THINGS I HAVE LEARNED TO LIVE WITHOUT

Life has presented me with a serious of challenges lately, but I think I have adapted well. Living in a big city isn't always easy, but sometimes you can do more with less, and appreciate it accordingly. Of course, the lack of certain things leave me wanting for more, but, in a roundabout way, it keeps me modest and appreciate that little things. Here goes. 

#1 Car

Whenever I see an Acura RSX Type-S parked on the street, my heart swoons. I loved that car dearly and it really, fucking sucked when it was stolen. However, she was a pricey bitch; between gas, insurance and the monthly payments, it was over $500 a month, more than my rent. So I am actually grateful to be relieved of it. BUT...not a day goes by I don't miss it.  

#2 Boyfriend

I constantly go back and forth on this one, but at least right now, I am happy being single. Relationships are a lot of fucking work, and yes, rewarding, but sometimes is better just dealing with my own shit, on my own terms, without the added work of dealing with someone else's. That being said, I have no idea how I landed a hottie like my ex; but like my beloved, departed car, probably more trouble than it was worth. 

#3 Marijuana

For over 15 years I was very much an "enthusiast" of smoking weed. And not weak shit either; I was lucky enough to have almost constant access to extremely, strong hydroponic shit.My tolerance was ridiculous, and now that I don't smoke that anymore, I get absolutely HAMMERED when I do. Just 2 weeks ago, I took 2 hits and thought I was going to die. For real. I'll stick with PBR. 

#4 Contact Lenses

Since the forth grade I have been prescribed corrective vision of one kind or another. At first, I was all about glasses, but when I attempted to play sports, I got contacts. Around the 6th or 7th grade until about 2 years ago I struggled with putting those fucking things in my eyes. NEVER again. And I won't het LASIK either. Instead I just got another pair of glasses, and I shall wear them until I die. 

#5 Cable TV

Being a homebody, as I tend to be, I watch a lot of television. As a child of the 80's, I was fortunate enough to grow up on Nickelodeon, MTV and HBO. I didn't think I could live without it, but I cut the cord last year. Netflix, Hulu and picking up books has more than made up for the lack of video-based entertainment. I do not miss it, nor am I am willing to pay through the nose for it. Comcast...eat a dick!  

Next up...THINGS I CAN"T LIVE WITHOUT!
   

HOW TO BE GAY, OR NOT

This morning I was lying in bed and listening to NPR (as I'm want to do) when they interviewed David M. Halprin, professor of "sexuality" from the University of Michigan. Although admittedly, slightly hungover, and I'll also admit, I could have taken his opinions the wrong way, it launched me out of bed to write this...

From what I understood, Mr. Halprin was wistfully reminiscing about the "good" old gays of gay culture, when expressing one's sexuality (and thus humanity) was confined to the closet, or defined by secrets/deviance/shitty techno music.

But first, a little history about myself. I didn't come out until the ripe age of 25. I grew up in a affluent, white, male dominated culture, and didn't have any gay friends, or even friends who had gay friends. Thus, I didn't have a reference point to adhere to, or a way to express my sexuality (except in my own private way). 

I understand the reason to cling to gay cultural "signposts", be it speaking a certain way, dressing a certain way or acting a certain way. But what has always been represented gay culture to me growing up, never appealed to me, nor could I identify with it.

After I came out, and moved back to Chicago proper, I tried my best to assimilate to the urban gay mindset. I went to the Boystown hot spots, hooked up with people I regret and endured horrible music too numerous to list here.  

What I'm getting at, is that I didn't or couldn't really identify with my straight friends, nor could I successfully integrate to the gay culture I was exposed to. You know what's more difficult than coming out? Being rejected outright by the very people that preach acceptance. 

In the past these phrases have been said to me, and etched into my mind:

-"You know this is a gay bar, right?"

-"Honey, you aren't gay, you just want to be."

-"You drink PBR?"

Don't get me wrong. I'm not nailing myself to a cross, and I fully realize that many other gay men have traversed roads FAR rougher then mine. But it still irritates me that gay culture is now too mainstream, or too integrated within the larger world. Wasn't that always the point?

And what's worse, for a lot of people, IT'S NOT THE MAINSTREAM. There are still people afraid of coming out, who are shamed when they do, seeking nothing but a modicum of tolerance. Of comfort. Maybe even love.  

But I can only speak for myself. I'm proud of the man I am. My family, friends and co-workers know I am gay. Perhaps, I, as a white man, have it easier. But that doesn't diminish my own struggle. And I certainly don't need anyone tell me where I do or don't belong, what to listen to or how to appear. 

Homosexuals have made so much progress, that I am infuriated by certain people's reminiscing about "the good old days" when LGBTQ individuals were marginalized, or felt false pride for being "different". ALL people are different. What makes us human is what we have in common. 

At the risk of being redundant, I think we can all agree that what binds us together is the simple, honest and human need to be loved, spiritually, mentally and yes, physically. This doesn't need to be over thought, discussed or written about, or worse...taught. 

TICKS/HABITS/O.C.D.?

I carry my backpack everywhere; since my primary modes of transportation are the bus, my bike or simply my feet I need a place to store shit - especially since I loathe having shit in pockets. But I also am waging a one man war against plastic bags. Rather than but a sixer of beer in something that would be used once and last FOREVER, I kindly inform the clerk that "no thanks, I've got my bag". 

This is a round about way of how I started thinking about the things we program ourselves to do. Case in point, tonight I picked up a 6 of my beloved PBR (hate away, it's my jam!) from the local 7-11, the clerk, whom I have bought things from hundreds of times, and knows I don't use plastic bags (yet asks anyways) ringed me up and reached for a plastic bag, not once but three times merely out of habit. 

We laughed and he apologized. But then he mentioned how even when isn't wearing his glasses, he will try to adjust them. That lead to a conversation about how my glasses are always sliding down my face, and I unintentionally use my middle finger to push them up, accidentally people to fuck themselves. More than once I have apologized to complete strangers for this minor transgression, lest I get beat, or worse. 

This lead to a transition about contact lenses; when I used to wear those fucking awful things, they would always dry my eyes out or worse, slip off my retinas, which would cause me to do this winking thing. Years went by until someone asked me why I was constantly winking at people - as if it was "funny" part of my physical repertoire. It certainly was not. 

Then on the walk home tonight I was thinking of the other weird ticks or habits I have. Like, when I'm in a crowd or on a packed train/bus, I constantly check to see if my wallet is still there. Do people think I am constantly grabbing my ass - or worse, like it's some sort of "signal" that I want to touch someone else's ass? That would be both amusing and terrible. 

Here are a few others:

-I'll piss in my bathroom at home without the light on, and when I'm finished, I'll attempt to turn off the light switch. 

-Since I usually drink beer out of cans, and you can tell which one is mine because the tab in the vertical position. 

-Even if my hands are free at work I always open the swinging door to/from the kitchen with my foot in one fluid kick and hold it open for people behind me with my heel. 

-Although I am right handed, I only hold my phone with my left hand; and (T.M..I alert!) jerk off with "the stranger".

-When I am wearing a baseball cap, I have a habit of pulling said cap up high, then low and then settle it somewhere in the middle. 

There must certainly be dozens if not hundreds of other ticks/habits/procedures I am not aware of. Perhaps I have a slight touch of obsessive compulsion, but I'll chalk it up to being a creature of habit. But it's not unintentional. I tend to carefully consider an action, and once it satisfies the area in my brain, that qualifies the result, I tend to stick to it. Maybe that's why I am good at repetitive tasks.  

THE "SELLING OUT" OF PRIDE

This prior Sunday was the 4th (or maybe 5th) Chicago Pride Parade I have attended. Honestly, I forgot all about it until less than a week before it was scheduled to occur, and had my place of work not planned to shut down for the Big Day, I would have choose to work.

However, the weather was forecast to be beautiful and one of best girlfriends wanted to go - or rather spend a lovely afternoon in the city with yours truly. Which was great! However, you would think my boyfriend would join us...but...

ME: "What are your plans for Pride?"

HIM: "I'm not going, I'm working."

ME: "Oh, OK, do you have to or want to?"

HIM: "They offered me the day off, but I didn't take it...plus...it's so..."

And here begins the diatribe about why Pride Parades, in particular Chicago's massive one is complete and utter bullshit. Now, before I list his reasons, allow me to say that based upon my prior experiences, he's not completely wrong. There are issues, and I will address them in a moment.

But first, I'll lay down his problems/complaints/thoughts and I'll respond accordingly.

#1: Commercialization - It's certainly rampant and almost insulting how greedy multinational corporations will pander to a demographic to further their bottom line. BUT - Consider that these heartless bastards were willing to provide their employee's, their partner's and even their children with health care and other ancillary benefits before most local/state/federal governing bodies would is nothing short of progressive. If that means I have to see a bunch of Go-Go's boys dancing on the Harris Bank float, so be it. [That being said the MillerCoors float/march/debacle shall forever burn a painful hole in my psyche].

#2: Politics - Just like the corporations that will sponsor a float to make a buck, politicians will also play nice with the LGBT community to garner votes. I know, I know, it's fucking SHOCKING that someone running for office to stoop to such a level. I thought politics were so...PURE. Can we grow the fuck up and learn how to play the game? Politicians used to shun the LGBT community and now they march within it. How is this a problem? YOU HAVE A VOICE! Sure, things like terrorism or economic collapse *might* take precedence, but I still consider this progress. Not perfect, no, but at least we have access.

#3: Tourists - Just like when subcultures emerge from the shadows hey secretly thrived in, to be humped by marketing experts and political consultants, things that used to seem "edgy" or "dangerous" tend to eventually attract the masses. Case in point, 5 years ago 200,000 people were estimated to attend the Parade; this year it was 850,000+. Staggering to be sure. But why? Fuck if I know. I was going to compare how Dr. Dre used to be scary but now hawks Dr. Pepper on prime-time - but I don't know if that analogy works.

HERE'S my half-baked bottom line argument. As the LBGT community is more and more accepted by society as a whole, it loses it edge, it's uniqueness even and perhaps a loss of identity. If we are no longer the OTHER, than who are we? But isn't that the point in fighting for equal rights? FUCK separate but equal. That doesn't mean people need to shed their individuality - FAR from it. It just that who or what you fuck and/or LOVE just isn't all that controversial anymore.

And that to me is a good thing.

PS - After 3 hours of PARADE-going, I got a text from my PARADE-going-Reluctant-Boyfriend:

HIM: "Hey, how's Pride?

ME: "Really, fun, we are having a nice mellow day!"

HIM: "I just got out of work...should I ditch class and meet you both at the Parade?"

ME: "No, it's over...you missed it."

PPS - This was also the first Pride Parade I attended 100% sober.

AN AFTERNOON ODDESSEY

Today, I set out to get a pedicure. Never have I received one, and I promised myself I would get one after my broken left foot healed (which is mostly has). Anyways, on the way to local nail salon, I get a call from my friend, that our mutual friend is in the hospital.

Apparently, he got wasted on his birthday and started cutting himself. His girlfriend, thankfully she was there, called the paramedics. Had she not been...I don't even want to think about it. So I stopped in the local liquor store/bar and had a beer and a shot of whiskey (naturally).

Then on my way to the nail salon, a sign spinner for a tax agency dressed as the Statue of Liberty asks to buy a cigarette off me. As he struggled to find change under his dress, I decided I should just let him have one, free of charge.

After deciding I don't want to drop $28 for a woman to clean my feet, I was stopped by a nun, who asked for a dollar - something about working with cancer patients, and oh, apparently I look "really familiar" to her and that I should quit smoking.

Don't even get me started about the random man dressed in coveralls, and rocking a miner's lamp and was...hackey sacking.

What the shit is going on outside today? I'm afraid to leave my house, however I must as my boyfriend's dead friend's posthumous art retrospective is tonight.

So, yeah, fuck it, I'm having a beer, a little vodka and watching the episode of Skins where Sid's father dies (one of the best) and listening to Arcade Fire. The only way this situation could get MORE emo is to jerk off to Pete Wentz.

MY TOLERANCE HAS VANISHED

For the booze, that is. I used to drink like a fucking champion. One time, in band camp...wait, no. But one time I drank a half of whiskey within an hour. John Belushi style. Didn't even bother with a shot glass.

I've gone through periods of soberness, but nothing like now. And although it's because of my totally sober boyfriend, I'm not trying to get better for me, but for me. That being said, when I do drink, I drink like a fish starving for water. Like I used to.

Funny thing is though, I can't hang like I used to. Either it's the slow ageing process, or "maturity", or the legal system (I'm literally not allowed to legally drink) when I do...I'm a FUCKING PUSSY. And coming from a long, long line of heavy drinkers, this is not easy to admit, let alone accept.

Working in a bar hasn't helped, nor has the court ordered outpatient therapy (that I'm still paying off), but the few AA meetings has, actually, brought me some peace of mind. I refuse to believe that I will never have another drink, because I'm sure I will. I just wonder if there is a "right" way to do so.

Probably not.

THE UNIVERSE LIKES ME

Where to begin. Well, for one thing, "T" randomly visited me a at work yesterday. I'm not big on surprises, but that was an awesome one. He only stayed for a bit, we shared a smoke and made out in the alley like teenagers. That cute fucker left me with a massive boner. And I was wearing skinny jeans! So insensitive. But AWESOME.

Also, in last night news, I had my iPhone plugged into the sounds system behind the bar, and I tripped on the cord, smashing the glass on the face of said phone. Sucks, however it's over 3 years old, so I ordered up a new one today from AT&T...for 99 cents. Fucking awesome. I even sprang for priority shipping for an extra $5.

I decided to stay home for the holidays; roommate is flying to Poland for 12 days or so (broken ankle and all, but that's another story) and I elected not to join my family-in-law in rural Michigan. And "T" will be in Florida, so it's going to be a quiet one, but I'm really looking forward to it. Can you pronounce "Stay-Cation"?

My only complaint, as I see it, is that the fucking sun has decided to ignore the Chicagoland area this entire week. I'm drinking copious amounts of orange juice to compensate. Also, making out with boys and letting me fuck them. And working my ass off...and taking care of my roommate (she fucked her ankle swing dancing) and dealing with plumbing issues that I won't go into detail about here.

Basically, what I'm getting at, is as the year draws to an end, I hope you and yours had a good one (I didn't) and that next year is WAY BETTER than this one. I'm going to spend the next few days resting my body and my mind, and establishing goals for the next year. The least of which is not working in a fucking bar anymore.

So...H-A-P-P-Y-H-O-L-I-D-A-Y-S. Let's make 2012 a good one!

HOLY FUCKING CHRIST WHAT A WEEK I'VE HAD

Where to begin? For one, my computer monitor died last week, hence my lack of updates. I took that piece of shit in the alley behind my place and bashed the shit out of it with my fists. And boots. I just spent $136 that I don't have to buy a new one, and it took 3 attempts for Fed Ex to deliver it.

Work has been retarded annoying; I had a meeting on Monday morning that concerned the history of Belgian beer, and also how to properly poor beers. I peaced out after an hour. And busied myself with actual work. Then left and came back and took care of my drunk co-workers.

A large piece of my bathroom ceiling was about to collapse, and my Greek landlord is a cheap bastard, to say the least, so I spent the better part of this week waiting around for him to put a weak band aid on that.

My back is killing me, to say nothing of my knees. I got random creditors calling me, the weather has turned to absolute shit, my hot date for this weekend got canceled, I'm broke and UGH X 1000! At least my place is clean, and I got laid the other night. And I finally have a new monitor. So, it's not all bad.

MY CURRENT IMAGINARY BOYFRIEND

...is Aaron Paul. He plays a character on my favorite show which is "Breaking Bad". Yes, he has a HUGE forehead, but something about those eyes. Anyways, there is a plot line wherein his girlfriend dies (tragically, but I don't want to spoil the details) and he keeps calling her cell phone (at least 50 times), knowing she is dead, but wants to hear her voice mail message just to hear her voice. Then...it's disconnected.

I've never loved someone that much, and I know it's fictional television...BUT, I have had that moment, when someone you FUCKING love/LIKE won't or can't answer their phone but the simple sound of their pre-recorded voice, is so just...reassuring. Perhaps even comforting. And even makes you believe again in how awesome life can be. How people can affect one another.

Enough with the sappy stuff...can we agree that he is HOT?!

SO I AM 32...

...and I like it. The solo celebration took place past Midnight by cleaning my place up, ripping the window a/c unit out of my window and wondering where these "kids" are making loud drunken sounds.

At this hour, at this age...I am thinking about where thought I would be/should be, but at the same time, will sleep soundly knowing that I am in a good place. Not financially secure, nor romantically, but tethered to a place I LOVE and surrounded by good people.

And as I slather lotion on my one and only tattoo I think about the things I am grateful for. Soon this awful Summer weather will die out, a new love will be found, and my job will find me even more indispensable.

These are good things.

I CUT MY HAIR (AND HAD MY EYEBROWS TRIMMED)

For the last year and a half plus, I wore my hair in a decidedly "shaggy" fashion, not unlike Justin Beiber but less kept. Finally, I reached my breaking point when I couldn't insert headphones into my ears without trapping hair in there. So I had my hair cut off, over 6 inches in places, and it feels SO fucking good!

My boss was struggling to define his positive feelings towards this change, mostly, he seemed to say how more "mature" I look, as befitting a man about to turn 32 years of age. It was time. Funny though about the little changes; my fitted baseball caps fit yet again and I had to bring in the chin strap on my bike helmet.

On the same day I got this shit cut, I ended it with the 23 y/o Fuck Buddy. It was getting too real, in that either it was going to turn into an actual relationship, or not, and I choose the latter. He's too young, I got too much else to deal with and just wasn't feeling it were the reasons I gave. No sense in pretending otherwise.

So I am unattached, clear of mind, and without a roommate for the next week (she's visiting her family in Poland). I feel good, better in fact than I have in a long while. Summer is drawing to a close, work is good, and I'm turning 32 y/o next Sunday. Life is good, my place is spotless and I'm anticipating my next relationship.

WOOT.

I AM QUIET

"Never know you gone 'til it all goes/Put in something more 'til it all goes"

-Skyzoo

While the above quote might seem dramatic, is it indicative of my current attitude towards life; perhaps I sound like a broken record, but I am busting my ass, and yeah, might not have much to show for it, but I am doing more and more, in little but meaningful ways every day. Rather than detailing them here, or embellishing "crazy" nights out filled with drugs, booze and sex, I have been staying in, mostly alone or with friends, being quiet. Really. Dating? Hiatus. Working? Defiantly.

Perhaps this blog has grown tired, or boring to read as I don't have much "exciting" to write about. But I think that's a good thing in a way. Previously, living an unhealthy lifestyle fueled both my creativity and my ego, but I've come to terms how unsustainable that is. Short term thinking leads to short term living and I want to stay around for a long, LONG time. So if I become boring, well, Fuck it.

The other day, someone remarked that I now seem "quiet". I don't take that as an insult or a negative comment; I'd rather listen than speak, unless spoken to, which is kinda like how I used to be when shit in life was really real. I still laugh, and interject, but I have been humbled, and feel like it's a road I shall travel for the near future. I'll still seek out boys, laugh out loud, and enjoy what Chicago has to offer.

BUT...I don't want the life I used to have; easier said than done, and there are miles to go, but...it's like slowly tearing off a bandage really carefully. If I knew what the future holds, the changes would be easier but since I don't, this transition has been stressful. At the same time, it's been illuminating and allowing myself a certain allowance of "fuck it", which I really hope makes sense to the people I love.

Stay with me, if you understand, and ask questions if you don't.

PS - Edwin, keep sending me links to hot new hip-hop!

I AM AN ALCOHOLIC

Whether that's true or not (probably is) that's what I admitted to, to a roomful of strangers last night. It wasn't an AA meeting, but rather one of my thrice weekly DUI classes I am mandated to go to.

Over the many meeting/classes I have attended, I have seen when the "facilitator" single out one particular person, not to pick on them, but to use as an example/cautionary tale, and I actually prayed I would not be that one person. Last night, I was.

GOD, I almost cried. Here's how these classes go; there are a room full of people in various stages of treatment, most for DUI, some for heroin, some for domestic violence, etc. For whatever reason I was chosen to go into even more detail about my situation, the incredible amount of alcohol I had in my system when I crashed a car...and how most "normal" people would have been in a coma or needed to get their stomach pumped (I received no such treatment at the hospital, and in fact the fucking shackles were never removed from my feet and hands).

So...this guy concluded, rightfully so I think, that my tolerance is so fucking high, genetic or otherwise, that I could drink as much as did and still think I could drive. Then he asked me point blank:

Facilitator: "Do you consider yourself dependent on alcohol?"

Me: "Um, well, I mean not...now."

Facilitator: "Do you consider yourself an alcoholic?"

Me: [Dramatic pregnant pause]: "..........Yes?"

Jesus Fucking Christ. Saying that out loud, was many times harder to admit out loud, to myself and to a roomful of people, than coming out. And coming out was SO fucking hard. And the two issues go hand in hand.

I choked up, but managed to keep it together for another hour and 15 minutes that would seemingly NEVER FUCKING END. And this guy kept using me as an example, over and over, I slouched and my hand kept making the "put a goddamn cigarette in me" face. I chewed gum like it was my job and slouched.

It was fucking AWFUL.

But. Like coming out, it was also liberating in a way. I went home and watched the Bulls lose, had a few beers, and cried like a baby, alone. But you know what? I got up this morning, ate breakfast, showered, went to the gym, rode around on my shitty bike and went back for another class; here I am. Emotionally exhausted, alone, scared with sore abs from doing hundreds of crunches.

I know what I have to do, and I don't resent anyone reminding me of it, but fucking I resent anyone telling me what I need to do. Sure, there are people with much worse problems than mine, but guess, what? Personal problems are just that. Unique and cannot be accurately nor fairly compared or contrasted with anyone else's.

According to the regimen, I will live with this problem for the rest of my life. It will ALWAYS be a struggle. And that alone is a thought process I am still trying to process. You can't undo 15+ years of substance abuse in 3 months, no matter what the court system says. I plead patience from those that love me, and empathy from those that don't know me (well).

Not to end this on a sad note...but that "facilitator" informed, and the 15 other strangers in the room, that my DUI situation was a suicide attempt. And, I don't agree, but I don't...disagree either. Fucking therapy is like that. Maybe it was. Or might as well have been. Regardless, I do not want to fucking DIE.

GROWING PAINS

Whoa, what's this? A post? I know, even I am shocked. There is a good reason I have neglected to write anything for the last few weeks - mainly the crippling depression that has resulted from all this fucking bullshit I am going through as a result of that ill-fated decision back in December to get behind the wheel of a car when I clearly should not have.

It's been about 2 weeks since I went to court, which is almost enough time to wrap my head around how difficult the next 2 years of my life is going to be. See, the prosecutor decided to throw the full weight of punishment against me (short of jail that is - and I seem to narrowly avoided that).

In addition to the fines, 75 hours of "alcohol classes" I have to take and the 200 hours of community service I have to perform - I am now on court ordered supervision for 24 months. Seems a bot harsh for a first time offender without no prior record (not even a speeding ticket).

What does that mean? Well, for one thing I cannot consume any intoxicating substances, not even a fucking beer! Random piss tests are part of this deal too, and get this: I can't even leave the state without permission. Oh, and if I get into any trouble I am facing a WORLD OF SHIT, i.e. possible incarceration.

So I am broke (or will soon be) and struggling to remain sober and maintain some semblance of a relationship with my brother and my sister in law who are understandably furious at me. Although I have the support of great friends, it's hard getting through this without my family around. I am most unhappy about this.

It's not all crap. I do feel a positive difference physically (not drinking will do that), I'm getting back into a gym routine and the weather is finally turning towards Spring, a season that is arguably more important to those that live in Chicago than most other locales. And I got laid on Valentine's Day, so there's that.

I got a long, hard road to go. That being said, when this is all said and done, I do think I'll have changed for the better. Thanks for reading.

RUMINATING ON MY EDUCATION/OCCUPATION

After I'm done with my court mandated "alcohol awareness" classes, I really want to get me some new education. So far I'm deciding between being certified as a bartender, a food service sanitation expert or an auto mechanic. I've favoring the latter; I really miss working with my hands, and although I won't be allowed to drive a car for some time, I think fixing them would suit me well.

Fuck getting an MBA; I don't lack ambition, but I am ambivalent towards the business world (again, ironic since I subscribe to BusinessWeek and always read the business section of any newspaper first). I don't regret my existing bachelors degree in Film/Video production, but I almost wish I went and got trained as plumber, or something union oriented.

Le sigh. One thing is for sure, I don't want to be a fucking Bar Back for much longer. The hours suck, I lack any health benefits, and my back is always in pain. I want more out life than this. That being said, I am glad I have at least this shitty job...going in tonight! But this isn't sustainable. Then again, neither is being tied to a desk job.

INFINITE ARMS

I feel not the need to ruminate on this subject matter, and so I won't. But I will share what I think is not only a beautiful piece of film making, and/or amazing song but most of all, a sentiment that has been echoing within my mind as of late. And somehow it's been expressed within 5 minutes better than I can at this moment in time.

My thoughts drift to you. I was smoking while thinking about that lyric; and a thought occurred to me that never has before: the act of and/or being in "love"...makes life slow down, in a good way. I'm not saying I am in love, nor have been (maybe? yes!).

It's such an irresponsibly beautiful concept.

I ALMOST DIED

Happy New Years from Chicago. I'm not a big fan of New Years Eve, nor other "big" holidays; this past Christmas was the first one I experienced without a single member of my family, extended or otherwise. I wasn't really in a mood to celebrate because...

I FUCKED UP BIG TIME. Let me preface this by saying I am NOT looking for sympathy or anything; the only reason for this post is to get the ghosts of my mistakes out, kinda like therapy. But here goes: I fucking hit a parked car going 40MPH, drunk (naturally).

Besides tarnishing my stellar driving record, I destroyed my brother's VW GTI. And I spent the night in jail. And was taken to the hospital sporting leg irons and hands (which were bleeding) cuffed behind my back. Word to you, dear reader: don't ever drink and drive, but if you do, and destroy a 2 cars in spectacular fashion, don't do it in Chicago. [For the record, I passed the "ABC" test with flying colors].

I won't post the number I blew, but it was shockingly high, like "you should have alcohol poisoning" according to not one but three officers. Either the machine is broken, or I'm fucking immortal, because I didn't even feel hungover the next day (although I was still in shock). I'm still trying to get the blood out of the jeans I was wearing, but otherwise I'm remarkably intact.

I've said this many, many times, but I want to reiterate it: THANK FUCKING GOD NO ONE ELSE WAS HURT. I feel stupid/embarrassed/humiliated/ashamed. But I can deal with that. If I had injured someone else physically, I don't think I could deal. Oh, and I was told if I hadn't been wearing my seatbelt/had the benefit of an airbag, I would would have sailed through the windshield. Having 2 bruised lungs is nothing in comparison.

I'm a tough MOTHER FUCKER, and I'll get through this, and I consider myself lucky...but this is going to wipe me financially. Par for the course I suppose. It's going to be a long road to restore the trust I destroyed, and pick up the pieces, etc. It's not going to be easy, in fact it's going to be fucking awful. I can only plead patience.

Happy 2011?

AN EXPLANATION FOR MY LACK OF RECENT POSTS

This weekend marks the 7th month of my employment as a Bar Back, a profession for which I certainly never excepted to find my in, yet here I am, barely able to find more than 2 consecutive days off, knees, shot, relationships affected at best, voided at worst. Yet here I stand, er sit.

I refrained from posting because I realized that not even my close friends, let alone acquaintances, to say nothing of blog readers want to hear about my random trivial working life; I realize it's petty and uninteresting, so I made the decision to spare you all the boredom.

That being said, I suppose I could spin certain observations into narratives that may hold one's attention, but probably not. Not too mention, I've just been too tired too tired too even try. You can chalk it up to drinking too much, money issues or my "place" in the world. My perspective is simply too warped, both fragile and raw.

My days and nights blend together into an endless continuum of set shifts of work, and ones asked of me at the last moment that I feel I can't pass up, because...I live on tips, or more specifically the random generosity of random strangers grateful or not more my submissive service.

Most nights, when I close down the bar, I seek safe transportation home, in a beautiful yet very dangerous city, pocket full of hard earned and usually lean cash, ready to be stolen.

The grateful nights my friend does not pick me up (bless him) I keep my Bar Key, a useless weapon, hidden in my front pocket, hiding it so not as to tip off an offender as to my occupation, yet keeping it "ready" as a defense mechanism.

My days are short, isolated, the nights, long, the mornings after even longer and involve too much thinking about my current life; social, work and romantic inclinations almost never blend well at these times.

I've been having fucked up "dreams" that entwine these various parts of my disparate life. Sometimes they help to make sense of it, other times, they make it more confusing.

So you see, none of the above is an excuse...merely an explanation. Or maybe not, it's up to you.

I'M SPENDING MONEY LIKE A DRUNKEN SAILOR

It's been a long, long time since I've had any discretionary income, and I'm spending it almost as fast as I make it. Not entirely on stupid shit, but mostly on non-consumable items I've been meaning to buy, like a new stereo ($50), new jeans and shorts ($60) and new music (The Gaslight Anthem).

Fuck it. I've been breaking my back, working my ass off, and missing out on various social experiences (no Pride Parade for me this year), but it's OK. I'm actually happier than I have been in months, years even. In a weird way it feels good to be tired and sore, and it makes me miss my friends even more.

The only real issue I have right now is with my guy, Matt. I like him SO much more than I ever thought possible; I'll refrain from using the dreaded "L" word, but it applies, and that fucking sucks because he's moving to LA in a month or so. But for now, I'm just trying to enjoy our time together, and not think too much about what comes next.

Sigh. I'm as good as I can be and I'm not sure if that is enough.

WEDDING JITTERS

It dawned upon me today that in 4-ish months my brother will be standing at the alter, and since I am his only sibling, I shall be standing at his side. This is a good thing, an awesome thing in fact, as I love the shit out of my future sister-in-law (God that sounds odd).

Here's why I'm a bit nervous: my family is...interesting. I've hinted at it before, but let's try to lay it out. And don't worry if you get confused, I do too.

My original nuclear family consists of My Mom, Dad, older Brother and obviously yours truly. My parents split up in 92' or 93'. Since then, my Mom moved to Phoenix and got remarried to my cool Stepdad (he's originally from Detroit but has lived in that fucking desert since the late 70's and likes guns and ice hockey). Mom and Stepdad got married in...99'? I think.

Anyways, my real Dad and my Stepdad have never met in person, and only accidentally spoke briefly on the phone 2 or 3 times, ever. Meanwhile, my Dad moved to NYC to live with his partner...who is Korean, a one time male model, currently an interior designer, rocks a ponytail and strictly adheres to wearing Prada in formal situations. No one besides my brother, his finance or myself in my family has met him...

...which includes my Dad's parents. Only one of which is biological. His original Father...well, I'd rather not go into details. But my Dad's Dad is really his Stepdad. And the poor guy is suffering from dementia. And he nearly ruined my cousin's wedding last fall.

Wait..it gets better. A few years back my Mom's Mom passed away. A year later my Stepdad's Dad passed away. So naturally, Mom's Dad and Stepdad's Mom shacked up. They are in their late 80's and from what my Mom tells me, they are...physically "affectionate/inappropriate" at inopportune moments (such as at Thanksgiving dinner).

Furthermore, my future Sister-In-Law's family is equally...interesting, divorced, remarried, etc. She has one sister (wow - I'm about to gain 2 real-ish sisters) and I know almost nothing about her extended family, nor their current or ex-spouses.

On top of all THAT...there will be numerous guests present from the "other" family, namely people that work at the group of bars that my brother used to work at, still frequents and at which I currently work at (talk about nepotism). I would not be surprised if my former manager, aka, "let's do coke off a knife" guy is the DJ.

And I'm the Best Man. Actually...I'm apparently Co-Best Man (?). Which I have no idea what THAT means (good thing my brother is not into strip clubs or Vegas).

Seeing as I won't be getting hitched anytime soon, this going to be one HUGELY INCREDIBLY FUCKED UP/AWESOME family reunion. Do not get me wrong, I am so very much looking forward to this monumental event. I'll make every effort to make sure everyone gets along ans is as comfortable as possible and has a fucking great time.

Seeing as I'll be in the center of it all, and in some ways will be the "hub" amongst all these various parties, I better start looking for a ringmaster's outfit, a pink Hummer limo, a prescription for Xanax and perhaps hiring a male Puerto Rican stripper to be my date.

PS-Thank God this is NOT taking place in a Church.