Happy Halloween!

I ended up kind of getting in the spirit and wearing my kilt to work today. It is more comfortable than my khakis. Sadly, I can't go regimental at work. If there was a wardrobe malfunction, everyone would freak out. Usually, however, when someone asks me what I wear under my kilt, I say "Boots and socks." What you are supposed to say is "You have to find that out for yourself." That lasted about 28 seconds at the first bear party where I wore the kilt. They had it lifted up before I got to the buffet.

To those of you wondering, no, I cannot authentically wear a kilt. I can wear Campbell plaid, (through marriage only), but Campbell plaid is not that attractive. I wear Dress Stewart plaid, which, along with Black Watch Plaid, are the two "open" plaids that anyone can wear, although presumably you are supposed to be Scottish. Still no Scottish blood found in the family tree, although I found out this year there is some Irish blood. (Yeah, look at my coloring and act surprised.) So we're moving closer. For truth's sake though, I actually just enjoy wearing a kilt. It's comfortable, and there's nothing like walking through a room full of people at a party with your tackle swinging free WooHOO! Plus my legs are really my best feature, I think, and I like showing them off . Hey, I may be a vain ho, but at least I'm an honest vain ho.

One of the times I wore it to a party, there was a real Scot there. I avoided him most of the party, because some Scots are offended if you just adopt their native costume because the look appeals to you. I was really dreading questions about my clan. Towards the end of the party, just as I was starting to breathe more easily, he walked up behind me, and said "Well, you've got the legs for it." He was very nice about the whole thing, and stopped and talked to me for a while. Straight as a stick of course, dammit, although he had GREAT shoes, since he really was from there. He also had the brogue, and between that, and gorgeous wavy dark hair, and those snapping black eyes, he had the hormones beating their pulse of animal lust in my ears. I had a really time following what he was saying. So I just stood there nodding and smiling, and I'm sure looking like a complete git. But I got through it.

There is definitely something about wearing a kilt that gets you a lot of attention. On the way to a Christmas party one year, a clerk at Walgreen's practically propositioned my right there in the store. Word to you straight guys out there - women love kilts. I almost always get hit on by women when I'm wearing mine, for some reason.

Another thing women seem to find fascinating is a pocket watch. I used to carry one all the time, because I dislike having things around my wrist. It has been for the most part replaced by my phone at this point, but a pocket watch does seem to draw women. It's like an ice-breaker they feel comfortable with, for some reason, asking to see y0ur watch. I was in an elevator in Vegas one time, dressed up because I was at a company function. A woman got on and said "Hey, I wanna see what's in your pocket." As I explained, she came up to me and said "I'm gonna pull your chain." She then pulled the watch out of my pocket, and proceeded to Ooh and Aah over it - "It's soooo pretty!". This woman was not visibly drunk, nor did she appear to be a call girl. That was the most overt thing about the watch, but I have had plenty of women ask me about it, back when I carried one. So if there are any straight guys out there reading this, take note.

I think you get to a certain age where you are just suddenly "husband material". It was odd for me when it started happening. Lately I have had more women than usual hit on me, and it has taken a bit of getting used to. When I was younger, it always happened in the laundromat, unfortunately. It was always some woman with more children than teeth going "Hey, didn't we go to high school together?" I figured out, eventually, that women know when a man is in the laundromat, alone, doing his laundry, he has no one else in the world to do it. I was SO glad when I bought my house and didn't have to go any more. Ugh. I really hated it, and not just because of the women hitting on me either. It was depressing.

Weird that I ended up talking about women making passes at me LOL

***

I made my butternut squash soup last night, and although it was OK, it wasn't really a show-stopper, so I'm not going to post the recipe. The search continues. I may make this one again, because I may have used too much veggie "chicken" flavored broth in it. In some things it works very well, but winter squash has a delicate flavor, and I may have overpowered it. Next time I will try using just bouillon and see how it comes out.

I was trying to get my chores out of the way so I could answer the door tonight. I love seeing the little kids in their Halloween costumes. Sadly, I don't get nearly as many as I used to. It makes me sad that people don't trust each other enough to go trick-or-treating any more. When I was a kid, we went all over the place. It was so much fun. I had this Casper the Ghost costume that I LOVED. I wanted to wear it all the time. I'm sure the parties and stuff are nice, but there's nothing like really being outside, running around in the dark, from lighted porch to lighted porch, and being just a bit scared, and never knowing exactly what was behind the next door. I'm sorry that most kids today don't get to experience that. So I always give out candy to the ones that do.

In my neighborhood, I mostly get two types of trick-or-treaters:

1) Fat redneck women with babies and bags, obviously going around to show off the baby and get free candy. The babies are usually at least in costume, but it always feels like a gyp to me. The child obviously gets nothing out of this, and she is obviously going to eat the candy herself. I feel a rant coming on about the proper care and handling of children, coming soon to a blog near you....

2) Teenagers out to score free candy. Some of these are as big as I am, and mostly not even wearing a costume. They're just going door to door carrying a sack. Also obviously just out for free candy. I still give it to them, since I don't want the house or the car egged. But it pisses me off, and honestly, I am a bit scared to open the door to some of them. That's why I always have the good candy too. Chocolate. No little boxes of raisins or hard candies for me.

But the cuties, the few who are out for the right reasons, at the right age, are a joy. It makes me happy to hear their little "thank you"s from behind their little masks. So I leave the porch light on. Because I'd like to be a part (at least a little part) of some child's happy memories.

Favorite trick-or-treat stories:

I had a good friend whose parents had never taken her trick-or-treating. She had never worn a Halloween costume. She was in her thirties. When I heard about that, it upset me. At the time, I lived in an old house that was cut up into apartments. I lived next door to some good friends, and we were all really into Halloween. The house was old and kind of scary-looking anyway, and we had the whole front of it decorated, complete with black lights, cobwebs, and scary sound effects. People came from all over to see the house and let the kids get candy. It was quite a production. When I told my friends about this woman's past, they just took her into their apartment. In about 30 minutes she was in a full witch's costume, from hat to cape to makeup. The rule was that if you were giving out candy, you had to be in costume. She had the time of her life. We gave candy to the little kids, and scared the big ones, and gave them candy too. Everyone had a blast, but she told me later it was the best Halloween she ever had. Still makes me tear up when I think about it. I'm such a softie.

One year, I was at a friend's house visiting, and catching the door for her while she got ready. This adorable little witch was at the door. She was so cute, I just held the bowl down to her, and said "You pick out what you want, honey." With a beautiful smile at me, she waved her hand carefully through the candy bowl. After she left, I realized she had taken every single peanut butter cup!

Another year, when we all still lived at the old house, a young boy knocked on the door of the apartment. This was the year that Dan Quayle had flubbed up so badly with his famous spelling error (potatoe). The boy was obviously not thrilled with his costume. He was wearing a little Sunday suit, and carrying a briefcase. After I opened the door, he took an index card out of the jacket pocket, examined it carefully, and said "Oh. That's how you spell it." Printed on the card was the word POTATO. He got lots of candy from me, and from my friends next door too. He may not have been really happy about wearing a suit trick-or-treating, but I bet he raked in some candy that night!

Well busy for month end, both at work and at home. Gearing up for month end at work.

Got home and roasted some baby summer squash to eat on this week. Never get enough veggies. Just take baby yellow squash (3-5" squash) and stem them, then split them lengthwise. Brush with healthy oil, I used grape seed last night. Then salt and pepper, and throw under a broiler. Leave them until they brown on top, then turn off the oven and leave them until the oven cools. The residual heat from the oven will cook them through. Perfectly done, and sweet as candy. The sugar in the baby squash caramelizes under the broiler. They are really good that way.

Did a bit of laundry.

My copy of the movie "Hocus Pocus" came yesterday - hooray! I know it's a stupid movie, but I like to watch it at Halloween. I have some friends who are witches. They got a big kick out of it, and used to quote from it and make fun of it all the time, so it kind of reminds me of them. Plus Bette Midler chewing up the scenery - what's not to like?

I've been watching a lot of movies lately, with friends and stuff. Guess it's part of the Fall nesting season.


***

Rant for the day - Internet profile etiquette - things I just don't understand. It's time to retire these online cliches folks:

- Stuffed Bears - now I understand that many of us are bears. But we're also grown men. I have SUCH a pet peeve about guys who post cheesecake photos of themselves posed with a child's toy demurely covering their crotch. This is neither witty nor ironic if your IQ is larger than your waist size. Who is this supposed to turn on? Catholic priests? If you really don't want to show all your business, please - just put on a flattering pair of underwear. Likewise, I am officially setting the number for the limit of stuffed bears in your house to five if you are over the age of 12. Mounds of them on your bed are just creepy. So unless you have had more than five relatives leave you antique Steiffs, the stuffed bears should be kept to a minimum.

- The phrase "I won't bite...unless you want me to!" - (usually followed with a tee-hee or LOL). This was last witty somewhere around the early cretaceous period. You're online. Trust me, if he wants you to bite him, he will tell you. You'll be far more likely to have more chat if you show some originality and wit, and are able to hold a conversation. Very few guys in chat rooms or chat sites are so timid that they won't send an IM if they really want to do so.

- State, city: Planet Earth - A serial killer cannot track you down with only the city and state you live in. Trust me. I live in SC. Even in this little bitty state, it takes a while to look through everyone here. If you really live in Mayberry, and there are only 5 people there, at least give the STATE. Those who might want to meet you some day would like to have some idea where you are before investing loads of time chatting with you. If you are so paranoid or so deep in the closet that you can't list the state you live in, you aren't ready for a relationship, and should really be using that online time in therapy.

- About yourself: (blank) - When I see this on a picture website, I automatically think that the guy thinks he is so hot that a picture should be all he needs to post. Apparently he is so so gorgeous, so irresistible, that without knowing anything we must barrage him with emails, send flowers (where?), point our nipples to the wind and fly to his email to tell him of our unending lust for him. On a non-picture profile (or Yahoo!, home of the empty profile) I suspect that this man is so boring, so dull, so Walter-Mitty-esque that he just can't find a single thing to say about himself. Once again, seek help. EVERYONE has something they can write on their profile. Anything is better than nothing. Wax eloquent about your love for celery, talk about your cat, or how you love to fart in the shower. I'm telling you, anything is better than telling the world you are so boring that you have not one word you can write about yourself. I honestly cannot imagine anyone being given an unlimited, uncensored space to write anything they want and having NO voice, nothing they want to say? Is this possible?


- Hello, meet my wiener - You post only one picture, and it's of your penis. When I see this, I automatically assume that is the most attractive part of your body. Either that or you are so far back in the closet you have to spelunk through the long underwear to make it to the office every day. Seriously, does anyone ever look at that one penis pic and go "Eureka!! That's the one for me! I have found my perfect man - the search is OVER!" Not bloody likely. Now I have no problem with being happy with your dick. This world would be a much nicer place, and we would all be much more stable and less touchy if more guys were secure with their lil' fella. Think of the natural resources we would save on unnecessary big guns, superfluous big knives, and huge tires for ridiculous trucks alone. But really, is this the BEST thing about yourself? Seriously, to most of you, I'd love to take a look at your wiener at some point, some of you almost immediately, but that's not the only part of your body I want to see. And I'd like to see your face first. Thanks.

- The vintage picture - You've all met him. The guy who posts a picture at least 15 years out of date. The guy who tells you he was wearing spats and a high collar for a costume party. The guy who sends you the picture of himself BEFORE he inherited the Little Debbie franchise. What is the deal? We all have pictures of ourselves at our best that we like. We all wish we still looked that way. But at some point you have to look in the mirror and realize you don't. It's dishonest to pass that image of yourself off as your current self, even if you still feel the same inside. Do you think people won't notice that extra 50 pounds? Do you think that they won't notice that you had lunch with Archduke Ferdinand before he was shot? Do you think that they just won't care what you look like once they get there? And why would you want to be with someone who just doesn't care? I think that the hope is that, after having talked to you online, they will know the you inside and the older fatter outside won't matter. Well that would be nice, but it doesn't work that way folks. And what kind of relationship are you going to start if you begin with a lie? When you get right down to it, that's what it is. You are lying to the person you are hoping will be interested in you. You are setting yourself up to fail, and you are setting up the person you are meeting to be disappointed. Why would you want to set up a dynamic where the people you meet in real life are disappointed? So get a current picture, get honest, and meet people who are truly interested in you as you are, not as you were.

- They one whose whole message LOOKS LIKE THIS - ADVERTISING TO THE WORLD THAT THEY CANT TYPE - OK if you can find the space key, you can find the shift key. There are TWO of them for heaven's sake! Youwouldn'ttypewithnospaceswouldyou,thatwouldbehardtoread. Why would you not use the shift key and YELL at everyone all the time? This is like nails on a chalkboard, or a crying baby in a restaurant. If you're hunting and pecking anyway, it's not any harder, or much slower, to use the shift key. You have two index fingers.

- Facile "philosophy" - If your personal motto can be summed up by a trucker's hat, a bumper sticker, a t-shirt at a local flea market, or in the lyrics of a country/western song, just get a tattoo. Get a tattoo in a place that only those who truly need to see it will be reading it. Here's a good rule of thumb. By the time a saying makes it on to a garment with any percentage of polyester that can be purchased at the same time you buy jerky, it is already trite. At best.

Well it ended up being a pretty nice weekend, during which I got nothing done.

Saturday night I ended up going to a general auction with my friends Miss Kat and Dana, along with Dana's mother Helen. We had a good time. It was cool to see the stuff being auctioned (some of it was truly awful), as well as the people who bought it. It was a real cross-section of people, and I just love to people-watch. Miss Kat picked up an admirer at this thing, a 20-something redneck boy who was just totally smitten. It was pretty funny. Especially since Dana was listening to every word he said, not thrilled, but totally under his radar. He assumed I was with Miss Kat, since I was the guy, and kept telling me how lucky I was to be there with such a pretty lady. I got a big kick out of it. Dana was less thrilled, but put up with it well, since she knew Miss Kat had no interest in the guy. I didn't buy anything, mainly because I got my "free trial" BJ's membership in the mail last week, and I have been buying a bunch of stuff there while it lasts. I'm not paying them $45 to shop there, but they do have some good stuff. The vitamins are particularly good, although they still have E in them, which you aren't supposed to take any more, but at least there is no iron. Anyway, since I had spent a ton of money there, and because Christmas is coming, I wasn't feeling exactly flush. I was sorely tempted by a nice Pannini maker, but decided I really don't need more panninis in my life. But there will be other auctions, and I was there more for the company than anything else.

Because of a debate started over a waffle iron, I found out that Miss Kat doesn't own a waffle iron, but loves waffles, so I invited them over for waffles Sunday morning. Dana ended up not coming, but Miss Kat and I had a nice time. I was up early (thanks insomnia!) and set the table with tablecloth, ironed napkins, etc. I love to entertain, and don't get to that often, but the house is pretty clean right now. I've also been trying to work on doing some spontaneous entertaining to work through my feeling that "everything has to be perfect" before I have people in. That's just not true, and I need to get over it. When I plan ahead I wear myself out to the point that I can't enjoy the fun as much.

Anyway breakfast went well, if late, and we talked for a long time. Miss Kat has been a bit worried about me, I think. It's been a tough Fall. Ordinarily this is my favorite time of year, but it has brought back a lot of bad memories this year. The end of September would have been my 7th anniversary with Michael, had we made it that far. I sent him an anniversary card - nothing weepy or syrupy, just kind of a thinking about you card - and he didn't even drop me an email. I finally called him after a couple of weeks, and he said he got it, but my feelings were hurt. I know we're broken up now, and I know we're moving on, but this was the most significant relationship of my life, and now it seems like I just wasn't that important to him. I guess I'm overreacting, but I was hurt. Last weekend (20,21) was the anniversary of the breakup. I guess this will get easier, but this Fall has been hard. I did feel better after talking to her.

I went to dinner with my friends Billy and Russ last night. They are two of my very best friends, and they have been SO wonderful to me after the breakup. I don't know what I would have done without them. I have spent so many evenings at their house when I didn't want to go home alone. We just went out to Ruby Tuesday's for a salad, and to catch up, since they've been away for a couple of weeks. It was really good to see them, as always.

After dinner, we went for a coffee, and then home to watch a good ole Halloween flick. Justin showed up over there too, and we snuggled up on the couch and watched the movie. It was "The Skeleton Key". It was creepy and voodoo-esque, and I enjoyed it thoroughly.

Out too late last night. I'm sleepy today. But a nice weekend.

Sunday evenings are the hardest time for me. That's when everyone tends to be home with their families, and there's nothing to do. That is the loneliest time of the week. Usually during the week, by the time I get home I have had a bellyfull of people, and some quality time with the cats doesn't sound so bad. Saturdays, there is usually something going on, if I feel like going. But Sundays are hard.

Well no entry yesterday, and I really meant to make one. I have so many rants to get on the soap box about, but I guess I'll have plenty of time to get to them all.

Last night my sweet boy Justin came over to watch movies on Turner Classic Movies. They had some great old horror flicks on for the Halloween weekend, and we both love old movies. I threw some baby quiches in the oven, and mixed up a pan of mix brownies. Many things I believe in making from scratch, but the mix brownies are better than my scratch brownies, and I am not too proud to eat them. For some reason my scratch brownies, like most of my scratch cakes, turn out too dry. Any way, we watched this cool flick from the 50's called "A Bucket of Blood". It was pretty funny, but horrificatin' too. It was making fun of the beatnik movement. This guy works in a coffee house, and wants to be an artist, and be "cool" so badly that he begins killing things and covering them with clay to pass them off as sculpture. It was done by the same director that did the original "Little Shop of Horrors" with Jack Nicholson.

Justin isn't my boy in a sexual or proprietary way. He's just a sweet boy that I am kind of mentoring. He's 22 now. Although he has an amazing head on his shoulders, sometimes he seems SO young. But he's polite, and we both like old movies and old dishes, flea markets, thrift stores, and stuff like that, so we have a good bit in common. I think at first he thought he was attracted to me, but has now realized it's more he wants to be like me when he grows up. We watched "Sunset Boulevard" and "All About Eve" together the first time he ever saw them. I'm trying to be the kind of friend to him I would have liked to have had when I was a young'un. All we had then were the bars, as I said Thursday.

Justin is a bit of a foodie, but hasn't eaten a lot of more gourmet-type things. I introduced him to Gorgonzola cheese last night. He was underwhelmed. His exact words were "I don't usually eat cheese with things in it." Which I thought was pretty damn funny. He is such a lil redneck boy sometimes LOL. After he tried it, he told me it tastes like ants, which I found equally amusing. He seems to have gained this knowledge after grabbing a leftover slice of pizza in a darkened kitchen.

I have done bullocks nothing today. Did a bit of shopping this morning, and got a super deal on some old Fire king mixing bowls. I had one white swirl already, which I paid about $10 for, which I thought was a bit high, but not bad. I found the next two smaller sizes today for $5, which is a great deal. Of course if they were the Jadeite Green, the set would be worth about $50-60 (thank you Martha Stewart for bringing Menopause Green back into fashion), but the white ones are nice too, and fashions change.. It's not like I'm going to sell them any way LOL I just love bowls. I'm sure Freud would have something to say about that, but I suppose it's a harmless enough predilection.

After that I went to get some winter squash at the Farmer's Market. It has been so dry here, they are about half the size they should be, but they should be very tasty, because they won't be blown up with water. (The white sweet potatoes I bought the other weekend were exceptionally dry, I noticed. This climate thing is scary to me.) I baked them this afternoon, I'm making soup tomorrow. I have yet to find a good winter squash soup recipe, but this one was in "Food and Wine" magazine, so hopes are high. If it's good, I'll post the recipe here. By the way, my favorite recipe site is:

www.recipezaar.com

It is excellent! And they have ratings posted by people who have actually made the recipes, so it's much easier to know which are the "tried and trues", and know what's wrong with the ones that aren't. I found a phenomenal recipe on there for homemade pastry cream that went into my recipe box immediately, and have scored several other winners there too.

Since I haven't slept well the last couple of days, I took a nap today, and woke up draped in cats like a Salvador Dali painting. They just love it when I'm around the house and supine; it is unusual. I have pre-dawn awakening insomnia, and when I am going through a bad patch, I am pretty drug out. I'm going through this thing right now where I'm waking up every morning at 4am. It's terribly frustrating, knowing I need more sleep and laying at the ceiling waiting for nothing. I usually get sleepy again about time for me to get up. That makes a lovely day at work. But I'm feeling better now that my battery is a bit re-charged.

Well I'm dull today, sorry. I'm off to clean and pulp my squash. Bye!

My issues with the "cult of masculinity" in the gay community

*** Here's today's rant.

Unfortunately, the bear scene has been swept with the same "cult of masculinity" that took root in the gay community at large during the 90's. My theory is that this was part of the assimilationist movement at that time. We were supposed to show the world that we were just like everyone else, which of course for the most part we ARE, but one of the ways that we were supposed to do this was by not acting femmy, because that makes straight people uncomfortable. Then we started to believe it ourselves. So, in a similar move to the Catholic Church, it was decreed OK to be gay, as long as you didn't act that way (other than being conspicuously well-dressed, and having copious amounts of sex with other men, anyway).

This movement was also an outgrowth of the HIV witch hunts of the late 80s/early 90s. AIDS was even scarier at the time - originally no one knew what caused it. All they knew was that gay men were getting it. Since they couldn't isolate the contagion, they opted for ostracism of the recognizably gay. The effeminate became the modern leper. And the gay community was in many ways just as bad - particularly the closeted self-hating members of the gay community in the south. It was as if by rejecting the "gay" part of the gay community, we could insulate ourselves from the disease. It was ridiculous, and of course completely unfair, but then that is the nature of prejudice.

Now the bear group has a fairly strict social hierarchy, which is one of the things we were trying to get away from in the gay community at large. One of the reasons for the founding of the bear community was as a backlash against the ridiculous body-image expectations of the gay community at large. No one can remain perpetually 22 years old and hairless with 2% body fat. Now in the bear scene you're supposed to look and act like a lumberjack at all times. You are suppose to be a "muscle bear", meaning that it's OK to be hairy, as long as you are bearded, manly, have biceps the size of, or larger than, your waist (is this sounding familiar?). Needless to say, there are precious few able to maintain these standards, but they are worshiped as gods.

At the very least you are always supposed to be "butch". "Butch", for those of you not aware, means "straight-acting", although that phrase is now politically incorrect. I have never liked the phrase straight-acting, even when it was used with reckless abandon. (This is not a Steve original) I agree with those who feel that we shouldn't have to "act" in our personal life. (Queue my stuff) I spend far too much time acting as it is. When I get a chance to be myself, I like to enjoy it. And I want to be around others who are themselves as well. Secondly, I have never found MOST straight guys that attractive, despite what they seem to believe. Yes, some of them are physically attractive, but once you get beyond your 20's, hopefully you begin to realize that hormones don't run your entire life (just brief, often tragically regretted parts of it). Why would I want to be with a man who has to be dragged to the theater? A man who would wear ugly clothes and be insensitive? A man who has no interest in the things I do, and feels that beige is a color, and that white walls are completely acceptable? A man who feels that beer advertisements are decor? A man who considers "hungry-man" frozen entrees to be edible? A man who is compelled by those stupid Hardee's (or Carl Jr's) ads? Answer, I wouldn't. At least for not more that two hours at the most. I have no desire to "convert" a straight man. It's just too much damn work, and it's hard enough breaking in a new boyfriend to my dish towel system already.

And where is it OK to be gay if not within the gay community? It makes me nuts.

So, to try to bring this entry back on track. We, the bears, who were supposed to eschew the strict hierarchy of the gym bunny/muscle queens, now discriminate within our own ranks. It makes me sad. And it is terribly unfair. Some of the strongest, most admirable people I know have been some of the most effeminate. Because these are the guys who have to be gay all the time. They are the ones who are snickered at at the mall. They are the ones whose customers and co-workers talk behind their backs. They are the ones targeted when people say they don't mind homosexuals as long as they aren't "flaming". When I go to the grocery store at the end of a long day, if I'm tired, no one has to know that I'm gay. I can fly under the radar. That is not the case for an effeminate man. Honey, it takes big brass balls to be gay at the DMV on a Monday morning. But still, many continue, and thrive, and bloom where they're planted. And God bless 'em.

But these same people, who suffer disproportionately the slings and arrows of an unkind world, are also discriminated against by other homosexuals. It makes me sad. I remember all too well what it feels like to be the last one picked for teams. The one nobody wants. I never want to make anyone else feel that way. Why we would want to spend out childhoods under the miserable tyranny of the playground bullies, only to grow up to do the same thing to others in our own community is just beyond me.

Well I went to the Bear Dinner last night for SCBears. I have to admit, I didn't really feel like going. The main reason I went is because my sweet friend Justin was the host last night. We have rotating "hosts" who set up the dinner nights, coordinate the reservations, count the RSVP's, etc. That keeps one person from having to do it all the time. This also makes sure that no one person is "responsible" every time, so the griping is more evenly disbursed.

Did you ever notice that the people in a group who do the least work will often times gripe the most when they don't like something? It seems to hold true in any group.

Anyway, when I got there I had a good time. I just felt like I had to drag myself out of the house to go. I'm in a bit of a quandry at the mo. I feel like I spend too much time alone. But I also don't feel like I can be out and be fun to be around for my friends. I don't want to be a drag, or be the Eeyore of the get-together. So by default, I'm staying home a good bit lately.

But I saw my friends, and had a piece of delicious (albeit horrendously over-priced) salmon, and actually felt like myself and was able to be sociable for a while. I think it was better for me than staying at home again, hunched over the computer fussing at the cats. It did me good to get out.

Well here's an email I recently sent to some of my friends. It tells you pretty much where I am right now:

"Well, it’s been a year now since Michael and I broke up, and MAN have I learned a lot about myself, about life, and about love. These have been hard lessons, but valuable knowledge dearly won.

I have spent the last year dancing frantically, trying to deny and escape my own pain. Trying not to “give in” to depression. I was worried that men wouldn’t find me attractive if I was sad, or not laughing and full of fun every moment. I felt a duty to be charming and witty around my friends – the “old Steve”, who hasn’t changed. I didn’t want my friends to worry about me. It hasn’t done any good guys. I have changed. I’ve still been sad. Denying my pain has not made it a bit less real, but it has made me tired. And so I’m stopping. If I feel like dancing I certainly will, but if I don’t, I’m giving myself the luxury of sitting one out.

I know now, deep in my heart, that I did truly love Michael. There was a part of me that wondered about that. I wondered if I had experienced “true” love. I now know we did. But it doesn’t mean what they say it does in books. True love, at least ours, sounds very simple. We belonged to each other. I remembered the things that drew me to him in the first place. I had never truly belonged before. In the six years we were together, I had forgotten about not belonging.

My whole life, I have been a person apart. Except for a brief period in my life in my 20’s, when the bar life seemed to fit, I had never really belonged anywhere until Michael. He knew me better than anyone else ever has, warts an all, and loved me anyway. I’ve always been an odd duck in my family. There were only a few people in my family who really understood and related to me. It’s not just being gay – I am just different than them. I have never felt truly part of the straight world at large. I have friends there, and I function and work there; but it’s like a foreign country in which I move. I get along there, and I speak the language, but I am “other” there, and really on some level, I always will be. I understand now why people move back to their hometowns. But Michael was my hometown, and I can’t move back there, that’s over.

I’ve never really fit in to the gay community. I have made some very close friends that I belonged to there, and I feel more at home in the Bear community than I have anywhere else, but I’ve never really fit in to any of the cliques in the gay world. I’ve never had enough money to be a snob queen. I’ve never been truly shallow enough to be a bar fly, although I gave that one a good shot when I was younger. I’ve never had a big enough or nice enough house to be a house queen. I’ve never liked exercise enough to be a muscle queen. I’m not hairy enough to be a bear, and I’m not really an outdoorsman. I don’t want to spend my weekends in the woods crapping in a hole and eating granola out of my hand. I’m still not going to spend a huge portion of my life in the gym becoming a muscle bear. I’m also not going to spend huge portions of my life in front of a television watching grown men play children’s games or race cars.

I do like traditional “gay” things. I like reading and talking about books. I like to play cards with my friends, and spend time with the wonderful people I am lucky enough to have in my life. I like to go antiquing and flea marketing and digging through other people’s junk. I like movies. I love to cook and talk about food, as well as eat it! Keeping up with those things, and keeping up with the things that you “have to do” (work, cleaning, pets, family) also pretty much fills my life.

I have time to date. But I am no longer “looking” for a husband. If someone wonderful came into my life that would be great, but at this point I am not expecting it. It just doesn’t seem that it’s going to happen here. Since Michael and I lost each other, the people I still belong with are my friends. I can’t give them up. I’m not giving up all the people who care for me on the possibility that I might meet one person to care for me, as nice as that would be. So I’m here. A man alone in many ways. And I’m learning again to accept and live with that. Moving away won’t solve that, because it’s very true – no matter where you go, there you are. I have to get back in touch with who I am, and figure out who I am now.

I used to hear that losing your partner is like a grieving process, and I didn’t realize how true that really is. It’s a loss I live with every day. It’s a pain and a sadness that is always with me, a shadow on my heart of which I am always conscious. The loss is a part of me like an arm or leg, and to deny it would be just as useless. I am accepting that pain as part of my life. That doesn’t mean I am not moving on. This acceptance is part of my moving on. At this stage, I am thinking of it as learning to live with a roommate that I don’t particularly want, but one with whom I have to make peace.

A life partner is not like a puppy. You can't just go get another one.

I used to think that people who got divorced lost friends because their friends couldn’t relate to them as being single, that they were abandoned because they were no longer convenient. I don’t think that now. I think it’s because that person changes. It’s a life-altering thing, and you don’t come out the same person you were. I hope all my friends come through this with me. I hope they understand that I may not be the same Steve that you have known any more. I may not be as much fun for a while. I love you all, and I am grateful for you every day. But if the new Steve doesn’t fit any more, I understand. "


At this point, I just can't put up a front for everyone any more. I'm not morose, but I'm having some hard times right now, and I have to be able to go through that honestly. I just don't have the energy to keep people from worrying about me any more.


This is the quote on my desk right now:

"The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain. Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?"

I sure hope so.