bullshit, the sense of community and oneness in the crowd and with Amanda and Brian is unlike anything that I have ever experienced at the hundreds of concerts and shows that I have been to. From dark ballads to anthems, from intense walls of sound to playful covers, there was no moment that I wasn't completely involved. In a night full of friends, jokes, incredible music, and emotion, there was one, however, that truly outshines them all. The opening strains of "Sing" gives me goosebumps just sitting in my living room. Coming full circle from their opening cover of T. Rex's similiar in spirit "Cosmic Dancer", hearing a theater full of people singing their guts out to "Sing" and its lyrics about the transcendent power of music, singing regardless of whether anyone thinks you can, and that losing yourself in something that you love, no matter how shitty the world is around you, was, for lack of a non sentimental word, absolutely fucking magic. I stood there, goosebumps, tears in my eyes as one of those "motherfuckers" singing my guts out, today, as well as someday.


Last night I felt like a kid again. Ignoring things like the 4 hour drive back home, my unemployment, money, my weight, being cool enough, that I can't marry the man I love, my frustrations. Losing myself completely and totally in a moment. Losing myself in the music that I love. This may not be profound, or deep. It may even come across silly to a lot of people. I don't care. This is my love letter and my thank you note to my amazing fiance, Michael, my best friend Kendra, and my new friends Cynder and Sam for being there with me, as well as to Amanda and Brian for continuing to stir up that passion and joy inside of me. I am turning 37 next month, but last night, I was 16 years old and full of hope, love, and optimism. Thank you...

SING:

there is this thing that's like touching except you don't touch
back in the day it just went without saying at all
all the world's history gradually dying of shock
there is this thing that's like talking except you don't talk
you sing
you sing

sing for the bartender sing for the janitor sing
sing for the cameras sing for the animals sing
sing for the children shooting the children sing
sing for the teachers who told you that you couldn't sing
just sing

there is this thing keeping everyone's lungs and lips locked
it is called fear and it's seeing a great renaissance
after the show you can not sing wherever you want
but for now let's just pretend we're all gonna get bombed
so sing

sing 'cause it's obvious sing for the astronauts sing
sing for the president sing for the terrorists sing
sing for the soccer team sing for the janjaweed sing
sing for the kid with the phone who refuses to sing
just sing

life is no cabaret
we don't care what you say
we're inviting you anyways
you motherfuckers you'll sing someday...

Human Centipede...The real shit sucking was that this waste of time got made...

Yet again, why I should not listen to hype. The only thing shocking about this was that I actually sat through it all and that people actually thought this was shocking. What an idiotic waste of time. The premise may have been disturbing, but the actual film wasn't. The doctor was a sad Udo Kier wannabe, the film plodded along until the premise came to fruition as the creative writing project of some antisocial 15 year old in study hall. The whole poo in mouth thing was just asinine and done for shock value. Trust me, while it is SO not my thing, I have seen FAR worse in some underground German fetish films. Why is it that I'm constantly disappointed and annoyed by films that I'm told are so disturbing and intense? This was just fucking stupid...

I was actually lucky enough to see this in the theater when it was a part of the Boy’s Life 2 filmfest. I sat in the theater in Royal Oak, Michigan in tears because it was the most dead on portrayal of being an outcast, queer kid that I had ever seen. I love that he didn't realize that a damned thing was wrong with him or how he felt until he was made to. That is what is wrong with this world. There isn't anything wrong...we're just told that there is supposed to be...

It was wonderful to see it win the Oscar, spur The Trevor Project, and 16 years later, still be an amazing force in the gay community. We just watched it again, and it still manages to make me laugh out loud, smile, and cry like a baby. However, I hope someday, we won’t need the Trevor Project anymore because queer youth will realize how amazing and wonderful that they are, regardless of the small minded ignorant bigots in this world.

It is one of my biggest goals in life, and why I am such a loud mouth queer...to make those outcast, gay or straight, male or female, tranny or bi, realize that there is not a damned thing wrong with them. It won't always be easy. It may be hell. The people in your life may turn their backs on you. However, there are people out there that will love you. People who will and do appreciate all the things that make you think that you are weird, or wrong, or that make the small minded idiots take their own ignorance and insecurities out on you. It takes balls to be a fairy. It may not always be an easy life, but as someone who grew up in small town Kansas, competing in rodeo, a 4H member, and a big burly punk guy who has been out for half of his life, I didn't always have it easy, but I tucked in and realized that being different and queer was a wonderful thing. It was part of what made me who I was and who I am. It's something that I love about myself and I wouldn't change it for anything. Despite how tough it can be at times, I wouldn't give up being gay even if it was an option. I promise that there is a better world out there. Just keep fighting...

6 AM KNOWS MY SECRETS...

It is 6 AM...I am still pretty much wide awake, have been up for 22 hours, and I am sitting here reading the Huffington Post and National Geographic, playing Fugazi, and listening to my mister and Ella snore...I am a happy, insomniac geek...just hope I don't waste our day off together finally falling asleep...


I wish I could use this time to actually, truly write...or work on the podcast that I keep talking about, as I should have used my last few months of unemployment.

I have such aspirations and goals...ones that I TRULY mean and intend on, at the very least, working on. It just never seems to completely surface. Instead, I sit in front of my computer looking for music, fucking around on Facebook, reading a book, or turned around, watching Netflix Instant Watch...things that I truly enjoy, but not a damned thing that leads to actually accomplishing the goals that I really do want to do...It, sadly, seems to take some fucked formula of lack of sleep times almost too much alcohol to get me to actually pound something out on my keyboard that is more than 3 sentences.

My goals for the ridiculously rapidly approaching new year: Maybe actually doing the things that I say I intend to do throughout the year and sort of do...37 is around the corner and while I'm not unhappy, I'm nowhere near where I should, but seem to hold myself back from, finally be...Maybe this time...