TMI Questions: Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

In grade school I used to love cutting out giant construction-paper shamrocks and filling the bulletin board with them.  I think the shape is so beautiful and soft.  And I loved the way the scissors would cut into the paper with a decisive crunch.  I may have to buy some safety scissors and green construction paper just to recreate that sensation.

Eh, no.  Some things live better in memory.

I’ve never found a four leaf clover.  Have you?  I’ve certainly looked for them.  There was a time when I truly did believe that they would grant me good luck.  I also believed in leprechauns, so I ate a lot of Lucky Charms growing up (when we could afford it).

Unfortunately, I’ve never been a very lucky person.  That kind of fate / destiny thing has simply eluded me for most of my life.  I’m way more likely to come in second place than to be declared an actual winner.  That’s okay, I’ve made my peace with it.

Therefore, I know I’m not Irish, because I was never blessed with their luck. Those of you that were?  I do envy you.  Obviously, based on how my life has played out, I was meant to learn a different lesson this trip around. 

But you know what?  Fools get lucky.  At least that’s what the song tells me.  And based on certain relatively recent events in my life…

…I rather believe it.

TMI QUESTIONS:

Questions designed to reveal Too Much Information

Link: http://tmiquestions.blogspot.com/

TMI Questions: Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

Do you have any Irish in you? Would you like some?

My father claimed to be part Irish, but in reality, he was Native American and German / English.  My mother is a 100% Bohunk!  It made for an interesting, rather explosive pair. 

While I support the rights of others to enjoy themselves, this holiday has never spoken to me much, so I’ve never really celebrated it.  Seems to me to merely be an excuse to drink to excess, and I hate being around that.  That… that is not pretty.

The Irish, on the other hand?  Very pretty.  Amazing skin.  And there’s something mystical in their eyes.  Also, their coloring is so unique – like an over-exposed photograph or something.  I find it quite captivating.

Looking at my boyfriend, you would think he was Irish, and he may well have a bit in him.  He tells me he is of the Heinz 57 variety - a little bit of everything thrown in.  It certainly looks good on him.

So would a kilt.

Or a singlet.

Hmmm.  (Checking credit card balance…)

Do you wear green?

Yes, but not much.  It’s not my color.  Rather washes me out. 

That said, it is one of my favorite colors.  There’s a lot of strength to be found there, and I tend to associate it with cleanliness and good health. 

Though, I am told it’s not easy being green… just ask Kermit.

That song?  It meant a lot to me in the day.  I knew exactly what it meant, as did every other born-gay, odd, ‘weirdo’, outcast child. 

I wish someone would have told me it got better. As it was, I developed a rather fatalistic outlook on life, one that continues to color much of my life today.

I was obsessed with Marilyn Monroe, James Dean, and the like.  Oh, I’ve let go a lot of it.  I used to think dying when you were young was so glamorous.  That kind of fame, something to be aspired to, but now I see it as a not-so-wise career choice. 

Someone really should have told Marilyn that it gets better. 

And James to slow the fuck down.

Green beer is...

Not my thing.  Why would you do that to something you want to drink?  I find dyes to be unnecessary and avoid any food that is bright and not a color found in nature, especially those bright purple things.  Ugh.

Not to be ‘that guy’, but it was announced recently that cancer will soon surpass heart disease as the number one killer.  I believe our food supply is one of the contributing factors to that.  You can’t mess with the natural state of things and not pay for it somehow.

Of course you can’t hug your children with nuclear arms, either.   That’s from a ‘Family Guy’ episode.  I’m rather in favor of nuclear energy – cheap, efficient, etc.  Of course the down side is we all end up with our skin falling off. 

Oh, well… might as well drink a beer full of green dye #3.

Yeah, ummm… this entry is gonna be full of random shit. 

Irish coffee is...

Not bad.  But not necessary.  Bailey’s is yummy and a favorite of my boyfriend. 

In general, I do not like sweet anything, but there is a rich smokiness I associate with Bailey’s that I find comforting.

I like my coffee black. 

Frequently, simplicity is best.

Have you worn a kilt?

No.  I don’t have the legs for it.  You need big sturdy thighs and calves like a man of steel to get away with them.  I don’t have ‘em.  And fortunately, for other people, I have never been cast in any show that require the wearing of one.  What would that be?  Brigadoon?  Terrible musical.

I thought only Scotsmen wore kilts.  Obviously, I am mistaken.  The difference is: Scots wear kilts in the color and pattern of their clan, while the Irish wear ones that are plain colored or in colors that represent their locale.

I do like kilts on others.

That said, my boyfriend would look smashing in one and I’ve told him so.  Someday I plan on purchasing one and making him wear it, maybe in public. 

He certainly has the legs for it.

Grrr.

Lucky me.

Have you gone to the NY St. Patrick's Day Parade?

Nope.  I’ve never seen any St. Patrick’s ‘Day Parade. 

I lost interest in the idea of any St. Patrick’s Day Parade when a group of gay Irish folks were prevented from marching.  Was that in Boston?  I was glad to see the Mayor of that city take a stand this year on their behalf.  Not sure if there has been any resolution there, but I do know that the New York one does not discriminate.

Anyway… I can’t imagine it would be any fun.  Sort of like St. Paul’s Winter Carnival parade; a bunch of drunken louts terrorizing the neighborhood.  I can stand only so many leprechauns and shamrocks before they all start looking alike to me. 

Also, if I want to spend time with a bunch of drunken louts, I’ll simply attend one of my family reunions.  Or a high school reunion.

Yeah, that’s never gonna happen.

St. Patrick chased the snakes out of Ireland with a stick. How would you handle snakes?

I would hire Barry White to come and croon them into submission.  He is the pied piper of hissing, volatile reptiles.  At least… that’s how it worked on The Simpsons.   Not sure how Lisa Simpson figured it out, but it sure did the trick. 

Other than that… I care not for the snakes.  Snakes have done me no harm…

…except for that whole apple and Eve thing.  I guess that really fucked us all over pretty good, huh?  I mean, imagine living in paradise. 

But then, we all couldn’t.  I mean, Adam and Eve didn’t figure out the whole procreation thing until after they ate the apple.  So, in all likelihood paradise was designed with only two in mind.  Otherwise, it would become over-populated and we would have polluted our own environment like microorganisms in a petri dish. 

Yep.  Lots of random shit.

Bonus

I'm 100% Irish. Would you kiss me?

Pucker up, Sean.  

I would love the opportunity to taste all your handsome, bearded, gingery goodness, Sean.  I’d plant one on you like you were the Blarney Stone and I was in desperate need of some luck. 

Of course, I am also still waiting on that semi-nude photo of you… so I won’t be holding my breath.  Or saving any of my kisses.

Not that you could have any of the serious kisses.  No, all those belong to someone else, now.  I’m not sure if he brings me luck, but I am a lot happier, feel a lot luckier, and do get lucky more frequently, these days.  All with a lot less anxiety.

Don’t go chasing waterfalls, am I right?  Or, in this case, rainbows with that pot of gold at the end of it.  

Which I do believe exist, because…

…pretty certain I’ve found my ‘pot of gold’. 

Happy Saint Pat’s Day!

Three little words…

I’d wanted to wait for that magical six-month mark and that’s another month and a half away.  And it may be too soon then, we will have to wait and see.

Only I didn’t.  The cat is, as they say, out of the bag.

It just slipped out, in a moment when I let my guard down.  Late Sunday afternoon, we were driving to friends to play board games.  The sun was out and it had gotten warm enough to where things had started to melt.  We’d been enjoying yet another wonderful weekend and were both feeling content and relaxed, chatting idly.  In a moment of quiet I reached over and put my right hand on his left thigh, as I frequently do while driving.  I gave it a squeeze and said, “I love you.” 

Oops.

Silent alarms went off in my head.  Protocol had been breached.   A sharp intake of breath, as my eyes went wide with surprise at my own lack of discipline.  I’d let down my guard.

I think his response was, “Whaaaa?”

I immediately moved in to fill the void.  “Oops. I didn’t mean to say that.  It just slipped out.  Sorry. (I am forever apologizing for everything – a bad habit that comes when frequently making stupid mistakes.)

Then I pressed my open palm to his forehead, as if to erase his memory and added, “Just forget that I said that, okay?  Pretend it never happened.”

He merely laughed.

“I don’t suppose I can call ‘backsies’ after the fact.”

Again he laughed.   I think.  I can’t remember if he said anything, so overwhelmed was I.

Changing the subject quickly, we don’t talk about it again and still haven’t.

The rest of the evening plays out.  The game was fun.  We all ate bagels and talked about dogs.  Back at his place, we ate (a simple spinach salad with feta and shitake sesame dressing, with fresh-out of the oven cornbread muffins – yeah, I’m in a domestic phase), and watched a couple episodes of a BBC comedy/drama all cuddled on the couch. I did the dishes before packing up and heading for home.  It’s getting harder and harder to leave. 

And that’s a good thing.

Monday, another day of melting snow, we go for a long walk along the greenway, holding hands the entire way.  Holding hands is one of my favorite things about our relationship; it demonstrates a sort of declaration and bravery that had been foreign to me before.  It also represents the kind of casual intimacy that I have long craved.

It feels beautiful to me.

And he is… beautiful to me.  He treats me well, we laugh, share adventures, and interests.  Everything is going really well. 

So, I am not going to beat myself up for my little slip up.  I think he gets it.  We don’t need to dissect it or discuss it further. 

It simply ‘is’.

While I definitely find myself playing with various scenarios regarding how it all plays out and where we end up, nothing is written in stone or ink.  I keep reminding myself to remain open to the experience and to enjoy it for what it is, in the moment, as it is happening.  That’s healthy, for both of us, and a lot of fun.  I remain grateful and happier than I have been in years.

So, for now… I am going to hang onto those ‘three little words’, until the time is right.  Or maybe until he says them first.

In the meantime, I have adopted the word ‘adore’ as my go-to word. 

Because I do…

…I absolutely 'adore' the man.

  

TMI Questions: Ohhhh… It’s So Hard!

I am a lazy, lazy person.  I admit it.  I own it.  If something does not need to be done, it is doubtful I am going to do it.  That was not always the case – I used to be something of an over-achiever, but blessedly time and experience has taught me that the benefits received rarely justify all the energy, anxiety and time required to put forth that extra ten percent.   Those of you who disagree?  Good for you.  Enjoy your life.

I am currently learning how to enjoy mine.

That’s not to say I don’t I have ambitions or meet my obligations.  I have a lot on my plate and I think I have fine-tuned how to manage it quite well with a minimum of fuss.  Balance in everything is key to me these days. 

Most of the time, I just don’t see what all the fuss is about.

Limiting one’s effort is not a bad thing.  It reserves all that time, energy and emotional juice for things that are much more worthwhile…

…like snuggling and naps.

TMI QUESTIONS:

Questions designed to reveal Too Much Information

Link: http://tmiquestions.blogspot.com/

TMI Questions: Ohhhh… It’s So Hard!

Which class was the hardest in high school?

In a way, they all were.  I used to take things way too seriously.  That is, until I stopped caring at all (last semester my Senior year).  I always wanted to do well and be liked.  The instructor’s opinion of me mattered greatly, because I had a tendency to relate to them more so than people my own age.  I also have a weird need to be critiqued and graded (still do).

But I will pick algebra as the hardest, because the instructor was so angry and mean.  He had no patience and would trigger all sorts of anxiety in me.  I have issues with numbers anyway, so his behavior made it all the worse.  Also, he failed to justify algebra, as in, what good is it?  I managed a ‘B’ in both Algebra I and II, but they were hard won.  It put me off math for years.

There was another factor that was probably at the root of my difficulty with the class.  The instructor was also my track coach, so I had seen him naked.   Dude had black, thinning hair, black fur, a great bod, and some seriously juicy man-meat swinging between his legs.  I have a feeling I spent most of the class trying to hide my erection as

I daydreamed about him belittling me, yelling at me, and humiliating me in front of others as I jerked off for him.  At the time, I really never thought of other men in terms of actual sex acts, just masturbation, and it was almost always me working my dick while others shamed or derided me.  That would help explain where my current appreciation for a good Dom comes from.  The shame had to do with the fact that I was convinced that masturbation was a sin.  That it was bad and that I was the only person in the world obsessed with it. 

Sigh.  Such a little idiot.

In college (my second attempt at getting a degree), when taking algebra for the third time, something clicked. I had a lot of fear about algebra and was leery to take it on, but either the instructor was that much better or I had a better frame of reference to understand the topic (or I was more motivated to go to class and less distracted when there). I made myself sit in the middle of the front row and I approached it like a video game or a puzzle.  Once I saw the fun in it, I aced it.  

In college (my third, and most successful attempt), the hardest subject I took was a business based economics/math class.  Everyone had warned me about the class, so I made sure that I only had one other course that semester.  The instructor, a really sweet woman, informed us that she would be grading on a curve and that we would be lucky to understand 50% of the work and that most students never get to finish the entire final test.  It turned out to be all about working this super complicated calculator.  That, and you had to work practice problems like crazy. 

While at home, studying, I threw that calculator across the room so many times I am amazed it lasted the whole semester.  To this day, I have no recollection of what I actually gleaned from the class, my focus was on preserving my 4.0 GPA.  I was one semester away from graduating and I wanted a shot at doing so with honors (happy ending -I did, Summa Cum Laude).  Aced that class, too.

My head was spinning after taking the final and there was a part of me that wanted to go all ‘Office Space’ on that damn calculator.  Instead I sold it to someone on Ebay.  I think I advertised it as ‘gently-used’.

Which is harder - house work or yard work?

Yard work, I guess.  It’s actually pretty easy once you get going, but it is painful, finding that motivation.

I don’t mind raking, but I do hate shoveling snow.  I like planting, but weeding is not my thing.  Mowing is nothing but a time commitment and, while I resent it on occasion, I typically look forward to it because I get to do it without a shirt, as I love the sun.

Which is the hardest household chore?

None of it is really all that hard. 

The day-to-day cleaning is easy: vacuuming, dusting, cleaning the bathroom, doing dishes, etc.  It’s the stuff that over time, due to use, that becomes the challenge because it sort of sneaks up on you. 

Things like the seal around the sink, that weird film that builds up on chrome sinks, food particles that fall in the cracks of your fridge, wispy, dusty cobwebs in the corners of certain rooms, the stuff congealed to the wall behind your kitchen garbage can, the gook that lives under your stove top… things like that; which build up over time and at such a slow rate that they escape your attention until it grabs your attention due to neglect. 

I dislike my fridge the most.  Appliances, in general, these days, have so many damn little edges and weird indentations; all a magnet for collecting food debris and weird, oily grime.  That’s why I never throw away a toothbrush – they are perfect for working out all those areas.  But my fridge?  It just seems to be this endless maze of weird juts, sharp edges, and useless dips, all designed to snag filth.  

Which is harder, eating right or exercising?

I don’t think either is hard. 

Eating well is quite simple for me.  Whole, natural foods are the way to go.  Pre-packaged stuff is always fraught with issues; lack of nutritional value, chemicals, overly-processed food stuffs, etc. Deep fried anything is a big ‘no’.  Sweets are a bad idea, too, but fortunately not my thing.  Soda is another absolute ‘no’, diet or otherwise, as they throw your metabolism and your blood sugar way off course. Caffeine is fine, but only in moderation.  Keep it simple, keep it real.

My body always has a way of letting me know when I have strayed too far for too long.  My current weakness would be that Friday and Saturday night martini that has become my holy grail for the week.  This is a recent development, as typically, I’d enjoy one cocktail a month at most.  Maybe it’s due to all the stress related to my recent life changes.  Or, more likely, it is simply a matter of – this is something I have always really enjoyed and now I am going to give myself permission to indulge – because there’s nobody standing there going ‘tsk-tsk’. In any event, I still believe in moderation.  Usually, one alcoholic beverage per evening is plenty for me. 

Exercising?  It has been a part of my life since the late 80’s and a constant part during the last five years.  I have calendars from the last five years detailing what type of exercises I did on a particular day.  I hope it remains a focus for the rest of my life.  I enjoy it, mostly, and get so much out of it.  I find that getting there is 80% of the battle, then 10% is knowing what to do, and after that, my body goes on auto pilot and I simply work my way to the end of the 60 or 90 minutes I have to devote to it.  The endorphins are the big pay-off.  Also, I suffer from anxiety, and working out helps lessen it. 

Which is harder, waking up early or staying up late?

Staying up late.

That has not always been the case, but I am now a morning person, up at 5:00 am (even on the weekends).

Back in the bad old days of theatre, 4:00 am was not uncommon, but on the other end of the day, as in staying up all hours and then sleeping until noon.  It was all about dancing, and music, and drinking.  Being seen on the scene.  Back then staying up late meant not missing out anything.

Yes, my definition of night life has certainly changed over the years.

Looking back?  I don’t think there was really all that much to miss. 

These days?  Staying up is a chore, or something to be planned for – as in, extra naptime.  I adore my mid-morning / afternoon naps on the weekends.  Treasure them.

I find if I stay up too late I get cold and cranky.  I have become a creature of comfort, as in, I don’t want to be uncomfortable anymore.  Among the things that make me uncomfortable?  Being social.  I avoid crowds and groups of people I don’t know.  So bar-hopping happens infrequently these days.  Nor do I see the point of parties anymore. 

Dinner out with a few people is always nice, but no more than three. 

Thing is, I don’t enjoy socializing, so why must I?  I’m passed the age of social interaction as necessary development.  The friends I have put up with me once or twice a year (poor things).  The ones I do see weekly are due to common interests and activities, and family takes up the rest of the time. 

In the end… I need my alone time.  And quality time with the boyfriend.    

So, while I am polite around strangers – say at a dinner party – I really have no interest in widening my circle.  I’m much better one-on-one. 

So give me my big wooly socks, a blanket, some comfort food, a nice boodle’s gin martini, quality snuggle time with the boyfriend at a reasonable hour and I am satiated. 

Yep, these days… that’s my idea of enjoying the night life.

Do you have a hard time deciding what to wear?

Not anymore.  I have it down to a uniform.  It used to be all button-down, wear a tie, iron that shit.  Now it’s black 501’s, a streamline dark long-sleeve top, and boots. 

Fashion can suck it. 

I’m done wearing costumes for the entertainment of others. 

Which is harder, your ass or your abs? Which would you rather?

Eek.  Gonna go with my abs.  My abs are okay.  My ass is getting better, though gravity continue to win the battle going on at the back of my parade.  The boyfriend has been acting as my trainer on Saturdays and Sundays and has taken my ass (in more way than one) to whole new levels.   I didn’t notice it until I was shaving my ass the other day.   There was a new something… line / shape  / curve… and it looked good.  Still, I want it to be better.

If I had to choose?  Ugh.  I don’t think I can. 

I’m going to say my abs again, because I can absolutely do something about them.  I’ve proven that to myself over the last five years.  Crunches are boring, uncomfortable, take too much time, and seem like a waste of time, but… they do pay big dividends.  So I know I can do something to keep my abs.

My ass, on the other hand… well, never say never.  I’m not giving up that battle just yet.

It is harder to wade slowly into a body of water or to just jump in?

Wade slow.  The icky anticipation, the horrible, gradual cold; it’s a total mind fuck.  As long as I know I am going to be safe, I say dive in head first and get it over with.  That initial painful rush as your entire bad recoils in horror quickly blends into something tolerable. 

How hard is it for you to make decisions?

If I care, not hard at all.  I am pretty opinionated.  I know what I like.  I think in terms of the big picture and the long run.

If it’s something minor, or social, like where to go to eat and I say ‘I don’t care’, that’s because I really don’t care.  And if you don’t care either, then I will make a decision, and assume you are going to suck it up.

In my book, the most important thing about making decisions? Getting it over with.  After that I can get to work, or figure out how to enjoy the situation. 

That whole weighing your options thing?  What a waste of time.

Get to work, bitch.

What's the hardest decision you ever had to make?

Aww.  This is sad. And I don’t want to dwell on any of it.

Terminating my seventeen year relationship with my business partner / best friend.

It still makes me cringe.  My stomach cramps.  The guilt is overwhelming sometimes.

We are still business partners / best friends.  But are no longer a couple.  My family is having a hard time dealing with it.  As is, he.  And my dogs. 

And me, too.

It has been a huge, unending adjustment.   Lots of aftershocks.  They just keep coming, in billowing waves.

But the two of us?  We are a lot healthier for it.  Well, I am, anyway.  And I have to believe he will be, too… once he decides that’s what he wants for himself. 

It’s new for him, so I have to give him time.

I’m still living two lives, but now I live them honestly and on my own terms. 

The flip side of that is all the happy that has found its way into my life.  For that I am grateful.  I’m having a lot of healthy fun these days… as opposed to the not so healthy fun I used to mire my days and nights in.

The other thing that came to mind, of course, is deciding when to put down my three previous dogs.  It was awful to go through.  It is awful to contemplate.  So much so, that each time I try to finish this paragraph I have to get up from my laptop, walk away, and distract myself with something else.  

So, I will leave it at that.

Bonus

Have you ever taken Viagra or a similar drug when you didn't need it? Details please.

Yes.

When it works it can be hella fun. 

The most fun I had with it was at the Duluth Family Sauna.  I wrote about it at the time.  I didn’t really need to take it, but it sure made for a hell of an evening.  I rather like walking around some place like the Sauna, or the warehouse, or Steamworks with the dick of a sixteen year old me.  Talk about confidence.  And staying power.  It’s like becoming The Incredible Hulk of gay sex.

Oh, and there’s also a whole blog post dedicated to it as part of my ‘Acquired Tastes’ series.  So go to the archives on my site to check them out, if interested.

I still have some Viagra in my medicine cabinet, but am hard pressed (no pun intended) to come up with an occasion where it would make things more interesting.  Things are so good, right now.

Of course, I could pop one and terrorize the boyfriend for a couple of hours.

I do threaten him with it on occasion.