Mr. Month

Preface:

“Many of you I know professionally. Some of you, friends, family and prostitutes, may very well be in this story. The others, sitting next to a warm fire right now with a cup of hot coco, well… these in the audience are probably sensitive and magical trolls that have nothing better to do than judge me and my placement of commas, obviously. This is a work of fiction.  I am still a virgin, to this day Nancy. The lord Jesus and gracious mother earth have given me a Hail Mary card and immunity to the effects of any drug. I know I should just say, ‘NO WAY JOSE,’ but it’s all good in the hood because I currently fall into protection under the grandfather rules of 1907 and in Leviticus I’m pretty sure it says I’m allowed to say whatever the fuck I want so long as I don’t have tits and a JJ. I’m exempt, however, even with this rock hard evidence, you will be offended. I make no excuses. Please stop, drop and roll your way over to that exit button while you’re ahead.” – Ronald Regan – U.N. Summit (Look it up)

Mr. Month

Everyone you meet has the opportunity to teach you a life lesson if you’ll only let them but if you ride a hog named Larry like me, at times that life lesson needs to be tattooed on your body. Especially following a mediocre or even hard break up. Consider how troublesome it may be to experience a break up where you’ve returned from a ten day vacation last year and you found out that the one person you gave your heart to is about to crush it and imagine also that person cheating on you with some east side, buck toothed tramp from Grindr.  Consider also, kitten mittens. I’d like them for Christmas this year.

If my life had a motto during that time to keep me going, it was to have strength from within myself. Surely if it wasn’t to have strength, the other motto would have been, “burn everything.” I was at no point in my life to return to my Nelly days where all the ceilings were on fire. I’d finally need to cash in that renter’s insurance check, throw out my red high heels, tell Reba this isn’t her playground, get fancy, and count on my next few rebound relationships to help me deal. 

So about six months after the break up I found my strength to get back on that imaginary horse and another month after that I was ready to start dating again, with feelings. If you didn’t know, there’s a “feelings switch” that guys can turn on.

November was eventful last year in Austin and just happens to be a wonderful time for the Gays in general. One half of one percent delete their dating profiles, fire their pool boy, grow a mustache and take dating seriously again. I attribute most of these seasonal attitudes to argyle sweaters and the new stricter No-Shave November Laws on Facebook. It was at this time that I took a step across enemy lines and decided to devote the next year of my life to becoming a lesbian. That equates to 3 gay-man years if we’re bringing algebra into it. Naturally the first thing I’d need to do is adopt a dog from a no-kill shelter. After accepting my hero badge I could then leave the shelter and parade this living thing around like a trophy to get stuff, hopefully from the government. Don’t judge me; it’s just how I was raised. This last year the only thing I wanted more than a remote controlled massage chair or to become a lesbian was a boyfriend equipped with a mute button.

New cute puppy pictures and flannel outfits posted on the internet meant that it would be just a matter of time. It didn’t hurt that Ken and I had already been flirting on OKCupcake for a while. He knew I had just adopted a dog and was, clearly, serious about dating. I was especially interested in Ken because he wasn’t Asian but more than that, on a more genuine level of interest, he had those abs that people get just from being skinny. I’d always wondered how that happens and decided I’d be going all, raiders of the lost ark in his kitchen at some point. To this day I’m still impressed that I was able to resist from drinking out of the fancy cups at his garage apartment.

We met at that one bar everyone gets crazy about every year no matter where you’re from. Last year it was a Christmas Themed dive bar that brought back memories of a simpler time when I got touched by Jesus at that state fair. That year I accepted Jesus into my heart and my pants, my hands bound in holy prayer.  It was like that same feeling you get when you start smelling cinnamon apples in all the shops. Yes, Bath and Body Works or as I like to call it, Satan’s Lair. Later Jesus and I played a dart game where you pop ballons and I won a poster showcasing Beyonce’s belly dancing skills. Those balloons weren’t the only things to get popped. Thanks JC!

Then, years later in this Xmas Dive Bar, I wasn’t trying to be racist but as I looked around the bar I couldn’t help myself when I came to the realization that Jesus was a big ol’ bottom. This surprised me because the reviews online said that people just didn’t like the smoke in there even though nobody was technically allowed to smoke due to “the fucking Austin liberals” as one reviewer put it. Now Jesus usually doesn’t have much evidence stacked in his favor but I could faintly remember him being a very convincing top, faintly. Could every Yelp reviewer be wrong or was this décor to blame?  Jesus had so many crowns and his ropes were real fly. For some reason this made me choke, not on Christmas, but on the remnants of memories from my childhood when Jesus raped me. Suddenly visions of locked car windows, Jesus’ abs, and my mother’s chain smoking flashed back. I think we all remember those few faint images that flash back as Jesus is choking us in the back of an old station wagon. Life lessons I’ve been afforded so I headed over to the actual bar where a chipper, almost Santa-like man was practically giving out drinks. According to my mother, if you’re going to be smoking, you had better be drinking.

He walked in as I ordered a whiskey drink, twinkling as I sip and for a moment you could see his butt cheeks tense up. He ordered the same drink and we immediately got masculine boners due to gay rules about ordering whiskey. We walked like penguins, both hiding our excitement over to a wobbly corner table. He had just left the gym and said that he was trying to bulk up.  It’s amazing how many times I’ve heard that in my life. Heard, but never said.

We hit it off. His mustache was cute and we found a mutual person to detest. A vile woman he works with was also a business acquaintance of mine and she’d recently been an unwanted addition in his department.

Our dates consisted of a dog park, flirting but no touching, and lunch. We did this quite a few times spanning more than a few weeks until one day he invited me back to his upstairs garage apartment. To be clear, his apartment was above a garage. It wasn’t an actual garage. He’d decorated it well, I was digging it and he lived in a good area of Austin.  As we were leaving the dog park that bright bushy day my new puppy that I got from the shelter (remember him?) decided that he gets car sick in stranger’s cars. He threw up three times on the way back until there was nothing left to hurl. To add to the stress, he proceeded to poop in Ken’s house when we finally arrived. We locked him out of the room, I apologized, and then we took a shower together. That’s when things got messy.

We took our time until we eventually found the bed and our way to doggy style. Things were going how things go and near the end of our pursuits a tiny, almost speck of, uhhm, material exited the general area. Never welcomed but I wasn’t losing my shit over it even if he was. I guess it didn’t help that at the exact same time my dog made it into the room and proceeded to pee on his bed sheets. I told him the first time is supposed to be awkward and it’ll all be fine. So he went to the laundry mat and I went home. I never got a returned text or phone call. That was the shitty part and the last I ever heard from Ken.

So maybe it wasn’t going to work out with Ken and maybe that was because I wasn’t, lesbian enough. I needed to date a Justin Beiber if I was going to go full lesbian and for Christmas I got exactly what I wanted. But… like any new gift you get for Christmas you’d probably finish the bottle in 22 days and forget to recycle it.

I got back on OkCupcake, ready to force my love on the next unsuspecting victim! I found a guy way out of my league. Beiber, we’ll call him, had been a medic in the army and lived in Hawaii for four years usually bartending on the beach after he was done surfing.

My persistence paid off on Christmas Day. We met at a large park just as the sun was setting. I anxiously awaited his arrival and kept second guessing my outfit. I was wearing a new thin black sweater with a sewed in scarf. It’s still the gayest thing I own but it was cold and it was already in my car. The whole thing could have turned into one giant fashion disaster. It didn’t even match my pants!

The minute we met there was a spark. I wish I could joke about that but it was a real undeniable connection we both felt and I’m honestly still confused by the loss of this one. Maybe it was his raw cave-man like splendor but for some reason I couldn’t leave him that night. We walked down to a Christmas fair area next to the park. There was a smell of a fire in the distance. We talked, he opened up to me and I couldn’t hear enough. He told me about a rescue he took in, a violent dog that he compared himself to. He cried, this tough tall army medic with classic good looks cried on our first date. Not a lot thankfully, but he loved this dog. I thought to myself, if he ever feels for me half of what he felt for his dog I’d be lucky to have him. I know how it must sound, but almost a year later my heart still hurts every time I think of that story. 

We slowly crept through the trails on Town Lake finding a walking path that leads from one of the biggest parks close to downtown. He held my hand and a love for astronomy and respected my opinions; in fact, he was excited to hear them. He held me close under the stars as we scuffed towards a bridge overlooking the water. It was so unreal that I thought he must have some mental instability thing that people just don’t see at first. At some point I remember thinking he was probably more likely to mug me and throw me into the water rather than pull me in for a kiss. I think I winced as if he were some bully on the playground ready to sucker punch me and take my Pokémon trading cards and lunch money.  I was in luck and instead of a punch to the gut I got hit right in the heart. It was getting even colder outside so he wrapped his oversized jacket around me and we kissed for a good, few hours holding each other until the sun came up. It was like the ending to Bridgette Jones Diary, except I was living it rather than watching as I eat all the pasta in my apartment. Wouldn’t it be funny if someone was there watching us while eating a bowl of left over spaghetti? If you’re into that sort of thing I do read my fan letters.

We had already agreed to meet on the day after Christmas and honestly, neither of us wanted to wait so we saw each other again in the same spot just a few hours later picking up where we left off. We couldn’t stop talking and kissing and it was so sweet it could make you sick. He thought it was unrealistic for me to sit across from him at a table rather than have me close. Sitting across the table was too far. This was an invited romance considering my last major relationships were with guys incapable of understanding their own sexuality and only found any type of PDA to add to that stress. We bounced around from restaurants soaking up great food and coffee.  It seemed as though we’d found something special as the words I love you dangled from his tongue. He practically stuttered as he spoke saying that he La-La-Lo-iked me. When you’re single it’s the sort of ridiculous crap you see other people do and you vow to never be so stupid. But man… when you feel it you just don’t care what other people are going to think, so you do it anyways.

Even as I measured these welcomed feelings for Beiber, I had to admit that it was moving too fast and I knew it but I also didn’t want to lose the momentum. He started staying over immediately and we hadn’t spent a single day apart since that night we met at the park. I already had a vacation planned for Denver, more of a nomad migration of sorts. A “see how it goes” adventure for me to explore the mountainous area and maybe even chop some wood in one of those flannel shirts I’d bought. My grandfather once told me a story about an adventure he took early in life, traveling through Colorado with some friends and camping in different spots along the way. He explained the beauty of the mountains, crisp clean air, soft pure white snow and a coziness amidst something so vast. He described it so well I kept the story with me and over the years I’ve kept thinking back to it, wanting to re-create an experience my grandfather had more than fifty years ago. What better way to honor a man I look up to and admire than to relive a great experience in his life?

I hadn’t planned to bring Beiber and in fact, I was secretly against the idea. I wanted to fly and he couldn’t consider the idea due to something I don’t remember. I think I was discovering his eyes that day and slipped out from what he was saying. That’s a nice way for me to say that I just wasn’t listening. I was back at work for a day or two before I left on my vacation, on New Years Eve day. Beiber met my friends the day before and we’d joked about being ridiculously clingy around them beforehand as an inside joke. We were completely fine with anyone or everyone being disgusted by our infatuation with each other. We had already become a team, ready to support whatever the other needed. Denver, however, had other plans for us.

After he met my friends I thought it would be a good idea to go on the vacation with him. The alternative meant that I’d be apart from him for more than a few days and that wasn’t even an option. I rented a little Nissan Sentra and off we went. I had just bought the new Taylor Swift album and put it in the car, ready to play on repeat. He wasn’t having it after one song, strike one Beiber. If he didn’t appreciate a Taylor Swift album how was he ever going to understand my complex emotions!?

The drive to Denver is a long one and we weren’t stopping for rest. We hadn’t planned anything and he was doing most of the driving. He also brought his adorable new puppy with no name but she was a puppy so there was that whole mess. Months later he finally text me and let me know he’d decided on something from star wars for her name. So two gay guys, a cramped small rental car, a new puppy competing for his affection, and 44 total driving hours… what could go wrong?

The drive was actually great there. We talked more and more, discovering new things and even the silence was filled with laughter and music.

In New Mexico we stopped at a horrible diner and had the worst meal we’ve both ever eaten and in the gift shop there was anything you could ever want to remember Colorado. In that horrible place, New Mexico, we had the best time making fun of absolutely everything. And in Denver we shopped and made our way through the snow until we made it to the town I’ll raise my kids in, where I’ll have my wedding, and where I want to be buried. We reached Estes Park and bunkered down in a room with a great view of the mountains.

There was, however, a creeping distance I felt from him in Denver and he brought that to Estes Park. I didn’t understand how you could not want to be romantic in such a wonderful place. It wasn’t always rainbows and butterflies. Sometimes he was aggressive. All I have to say is, if your man hasn’t spit in your mouth in the heat of passionate love making, you’re missing out. At least that’s what Martha Stewart told me when we were locked up together. I remember her telling me how aroused she got when Chris Brown hit something. Oh, how I wish Martha had her ankle bracelet off so she could join us.  

The first night in Estes Park Beiber and I got into our first fight and it was one of those fights you can’t really recover from. I blame bourbon. It makes me feisty and the next day I knew I’d said too much and gone too far. At this point I think you could understand that this is always a hard revelation for me to attain. We’d never recover and we never have. I poured the half empty bottle of bourbon into the bathroom sink and it stained the bowl. I knew there’d be party foul repercussions if my frat brothers ever found out but the bourbon had to go.

We tried to keep it alive when we got back from Denver but it just wasn’t the same. I’m actually more upset now that I forgot my Taylor Swift CD in the rental Car. Beiber, if you’re reading this you owe me a T-Swift CD.

For twenty two days we spent almost every moment together. Insanity probably captures it best but for now we’ll use the word infatuation. I gave him his things back and I decided it was best for us not to talk at all. I’ve been through breakups and when it’s over. It’s over. I immediately started dating someone the next week. I turned off my emotions from Beiber, completely, like a switch as if I was expecting him to come back and turn me on.

It was almost February and I’d already been through so much so I decided to spend my time with someone who’d not only take my mind off Beiber but someone who also shared many of my interests. Manly things like camping, playing swords while peeing outside, and staining furniture. This was when I contemplated having new a boyfriend but only for a month at a time like a calendar of boyfriends. I would see how things went with, Charles, and then if it didn’t work I’d just start an experiment with hopes of learning more about myself and what I wanted out of a romantic relationship.

Charles had abs, he was an advanced nerd working with microchips and played the guitar. Case closed, where do I sign and I do. We met at a Vietnamese restaurant and when we met I could see the look he had in his eyes. It’s how I looked at Beiber the first time I met him. There was something up and it smelled familiar. We starting hanging out a lot and it was as if we were friends that just happened to sleep together. On valentine’s day I asked him to be my boyfriend as we camped together for the first time. About a week after that he had an opportunity to introduce me to one of his friends and he didn’t. I hadn’t thought about it much but that smell was coming back. It was bull shit. I confronted him, politely and asked if he’d ever see a point where I’d be a “mentioned and welcome” part of his life. He said no, and I broke up with him. Ain’t no body got time for that.

March rolled around and I was swatting them off like flies. Ladies, it was raining men. This time, two men. Brian and Jaun and I thought to myself, maybe THIS is what I’ve been missing? I’ve been doing it all wrong for too long and I’m just too much for most guys to handle. I’m opinionated, social, some-what educated, and a natural busy body not to mention, bat-shit-crazy. One man wasn’t going to be able keep up with me and if they could it would be likely that they wouldn’t have similar goals. I decided to try it out the way a college girl tries out another college girl. Two at one time and with cultural variety.

The sex was interesting but nothing different than any other threesomes. I’m pretty sure Jesus would not have approved but then, I remember faintly a BDSM fantasy he was too eager to try that night at the fair. Not to mention he was totally voyeuristic, always tweeting me later asking that I stop singing in the shower and always reminding me to wash my feet.  I decided I’d just go for it and for a month I did until I couldn’t anymore. I understand why they needed a third person in their relationship. Brian could have sex 1000x a day if you let him. Mean while Jaun and I would just pretend to be asleep. It didn’t help that Brian and Jaun had been together for more than a few years and they constantly bickered back and forth about stupid shit. It also didn’t help that Brian was vegan and we couldn’t eat real foods. I started to wonder who was I becoming!? I may have rejected the religion of my people but there’s no way I was giving up my red meat. A few weeks in they finally invited me into their relationship as the third boyfriend. Brian told me they’d both agreed and all I needed to do was murder a hooker in Vegas to join the club. Bearing in mind I’d already done this made things that much easier.

I am happy I didn’t turn my nose up to the idea but at the end the day it’s not what I want to come home to and I knew if I joined the love triangle, somebody would get chlamydia and we’d never know where it came from. I won’t be the start of some pandemic.  

Before I called it quits with these two I ran into a guy I had missed out on a date with about a year prior right after I broke up with my cheating ex, Fuckwad. Fuckwad was the Spanish guy I gave my heart to for about 7 months and the cause of this sexual and emotional revolution. I ran into St Peter out at the clurb, doin my thang. I wasn’t looking straight ahead and hit him like a muscular wall of fun. He was just what I needed in my life at the time. A middle eastern guy with a rock hard body and a personality that would. Not. Quit. Such a big, personality.

We were both a little drunk and just immediately starting dancing together. The next day I realized that I hadn’t had that much fun with a guy in years. We focus so much on love that sometimes we forget to just have fun. Such a strange thing but he was the first guy I’ve ever dated that felt comfortable going out to the club with me and dancing. So we started dancing our lives away and before I knew it the world just stopped for a while and I wasn’t worried about how long my relationship was going to last. I didn’t worry about anything. St Peter told me he loved me like the second week in and I believed him. What’s not to love? He made me lunch and we took short trips. He was kind, so much kinder than I expected him to be.

Even so, I hadn’t had time to myself in a while and it felt like I was just going through all of these guys. I didn’t want to commit to anyone but if I had to go back I think I would have given him a better shot and a clearer mind. That’s not to say there weren’t major problems. Once we planned a dinner. I took off my lunch break and bought all of the things and prepared. An hour before I got off work he sent me a picture of food. He was out with his friends having dinner. He didn’t cancel with me or tell me he was going out with his friends. This picture didn’t even have a caption. It didn’t even have a caption; it was just a blank snapchat. All I was to him was a blank snapchat! I made dinner for myself that night. Things like this constantly occurred and the little things add up after a while. About two months in I’d broken up with him twice because he seriously could not get his act together. Who was his dating coach, Tara Reid? He struck out the third time when he told me he wouldn’t kiss me in front of his friends. I won’t be hidden. If you’re not proud to have me, you don’t deserve me and that was the end. I drunkenly broke up with him as I found an Uber and locked up my car downtown. He cried and I still can’t believe he didn’t see that coming.

I took the summer off to focus on work. The gays don’t date in the summer anyways. We tan, we focus on our friends, and we take vacations. There’s no time for a relationship in the summer, everyone knows this LaTonya. This time away also provided me some time to reflect.

Nearing the end of the summer I decided to join an all gay softball league. I had never played softball in my life but that didn’t mean I was going to let softball play me. I’d slap the weave right off softballs head if I was given the chance. I was surprised to find out that there aren’t as many weaves in softball as I thought. I’m not sure what I was expecting now that I think about it.

I had just left a pre-pre practice sign up where they watch how bad the new players are. If you enjoy the first few episodes of American Idol you might have also enjoyed watching our new team learn to throw and catch. So I was leaving practice and decided that since I was in a new area in town I might like to pull up my grinder just to see what the locals are up to.

Cander messaged me immediately and I wasn’t hating all his scruffiness. He told me he was visiting from Turkey on a work visa and asked me out to coffee and he gave me his number right away. At first I was worried he was some kind of catfish but took my chances anyways. Who is going to pass up a date with Turkish guy?

We started seeing eachother a few times a week. I would drive downtown and he would take the bus always meeting at the same coffee shop until I started picking him up from his hotel. It’s crazy, sometimes fate intervenes in your life and everything you planned turns out to be a cruel joke that the Universe allows you to believe. Suddenly I found myself thinking about moving to Turkey and wondering what my life might be like there. Cander cooked for me and when he stayed over he cleaned my house and when I came home he rubbed my back. He listened to me and cared. More than any of that, I do not waiver, and there is no exaggeration when I say that this person, from a world away could understand my heart better than anyone I’d ever known and in that same breath I say that he is the most loving and honest person I have ever met.

It seemed impossible that we would have the same favorite movie, grow up in a similar way, share political beliefs and favorite foods. When my mind wanders he knows how to catch it. He’s the guy you experience life with. I could trust him to raise my kids and my closest friends absolutely loved him.

As his time crept up I had to wonder if I felt strongly for him because of his innocent heart or because time was running out. Given the chance I know I could spend my life with Cander and be happy and on the other hand I find it cruel to lead him to have hope for something that may never happen. It’s not so easy to move from Turkey to the U.S.

So I told him before he left that it was over and there was no hope for us. He wasn’t happy to hear it and we didn’t speak for about a week. His time was almost up, however, and I couldn’t stand to see him leave without saying goodbye. So we met one last time at the coffee shop where I first saw him, this time as friends. I’d allowed myself to believe that I could flip a switch with him and turn off everything I felt. We had an awkward dinner and he was cruel to me. He jabbed at me in part of our conversation and called me fat and hinted that I didn’t care about him. I was furious and I couldn’t handle it so I threw some cash on the table and started to leave, crying uncontrollably. He chased after me still upset but confused. I told him that I had still loved him and it killed me to see him go and then he kissed me. Not like he ever had before. I was frozen as he told me that he would do whatever it took to come back, he’d find me and we’d be married. I could only kiss him, unable to form words.

He’s applied for citizenship but it’s a lottery. Fate brought him to me once before and I hope one day fate brings him back to me again. Until then, what am I to do? It could be years before he comes back. I feel like Hellen Hunt in Cast Away except I know Tom Hanks is on that island. So Cander and I made an agreement. If he can find his way back to me we’ll get married. Until then, I’m not waiting up for him and he’s not waiting up for me. It’s just as strange as the ways we were brought together but we both have lives to live. The world isn’t fair but I’ve been given plenty of opportunities, and chances to make something work. In this past year I’ve met so many amazing, kind and even really hot men.  I’ve been blessed with opportunities to learn and grow in love and I’m a stronger, kinder person for it.

Cander and I stay in touch every day. He’s been back in turkey for a few weeks and sends me pictures and he’s told many of his friends about the American guy who stole his heart. And although I love him, he’s become like a best friend to me, because that’s all he can be right now. It’s tragic and it’s beautiful and for now it’s in the hands of fate.

Any time I spend with another guy right now feels wrong. Like I’m betraying Cander, but at the same time, we’re human and he’s on the other side of the planet. I want him to have someone to hold and I know he wants the same for me.

So last week I had dinner with a guy from Spain for shits and gigs. He was undeniably attractive, the type of guy so attractive that it almost makes you uncomfortable. “Did he loose a bet? Why is he here with me?” He was a welcome and must needed distraction considering I hadn’t had sex since Cander or shared a conversation with anyone who could keep up like Ignatius could. A couple weeks, for me, is a long time to be cut off. Ignatius was visiting from San Francisco and I don’t think he really understands the favor he did for me while he was here. Sure, we had a fun time visiting Barton springs, cruising through a Mediterranean festival and taking time to go out dancing.

What he doesn’t know is that when we were out dancing we ran into Fuckwad, my ex from Spain who cheated on me over year prior. He’d grown out a beard but he couldn’t hide from me. It’s that triumphant moment you want when you go to your ten year high school reunion or run into the ex that really had you crazy in love until the love is gone and you’re just crazy.

Here I was having fun with a more attractive, smarter and sexually aware guy, ironically from Spain. He must have seen us dancing all night, having an amazing time and as I ran into my friends he must have seen that too. After fuckwad I thought I’d never be able to love again. I cut myself off for a long time and didn’t allow myself to feel anything for anyone. I ruined close friendships and pushed people away and slipped into a depression but I picked myself back up. I found the strength from within myself to trust and love again. Seeing fuckwad wasn’t about winning. When you’ve been hurt so badly, just being here and proving you’re strong is enough.  I guess the lion king was right about that whole circle of life thing.

 

 

The Possum, The Flood & the Break Up

There’s an inherent law to the Universe. If one thing goes wrong, it might as well be everything.

I’ve been known to take my time when admitting where I’ve gone wrong and my last relationship took quite a few break ups and life lessons to get me where I am today. Where am I you ask? Well, my friend, I’m in a little world of my own; single and alone. It wasn’t always this way, I used to be 30 lbs lighter, a whole lot funnier, and in a simi-committed relationship with a guy who could make burnt toast seem exciting. Boy! I was living the life!

We‘d been together for about a year and a half, and at that time we were trying to get over some of our many looming issues. I guess I can see why he’d be upset. Early in the relationship I cheated on him, at the time I had assumed the maturity of a teenager who had never truly committed to anyone. I was young and foolish and did a successful job of ruining our relationship to a point where, as much as I tried, I could not fix. It wasn’t until a few months after I cheated that I actually fell in love with him. I grew to know the comfort of a man who loved me enough to stay, and a boy who loved me enough to be in the mess I created. This was only six months in. Another year went by, my efforts showing how committed I could be, but inside I still knew he was guarded. He didn’t play or laugh anymore, our love had died, the fun was dead and it was just a matter of time before I’d be forced to call it quits. I started to drift back into the same ass hole person, especially when the guilt came back. I can’t really explain it, but I blamed any of the problems in our relationship on him because he couldn’t forgive me. I didn’t understand how someone could want to stay in a relationship full of problems and yet never do anything to try to fix them.

We met in a small military town in West Texas that I had been desperately hoping to get out of. I was working all the time and getting into shape, he was stressed out because he was stuck in a marriage with a woman that he couldn’t be in for obvious reasons. I had already been saving to move to Austin when he met me and I never expected the relationship to really go anywhere. I figured he would forget about me when I moved to Austin… but he didn’t. He came to see me every weekend.

It didn’t end completely the first time we broke up, we only took a short break but it was our first “real” break up. We took a six or seven month break and eventually got back together only to break up again another year later.

Knowing we couldn’t make it on our own financially added to the worry of splitting up and in our first apartment in Austin I started anticipating the decision I’d have to make when our lease expired. We found a new apartment but I was reluctant to get stuck with him for another year. I couldn’t live another year feeling trapped. I broke up with him about a week before we had to move. He never had the strength to make tough decisions and to this day it still peeves me. He probably would have stayed in the unhappiness, living in despair for years before calling it quits. I was severely depressed after we broke up, I thought he’d fight for the relationship, make a gesture. I wanted to see a change and to no surprise, I didn’t. The spark, the life, the energy that drives a person could not be found in him. He was like a race car whose battery was draining out except he didn’t eventually slow down to a stop. It was like he was suspended in the sluggish dim 10 percent battery zone since I met him that just never ended.

I started drinking a lot the few days following the break up and one night I went a little too far.

I had just finished my side work in Bianco, the most difficult and hectic section in the restaurant to serve in. I was stressed, tired and beaten. My co-worker, Joyce, convinced me to spend all of my tips on shots that night. She was a middle-aged mother who never left the party days behind her. One night after work she invited me over to her house where more people were supposedly going to show up. We started drinking and at some point she got comfortable enough to show me her jugs. I thought to my self, “self, is this how cougars trap their prey?” Any who, that was water under the bridge so we went to a bar that had the word “shots” on the front of the building. Shots. Oh god. Shots and more shots followed to an argument with a bartender. I don’t know what we fought about but to this day I still feel that I was right. I don’t remember how I got home that night actually. All I remember is waking up to my ex-boyfriend gently tapping me as if tinker bell had enchanted me during my slumber. In a muttered tone under his breath as though he was trying to keep it a secret he said, “Umm, I think you flooded the apartment.”

Half awake, half asleep, “half Mexican,” a hungover mess of a man of me slipped one leg after the other off from the dry silky sheets into creamy wet carpet. Tips to every toe felt the set in dust and dirt that had been collecting over time like bits of salt in the water at the beach. This, however, was no vacation. My ex soon enlightened me to my mistakes from the night before. I got home late, ate everything in the kitchen, tried to start a fight with him and then proceeded to throw up for a good thirty minutes. I must have clogged the toilet because it backed up enough water over night to flood almost every room with a few inches of water. I wish I had an overflowing toilet every time I tried to fill up a swimming pool, that thing would be full in minutes! Luckily, somehow, the vomit flushed and only regular water found its way out.

I called the emergency hot line to get one of the maintenance guys out and assumed that it would take more than ten minutes for them to get there. I panicked. The maintenance man showed up and my ex let him enter the apartment even though he knew I was in the bathroom wearing nothing but my whitie-tighties. As I yell from the bathroom for Mikes help, the maintenance man bellows into the bathroom with no shame. I could have been wearing nipple clamps, this guy wouldn’t have taken a second look and yet there I stay, shoveling water into a half gallon pitcher trying to get as much down the bath tub drain as I could. I still use that pitcher for iced tea.

There was only one corner of our apartment that seemed to stay dry and that’s where all our stuff ended up. We were getting along for a while, too tired to worry about our break up. That night we went to the hot tub to wind down, we always had our best talks in the hot tub but could not stay in for more than thirty minutes or so because of how hot it would become. We made the short walk to the disaster that awaited us in our apartment. Earlier in the day during the water extraction and remediation process, we were forced to stack all of my furniture in a corner space in the living room so that the water guys could suck everything out of there with their elephant hose. When we arrived at our front door we noticed that it was cracked open by at least a half a foot. We thought it strange but didn’t entertain any other ideas once we made it inside. We were able to agree on a movie that night and thought we’d be able to turn in early. Charlie had other plans in mind.

He was a swift little bastard and cute as a button; as cute as the kind of button you’d see hidden under the beer belly on the blue jeans of a guy who works overtime for an oil rig.

We spotted him half way through Minority Report, an actually great science fiction film where a pre-crime investigator, Tom Cruise, pre-came on all of the murderers he caught. Karma was a bitch when it turns out that Tom Cruise himself was going to be playing sex darts with the same agency he’d worked for. My ex was usually asleep by this point. He always insisted in arguing for the movie he wanted to see and then he’d fall asleep 40 minutes into it, leaving me finishing whatever crappy bro movie we ended up with.

Charlie must have thought we were asleep or maybe he just wanted to see what all the fuss was about in the movie. My ex spotted his gleaming little eyes as he darted through the hall way outside of our bedroom and landed himself somewhere in the living room. He had been drinking the left over water behind the toilet in our bathroom. My ex never showed much excitement for much of anything, except when it came to bugs, rodents, and aliens. My ex screamed like a brace faced 3 grade girl when fat Tabitha comes around to pull pony tails. I imagine fat girls named Tabitha or Candice are big bullies in grade school. He climbed to the top most region of the bed and physically pushed me to go see what it was. Bitches be bitches right? So, there I am equipped with nothing but a curtain rod and the Minority Report movie case, thinking there was probably a rhino in the apartment or an actual alien. I try to get my ex to describe what he saw but all he could say was, “red eyes!” This was actually pretty accurate once I finally spotted the little guy stuck behind the couch, hissing like a stray cat as it gets torn apart by an alligator.

I didn’t want to actually grab him by my hands because, who knows, he could have rabies! I thought I’d be able to cattle prod him with the curtain rod and lead him out of the front door. This was obviously more than a one man job. My ex started recording the entire show as if it were some pandemic. Like an outbreak in the community!

He ended up in the bedroom and with all of our future stacked up it took hours to move everything and then he’d just run, again, underneath everything we’d stacked up. I was ready to give up and after a few hours decided to tell my ex that we could just worry about it in the morning. His response verbatim was, “That red eyed demon is going to lay eggs in my mouth when I’m sleeping!!” Being the good ex boyfriend I was, I spent even longer after that chasing Charlie from under the bed, behind the entertainment center, dresser, under the couch and finally into a corner in the bedroom. I grabbed a blue towel and scooped him up into it holding him like I was Sacagawea on the back on the gold dollar. Having him close, I was able to get a better view and smell of him. He was a baby possum, furry and pink. Insert inappropriate joke.

He was actually pretty cute and after holding him for a minute I thought it’d be nice to keep him but my ex was right. It wouldn’t be fair to bring him in to a broken home so we ultimately decided to release him into the wild. The wild pool area.

So there it is; your proof to the biggest law to the Universe. When shit hits the fan, it sticks and spreads to every propeller.

working on another one...

I woke up fifty years later in a fit of confusion and rage. It was surreal to be in a house I felt so much love in, but it was a house I didn’t recognize. How old was this couch? Was this here 50 years ago? Felt like it.

My brother was still in shock, maybe it’s because I was tired or maybe my back just hurt, but I couldn’t bring myself to believe he was involved in sabotage for 50 years. He was an old man now, shorter than he was so many years earlier. He had a scar on his face I didn’t recognize and his attitude seemed just as juvenile as it always had. If I heard one more joke about “Mr. Freeze” or “Having a cold” I’d throw myself of a cliff instead of a time capsule the next chance I got.

I Dream of Inception

Weird dream last night,

(In my dream) (it starts out with me in a dream) (so… I was dreaming about me in a dream)– In that dream I was talking to my twin brother and he came out to me and he had a 33 year old, pretty handsome, boyfriend and in that dream I was a little jealous. But in that dream I was remembering things wrong, I’m not sure if it was him. In fact I was remembering things from 50 years earlier because I’d been frozen in a time capsule.

It jumps to when I wake up inside my dream (present time – 50 years from now) with an 18 wheeler crashing into another vehicle, the contents were a bunch of boxes and two time capsules. I don’t know who was in the other one but I was on the side of the road and the defrost mode was initiated some how. I woke up naked but quickly found my clothes and old ass Iphone 5 in a compartment under the time capsule. I didn’t realize it was the future until I looked at the time capsule and it showed the year. Suddenly, only fragments of memories started to come back to me even though I knew who I was the whole time, feeling a fury for revenge yet I could not understand why I’d feel that way. Had I been trapped, frozen in rage for 50 years?

I sneaked off into the forest, I stayed in the forest for a few days, built a fort and tried to regroup, there were hardly any animals but I was able to live off of insects primarily. I needed clothes, real food, and to figure all of this shit out. I stumbled upon a general store, my first real contact with people. As I’m walking up to the store another memory came back to me (Ashley Judd) – who plays my mom in this dream was a picture in my head and all she said was “I believe you.” Those words kept playing over and over again in my head and must have given me the strength to face whoever, and whatever world existed inside that store. Surprisingly enough, the world hadn’t changed much in rural upstate Washington besides how fucking cold it was. Why was I in Washington? Is it because that’s where Twilight was filmed, or was I in Oregon? A young, twenty something year old girl was very helpful and thought I was strange enough to ask me questions, “where are you from,” “do you need help” – two things I was sure she didn’t want to know. I was reluctant but I told her exactly where I had come from, “Texas,” I said. I took a chance in the new world that every person in the north didn’t hate people in TX. I’m not sure if that was the case but she still decided to help me. I told her I didn’t have any money and I was in a bit of trouble. Convincing her was difficult considering how beat up I appeared from the few days I spent in the forest.

She talked with her dad who owned the store and luckily they owned some kind of motel to rent out rooms as well. I stayed in one of the rooms for a night and desperately sought to find my mother who would surely believe me the next day. The girl met me in the morning with an old beat up Iphone charger but it was so destroyed it couldn’t possibly work properly. We went to a near by, locally owned, convenience store to find any kind of cord that would work and to see if the credit cards in my wallet would work. Even after 50 years in savings, my $200 in savings didn’t go far. I had put all of my money in my house which I’m sure was completely history. I sobbed as I heard my mother’s voice on the other end of the phone, I asked her what had happened to my brothers and she couldn’t believe it was me. She kept saying, “You’re dead” “You’re dead.” She reminded me that Nick was murdered and Josh was still married to Britney, his wife. Two memories rushed back. Nick was trying to protect me from something. In the memory we were outside a café near a busy street, I can’t remember where, but I’m having dinner with my ex and his new 33 year old boyfriend. I was supposed to have dinner with my ex to see if we could work things out but he was only using that meeting as an opportunity to throw it in my face that he’d be leaving me. Nick runs up to warn me about something and is soon shot in the back by someone; my mind doesn’t allow me to see who. He’s pulled into a car and they drive away. At this point I couldn’t possibly know who was behind my incarceration inside the time capsule, who could have put me there? I get off the phone with my mom, who has agreed to send me a few thousand dollars. The future is a lot like Gotham in the newer Batman movies, not like sci-fi. The dream ends as I walk up to, my house, the house I spent my perfect life in before my ex and I broke it off. I found back and forth emails between him and his lover and broke it off but didn’t know that they were actually together. Is it possible I found out some other information and he decided to freeze me to keep it quite? I knock on the door and an old man, 77 years old, answers the door with a woman in the background. His face turns white and is stunned to see me. The woman in the back yells, “Who is it” to which he replies, “my brother.” The dream ends there and I wake up late for work!

A Perfect Life

            I want a family; I have this idea about the future, my life and my relationships with others.

            I’ll be sitting on the couch, much like any other day when I have a second to relax; normally with a glass of ice cold green tea in my hand reading the news online. I got home early from work because my crazy boss lets me do whatever I want. Work is amazing and I love what I do, but my family is even better so I rush home everyday for them. I decided to surprise my husband with a home made dinner from scratch, we both work and our child is in day care during the day. We think it’s good for him to interact with kids his own age. Earlier in the day I had picked my son/daughter up from daycare/school and we rushed off to the super market. We pretended the car was a spaceship and made funny noises the whole way to the store. Today is special because we have plenty of time to goof off. We had fun playing with the little toys that you get from the quarter machines. We even got matching unicorn tattoos, the kind you put on with warm water! The two of us, now “too cool for school” picked up all the groceries we needed. We found some great flowers for dad and smelled every one of them. We got white and yellow daises because they live for a long while. My son/daughter is proud of the flower we picked out together and is arranging them while I sip my green tea; this is going to be such a fun surprise. We have fun cleaning the house and listen to all types of music. We also made brownies together and I let him/her lick the bowl because, Well! That’s what I always liked to do when I was a kid!

            We put on some cartoons, like Penguins of Madagascar. My daughter, “Natalie” or son “Patrick,” had a fun day at school and can’t wait to tell me about it. Just then Dad (I’m called Papa btw), gets home. He’s exhausted, yet surprised and thrilled that the house is sparkling, much like the famous scene when Sally Field gets home in Mrs. Doubtfire. I go greet him and he pulls me in for a long romantic kiss and we laugh as our child yells, “yay! Did you like the surprise!? Did you! Did you! Did you!!” He gets his spastic nature from me. Right at the end of the kiss I suddenly yell, “Casserole!” I run to the kitchen, frightful that I’ve burnt dinner which I’ve already done on a couple occasions. I open the white cabinets, some completely white and a couple that have glass inserts so you can display things. I find a mitten and pull the casserole out of fired hot oven and on to by sparkling black granite countertops. Did I mention I had a large farm house sink? The casserole came out just in time, a lil crispy on the edges, but we like it that way. While it cools down a bit, I pop the veggies in the steamer. Our child helps get the plates and sneaks our dog some food without me noticing.

We live in a house, next to other people with houses not too far from a lake or where there are lots of trees. Our neighbors know us and drop by regularly. We don’t worry about money but we don’t always have a lot of it. At dinner we swap stories about our day. We even talk about world issues and politics from time to time. Culture is important to our family and we may not agree on everything, but we respect each other always. After dinner we play board games and then it’s time for bed. We all read a bed-time story or even a story at bath-time. We brush our teeth together every night and make growling toothpaste foam faces at each other, running about the house like crazy people. Ahh… we have fun! At bed time we tuck our little one in and never let a night go by without them knowing how much we love them. We may even have a funny way we say goodnight to each other.

My other half and I sneak off to our bedroom on the opposite end of our send floor house. We worry together for our family and listen to ideas and thoughts from each other. We’re supportive and encouraging, and we’re so in love it’s hard for us to keep our hands off of one another. We make sure the door is locked and throw it down like lovers do. The next day is a Friday and I have the day off. I help my husband get ready for work but he decides to take a sick day instead. We all go to the zoo or a movie or a park and have a picnic. We races boats, play fetch with our old dog, and fly a kite. I let them play together for a while so I can get a chance to read a book or write a little. The dog is next to me panting in my face. I really didn’t even want a dog to begin with but my child’s eyes persuaded me otherwise. I’m a sap like that and give in every once in a while. My child picked out an old dog instead… he’s a lot like me and I’ve taught him that we all play a small but significant role in the world. It’s important to do good things whenever you can. So my child picked out an older dog so they wouldn’t put it down instead of the puppy that has a better chance of finding a home. We wound up with a 7yr old mutt that lays around pretty much 24/7.

It’s our life, we don’t think about it being a “Gay Family.” We are who we are and we’re thankful to have each other. We have ups and downs just like everyone else; but these past two days we were a memory… a perfect memory I just haven’t had yet.

The General

My hand finally woke up after a long stay in my Uncle David's death grip. It was squeezed so hard that my dainty meta-carpals started to kiss each other.

My Uncle always seemed to have that big personality, like that Gilbert Gottfried guy from that "Aflac" commercials. He'd usually bark across the room loudly, "come over here you little shit head!" to which I could only respond with a long winded sprint to someplace high my Uncle's short stubby body and large sausage fingers couldn't reach me. When he did finally get a hold of one of us, there was only one way to free your hand from what seemed to be the repeated feeling of getting your fingers smashed in a car door.

"Please Uncle David! Please! Please! Please! Let my hand go!" My hand was still throbbing and my uncle showed no sign of letting up. "Tell me who I am you smelly troll!" he'd say. I was never as brave as my brothers and gave in immediately, sometimes before he even reached for my hand to shake. "OK! OK! PLEASE!!" "Please Mr. Five-Star General Sir, please with a cherry on top!" as I thought, "Let go of my fucking hand you crazy old bastard!" He would only let go of your hand if you acknowledged him as "Five-Star General Sir." As he squeezed, his olive-colored Italian face would scrunch up as he folded his tongue back and bit down on it as if he was juicing the last drop of a lime into a Mad Dog 40/40. He enjoyed tormenting us and now that I have a nephew who's almost one year old... I'll soon be paying it forward.

I hope someday to have the opportunity to be the type of uncle that my uncle was to me. Uncle David was a little nuts, and by a little I mean in comparison of the Atlantic to the pacific. It's a lot of crazy, but nothing compared to the rest of the family.

I had to of been about six years old when I finally learned that my dad and step mom weren't actually looking at imaginary birds on the ceiling. They had some problems, who knows, maybe they over-heard my brother's and I some nights as we described how we'd run away and the lengths we'd go to do it. Luckily they recognized their issues, well, at least enough to know that they needed help. My dad called my Uncle and had him watch us for what seemed to be about five months as they sobered up. My grandfather was in Rhode Island, living it up with his some-what recently married wife at the time so we stayed at his large home in the quaint town of Baird, TX.

I had already switched schools twice by this time and now I'd be at my third school, where I had attended kindergarten actually. It was nice to be back but they put me in special classes so I wasn't too happy about that. I had missed a bit of school and it I never cared about my studies before because my parents definitely did not. My uncle helped me get back on track, whether I liked it or not.

I had more discipline in second grade then most of the guys I’ve dated in my twenties. The first morning we woke up I could see why my Uncle always wanted us to call him Five Star General Sir. We had to make our bed military style and report to the mess hall by o’ five hundred on the dot to begin our day of back-breaking labor. There was a freak cold front the night before that left the entire city under a blanket of sleet and slow about three inches deep. My hands took another beating that week as we went from the city hall to neighbor’s yards picking up pecans. Now that I think about it, these experiences explain my mild case of carpal-tunnel syndrome. My Uncle sold the pecans to a wealthy man in the big city who owned a pecan grove. This man’s shop is now owned by an Asian family that sells knock off t-shirts and shoes of Adidas and Nike. On occasion he would pay my Uncle to come out to his property with us to scavenge the property for pecans. He paid my Uncle well and gave my two brothers and I five bucks each and an extra five to whoever found the most pecans. I’ve had a severe un-diagnosed case of ADHD my entire life so focusing on a mundane task like picking pecans did not resonate with the old noggin.

Picking pecans was really just the start of my uncle breaking many child labor laws. We might as well have been placed in a sweat-shop outside Rio de Janeiro. Sewing and steam-pressing hand woven scarves would have been more ideal than waking up at the butt-crack of dawn to sale $1 figures at a local flea market. My uncle would order all of these aluminum, cheaply made, quarter to half of an inch tall figurines and hot glue them onto smooched down colorful marbles. He also sold all things American. Flags, T-Shirts- and hats, but mainly just small flags; I believe my Uncle has never had a “real” job for most of his life.

“Back in my day,” it wasn’t unusual for children to run around a flea market alone and visit with all of the other local flea market-teer’s. The couple across from us sold bibles, crosses, and made funnel cakes. Once they tried to sale me a bible but gave up and just gave me one. I read most of it but it only had a map in the front of what the Garden of Eden was supposed to look like and the rest of it was about old people. Where were the ninja turtles and power rangers when you needed them!? Another family sold fresh produces that they grew in their massive garden as well as video cassettes which were always too expensive for my uncle to buy. We were one of the only market-teer’s that did not sale any type of beverage or food. At this early age in my life I saw an opportunity for growth in the “Glaze Enterprise,” mainly, we were missing a crucial niche in the market and my Uncle did made kick-ass hot dogs! I tried to convince him to sale hot-dogs and pickles, “We’d make a killing Uncle David!” my twin brother would say in an overly excited screech as he’s backing me up. He’d pushed his bi-focal thick plastic faux-wood glasses up from the tip of his nose with his pointer finger. I think my Uncle didn’t have the vision it took to take the “company” to the heights that my brother and I thought it deserved.

After school, when I wasn’t too tired from picking pecans or going to the flea markets. I’d come home from school, work on my homework, eat at the dinner table with everyone and then watch “The Munsters” on Nick at Night’s TV land. This is the most functional childhood memory I can depend on to remind myself of the determination and stability that an adult should give to a child. Things were going pretty well one week and sales were at an all time high so the General bought some sirloin steaks and made them medium-rare, you know… the right way to cook a steak! My uncle was big on getting value for the things that he bought. Somehow I managed to get the steak that had the biggest piece of fat draping to the side of it. Usually I had the appetite of a polar bear in the arctic after an “honest days work” as the General would call it; however, we’d taken the day off to celebrate our short-lived wealth. Shit-Balls!!

The seasoned beef blood pulled together in a puddle on the side of my ceramic plate as I took the last meaty bite of my steak. The large piece of white fat just sat there, where’s the family dog when you need him? All we had was a Chihuahua and that flamboyant little bastard only ate deli ham.  My Uncle gave me that death look like, “you better eat that fat or I’m going to sock you in the face.” After this stern look he says to me with his tongue folded in after he had bit down, “eat that meat or I’m going to sock you in the face.” Chew and Chew as try, the fat would not deteriorate! I don’t know why I started with such a large piece. I could feel my stomach already deciding not to accept this as an acceptable form of nourishment. I started to gag as I chewed and my Uncle just yelled at me, “don’t you throw that up,” “DON’T THROW UP!” Pieces fell from my mouth and my eyes started to water, I started to sweat and at this point it was clear to everyone (including myself) that I was about to spew chunks all over the dining table. Right as I was about to throw up my Uncle advised that if I threw anything up he’d punish me and I’d get a “whooping,” which is basically the male equivalent to a spanking. It just doesn’t sound right when you say your Uncle gives you spankings.   

Creepers in the Gym

An important thought to remember is to not judge and I try to live with this frame of thinking throughout the day. This however can be hard when you’ve left the 24hr fitness off of Braker and 183 in Austin. It’s been almost a year since my last blog, so maybe we’ll try to whip this thing into shape with a review of my gym.

Any particular night after work, one may see me tinkering away with some free weights, pushing it on the elliptical, or even just mouthing the new Lady Gaga track in the sauna at the gym. So why is it, not one person has noticed these creepers in the locker room; or in the sauna, the pool area, and especially the showers. Come to think of it, the only place one wouldn’t be able to recognize these creepers would be the actual gym itself. “I’m a sinner, I am saint, I do not feel ashamed” is the theme song these guys live by.

It all started a few months ago when the new year rolled over. This happens for me a little early every year around the 28th of December. I get overly excited about many things only to see the momentum sucked from beneath my wings. Believe it or not, 24hr fitness takes the $33 from my account every month whether I go or not. So I crash landed in the Jacuzzi area after a quick swim and ended up in the sauna at some point. While sweating the toxins (alcohol) out of my system, I soon noticed an old man pouring sweat and drop by drop it landed right on my foot. He was stretching right in front of me, did this 70 something guy just leave a belly dancing class? After a hard, stiff stretch and a cracked tibia “Adidas,” as I call him, proceeds to ask many questions. In fact, beyond any control of my own, Adidas seemed to find me in the Sauna, the showers, or near my locker for weeks to come. I changed up my schedule and he’d change up his approach. As I looked at his face all I saw was his mind racing. What was he thinking? What was I doing in his head? He wanted to know if I was a swimmer, if I worked out there often. Did I run all day or was I just running through his brain all day?  These are obvious answers. Did this guy see my rolls? I told him I hadn’t hit the gym in quite some time and I tried to stay away from water. I think we lost something in translation because now he believes I have a daughter.

All of this would be fine if I didn’t leave the shower ever night, reach for my towel, and see his sagging wrinkled cheeks up top and on bottom reaching for the next person to take a peak at. Why did he stand in the middle of the shower area for so long? Why was my stall the place he left a key or towel everytime? I’m not a shy person, but this guy smelled and my balls shrank every time is saw him. That can’t be a good sign!! This guy stuck out within my mind but he is definitely not the only one. Below is a list of violators.

Beer Belly Hispanic Guy with the Fanzi Fro:

             He spends entirely too much time in the locker room. When I show up I can see that he is just entering the showers. The guy is in there for HOURS!!! It takes me an hour to finish everything upstairs, after the pool and sauna I’ve added another thirty minutes. Can somebody please tell me why he is just now doing his hair in the mirror trying to make uninterrupted eye contact with people he doesn’t know? I see this guy in the locker room more than Adidas!! Being barefoot in a guys locker room that long could really cause some permanent damage.

Old Stubbly White Faced Beard, Hair on Back Guy:

            I just call him OS.W.F.B.HOB.G for short. Ok, there is a hole in almost all of the shower stall areas! Call me naive but for the longest time it never occurred to me that people were actually looking through that hole until one day when OSWFBHOBG is poking his finger through the slot like it’s a glory hole! The hole isn’t big enough to get a whole pinky finger through; did he think this would impress me? As I looked down at the hole I could see his finger leave and an eye ball peer in. I was flattered at first then disgusted. He followed me out of the shower and got dressed right in front of me. What do people see when they look at me, do I seem that easy? This whole time I thought I was more of a Charlotte and it turns out I’m perceived more as a Samantha!

The Asians!

            For the most part I’m not interested in Asian guys and it seems like the feeling is mutual. Every time I go to the gym I’m expecting some pervert to stare me up and down and do all of the “signals” from the other stall. I get in there, I get out. My showers are more of a sprint these days at the gym. There is a large Asian population that goes to this gym and many are gay. They find other older Asian guys and do their thing. I’m not sure what happened the other day but apparently I was in the wrong stall because one Asian guy waited outside of my stall and began to throw his sandal on the ground causing a fuss. This made me very uncomfortable so I just left the stall and went to another one. “Just another weird guy at the gym,” I thought.  When I left the shower I looked to see if he was still causing a scene and the guy was jacking off right in the open where anyone could see him. Another Asian man was in the stall right next to him doing the exact same thing. What has this world come to? I haven’t gone to the gym in a while because of this, and because of my love of Mexican food.

The gym may hold many surprises for even the most timid. Be careful and always be prepared to rinse and dash, you never know when you’re getting eye fucked from old Creeper at the gym.