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Jason Rimbaud

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  1. Jason Rimbaud

    New Years Eve & Blowjob Shots

    By Jason Rimbaud,


    Life In Glasses
    The first time I had sex I was fifteen. He was an older boy and that bending over the couch resulted in me getting kicked out of my house. And since my parents took the extra step in declaring me a fag to the entire church, I was basically outed to my entire community.
    So for a few years, fifteen to eighteen, I did all the drugs, fucked all the boys/men as an out and somewhat proud gay boy. I couch hopped when I could, lied to use the shelters, or struggled living on the streets when necessary. Basically I tried to navigate my world as best as I could.
    Shortly after my eighteenth birthday, I met an older gentleman who convinced me to move to Harrisburg Pennsylvania by offering to co-sign for my very first studio apartment. He also helped me get a job at Giant Grocery Store by dragging me to the DMV to get my ID. So I slowly started to build a life for myself.   
    Though Harrisburg is the Capital of Pennsylvania, I saw first hand the homophobia that surrounded me so I took moving there as an opportunity to start over so to speak. To avoid being the gay boy that was bent over the couch I went back in the closet and nailed the door shut behind me. 
    Giant was where I began making friends that would carry me for the next ten years. The first person I met was another eighteen year old named Nelson but everyone called him Five as he was the fifth Nelson in his family. Five’s best friend, John, a dirty blond nerd that is probably the biggest geek I’ve ever met in my entire life.
    On my second day, I met Jason, who would quickly become my best friend and the bane of my existence as we both struggled through our sexuality for years before culminating where I was his best man when he married a girl named Christine. But that’s another story for a different when. 
    The four of us quickly became inseparable. We all worked at Giant, and spent almost every waking moment together for the next ten years. That entailed watching many movies, going to Denny’s at two am, and playing pool for hours at a time. We also hung out in the Giant parking lot after hours, throwing footballs, talking, and just enjoying each other's company. Then we discovered alcohol. 
    One of my earliest memories of Harrisburg was watching a KKK rally spew their hateful message to a large crowd of onlookers. This convinced me to make a nice comfortable home in my closet. From the ages of eighteen to twenty-one, I was a typical straight boy. I dated girls, had sex with them, and tried my hardest to fit into a world as something I wasn’t. 
    I could do all the things girls expected boys to do. I could go down on them, stick it inside them, make out with them, but I never really figured out what to do about the tits. Even to this day, tits are an enigma I believe should be better left alone. 
    For a while, I existed happily in my straight fantasy. For the first time in my life, I had a close group of friends that actually liked me. I was very popular with the girls, not really dating anyone longer than six months to ensure none of them discovered my secret. But deep down, I knew I was living a lie and over time, that began to take its toll on my already fragile mental state. 
    Then New Year’s Eve, 1996, twenty-six days before my twenty-first birthday, something happened that would change the direction of my life. It would be another three years before I came out to my entire circle of friends, but that was the day I stopped lying to myself. 
    Five had a friend from High School, her name was Anja and she was a first generation immigrant from Croatia. She was brunette with shoulder length hair, brown eyes, petite with little perky breasts. She was also very athletic in a feminine way.  
    While Five wasn’t interested in her in a romantic sense, he was borderline obsessed with destroying her relationship with her High School boyfriend so I could date her. Her boyfriend, Eric, was one of the hottest guys I had ever seen. He was six-foot tall, shaggy brown hair, lean but very fit with the most amazing brown eyes. He was also funny, and always quick to laugh and enjoy life. 
    Though Anja and Eric had been dating since tenth grade, there were always rumors swirling around that Eric would cheat on her during vacations and out of state trips. This drove Five crazy as he considered her a friend so he made it his mission to break them up so in his words, “She could date you and have a good boyfriend for a change”. 
    Little did he know, I wasn’t a good match for her either. But all that would come to a head anyway and there’s no reason to get ahead of myself.
    So for months, Five invited Anja to every party, every trip to Six Flags, every pool party, any event where the opportunity would present itself for me to make my move. Remember, she was still dating who she thought was the love of her life. I never said Five was smart. 
    Of course, Anja would always arrive with Eric in tow and over time, I got to be quite friendly with Eric. Not like my core group of friends, we never hung out alone, but when we did show up at the same place, more often than not, we would spend the rest of the time laughing and joking together. 
    This frustrated Five to no end. I was supposed to be “helping” him destroy this poor girl's relationship so I could swoop in and save her, and all I did was flirt with Eric. Though no one really saw what I was doing was flirting, but I know the truth. 
    Before we progress, a little backstory on my little group of friends. John was an only child to a well off middle class family. Jason was the youngest, at eighteen, his older sister was twenty-five and already married. His family was middle class wealthy as well. 
    I was definitely the poorest in my circle of friends. But they never made me feel like I was. They would subtly buy movie tickets for me, offer me gas money when I drove them anywhere, little things to let me contribute so I could feel like an equal. They paid for a lot of things and I am really grateful they did it with such class.
    Five was by far the richest in our group. He was an only child and born when his mother was forty-nine years old and his father was fifty-five. Neither of his parents had wanted kids but when he was a surprise, they loved him anyway. They were amazing parents. They were also loaded, worth millions of dollars and lived in Hershey Pennsylvania on top of a hill that looked down on the small city. 
    And yes, Five worked at a grocery store. Later he would build his career at Costco, ultimately becoming District Manager. For all the money he inherited at an early age, it never seemed to affect him. He made his own way in life and never relied on his family’s money. By thirty, he was a multi-millionaire and worked eighty hours a week at Costco. He’s a very interesting person. 
    His parents were also functioning alcoholics. By the time he was eighteen, they were long since retired and enjoying the fruits of their labor. And since they were notorious drinkers, Five had been drinking beer at dinner since he was sixteen. They also allowed him to throw house parties in High School as long as all the kids' parents knew there was drinking and no one drove home.
    This made Five’s parties legendary. 
    On this particular New Year’s Eve, Five’s parents had gone away somewhere for the Holidays so we had the entire house to ourselves. Five had invited about thirty or so friends/peers but as all parties tend to do, it ballooned to fifty by the time the ball dropped. 
    The music was pumping, the alcohol was flowing, people were making out, jock/bro’s were playing drinking games, it was turning out to be a great party. Until the incident. The incident happened shortly after midnight because Anja caught Eric kissing another girl.
    Full disclosure, Eric wasn’t making out with this girl, but they definitely kissed. This turned into a full blown fight because during the argument, Eric let slip he was transferring to Pittsburgh for the next semester to finish his studies. 
    Things turned ugly quickly, Eric told her she was being overly dramatic and she accused him of using the transfer as an excuse to end things. Turned out she was right. Eric wasn’t satisfied with the prospect of turning twenty-one only having dated one girl. And then it came out that he had in fact cheated on her over the summer when he was touring Pittsburgh campus. That’s when Anja slapped him and stormed out of the kitchen with Five closely behind. 
    As this argument was going on, I was outside on the balcony smoking and chatting up with a girl I had invited to the party. Sometime later, a very drunk Eric came stumbling out on the balcony for a cigarette. I clearly remember he was not that upset about the whole incident. Matter of fact, he almost looked relieved. 
    As we did every time we hung out, we started talking and joking around. Then Eric suggested we should do shots and things get really blurry for the next few hours. Because I woke up the next afternoon in my bed, naked, with a massive hangover and very little memory of what had transpired the night before.
    I had several missed calls from Five. Apparently I had left the party, the girl I brought that no one else knew, my shirt, and just disappeared without a trace. I didn’t return his call as I laid in bed trying to reason out the night's events. 
    Then a lump in my bed that I had mistakenly attributed as my throw pillows started to move. That was an interesting turn of events. Apparently I had ditched the girl I brought to the party but still found a replacement. Go me.
    I reached out and moved the covers down and saw a mop of shaggy brown hair. Oh fuck.
    Eric rolled over and peered up at me. It took him a moment to register who I was and then he stretched and said, “Morning.”
    I managed to say, “Morning” as I reached on the nightstand for my cigarettes. Then my heart sank as I saw a used condom on the floor next to my bed. Oh fuck.
    “What time is it?”
    I looked at the alarm clock as I lit my cigarette. “One-thirty.”
    “That’s not good.”
    “Really, it depends.”
    “On what?”
    “What time you had to be home today?”
    “Not until tomorrow.”
    I propped myself up against the headboard and put the ashtray on my stomach. “Then what’s not good about 1:30?”
    “I was supposed to meet a friend for lunch at noon.” Eric mimicked my leaning position against the headboard and asked, “Can I have one of those?”
    Like me, Eric was bare chested and from how the blanket fell against his hip, I could tell he was as naked as I. I gave him a cigarette and said, “I drank a lot last night, do you remember what happened?”
    He looked at me with a questioning look. “I never thought you’d be one of those guys.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “A guy that conveniently forgets what happened last night.”
    I leaned over the bed and picked up the used condom. I held it up and said, “I can only assume we had sex.”
    “Twice.”
    I dropped the condom on the floor and asked, “Is there at least another condom on your side of the floor?”
    Eric took a long drag and replied, “Yep.”
    “That’s good. At least we were safe.”
    “We both insisted on that.”
    “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m assuming I fucked you.”
    “You did. Right after I fucked you.”
    I hadn’t bottomed in over four years. I had been “straight” and too many questions were swirling around in my poor aching head. He seemed to be extremely comfortable waking up next to a boy. And I couldn’t help but wonder if this was some kind of weird joke.
    I threw my legs over the edge of the bed and slowly stood up. Then I could tell that at least part of his story was true, my asshole ached. “I’m thirsty, want anything?”
    “Some water would be nice.”
    I made my way into the kitchen and poured two glasses of water. When I walked back into the bedroom, Eric was just hanging up his phone. He was still in my bed and looked like he had no plans on moving anytime soon. I held out one of the glasses and saw another part of his story was proving true. Right by my foot was a used condom. 
    I sat down and took a long drink. I said, “Eric, not that I’m upset or anything. But how did this happen?”
    “You mean us fucking last night.”
    “That. I really don’t remember much of anything after the ball dropped.”
    “We were doing shots in the kitchen, and someone dared you to do a blowjob shot.”
    “Fucking Jason.” I muttered. He was always bringing up blowjob shots and trying to force everyone to partake. “Was you the lucky constant?
    “Pretty much, in a manner of speaking.”
    It was a really stupid shot but he had roped me into doing it more times than I could ever admit. You put equal parts Amaretto and Bailey’s Irish Cream in a shot glass and then top it with whipped cream. A person sits in a chair and puts the shot between their legs. Then you get on your knees in front of them and then using only your mouth, grab the shot glass with your lips and tilt your head back to drink the shot. 
    “What does that mean?”
    “You were pretty drunk and you kept shoving your nose into my balls. It took quite a while for you to get the shot glass in your mouth.”
    “Great, so my head was between your legs in front of fifty kids.” I groaned out. 
    Pretty much.” Eric said as he leaned over my bed and put his cigarette out in the ashtray that was sitting on my nightstand. 
    As he stretched out, I got a good look at his ass. At least I had good drunken taste. 
    He caught me staring at his ass and smiled. “Later on, I teased you about the way you kept sniffing my balls while you were “pretending” to drink the shot.”
    “That’s mean.”
    “Then you whispered in my ear that if I ever wanted to experience the real thing, all I had to do was ask.”
    “So you decided to take advantage of my drunken ass.” I muttered as I ran my hands through my hair. 
    “All I did was ask a question.”
    I pulled back the covers and climbed in next to him. “So then it’s your fault we had sex last night.”
    “I wasn’t the one that was begging to be fucked last night.” Eric said with a grin. “Not at first. But after you seemed to enjoy it so much, I figured I should see what you were moaning about.”
    I moved down until my head was on the pillow, I put my hands over my head and said, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t remember anything about last night.”
    Eric snuggled his head on my chest and said, “Don’t worry, you had fun.”
    “Apparently twice.”
    Eric, like me, had always known he was gay. At first he stayed with Anja so long because she was extremely religious and he figured it was a safe way to ensure no one suspected the truth. But they had dated so long, they eventually had sex. And he had been feeling exceedingly guilty for leading her on and the last few months, he had stopped the sex all together. 
    And it was true he had cheated on her over the summer. The part he left out was it was with a boy. After that experience, he figured the only way he could get out of his situation was to transfer and start over in a new city far away from the prying eyes of his friends and family.
    I dropped Eric off at home a few hours later and then went to Five’s house to do some much needed damage control. All my friends were worried that I had disappeared and once they realized I was fine, they really laid into me. I was a selfish bastard, I didn’t respect them, they said the most awful things. Their anger lasted until I decided it was time to play a drinking game around seven o-clock. It was just the four of us and their anger disappeared sometime after I made Jason do a blowjob shot. 
    No one ever found out the reason I left Five’s house that night. Eric went on to graduate from Pittsburgh and we never got together again. I saw him a few more times but by the time he came back, I was fully involved in the mess that was my relationship with Jason.  
    But that experience started me on the path to visiting my first gay bar twenty-six days later when I turned twenty-one. But that’s a story for another time.
  2. Jason Rimbaud

    TGI Friday's & A Broken Nose

    By Jason Rimbaud,


    Life In Glasses
    TGI Friday's & A Broken Nose
    It was the year 1997. I was young, with luscious brown hair that fell past my shoulders. I was fit, hard bodied like only the young can have without exercise and down to fuck anything that captured my attention. But I was trapped in the midst of my only at night relationship with a straight boy named Jason and frustrated beyond belief. 
    I was also at an emergency room at 3:45 am and being questioned by a policeman about injuries Jason had sustained in a fight. 
    For those of you that haven’t followed this long outdated Blog, then you might want to read I'll Never Wear Boxers Again to fully understand my relationship with Jason, my undercover lover.
    During this particular year, at this particular time, Jason was balls deep in (love) with a female bartender at a local restaurant/bar called TGI Friday’s. You must remember, back then, TGI Friday’s actually had great food. Though they might have been better known for their “flare” bartenders and happy hour specials than anything. 
    It was common on most nights where the forty plus seats at the bar weren’t filled with regulars. Due in no small part that they offered a subscription based trivia game called NTN Buzztime that you could play against other players all over the country. 
    You’d ask a bartender for a controller, log in to your Buzztime account, and then play against other players in a plethora of trivia that normally lasted for thirty minutes at a time. I never participated in the sport theme trivia games but many a night, Jason and I spent hours playing that damn game until they kicked us out at closing. 
    We had been going there for almost a year so we had gotten to know the bartenders and most of the regulars pretty well. I was also involved in a rather heated rivalry with another regular patron by the screen name of FitzFuc who was my only real local competition in my never ending quest to maintain my high score on Buzztime. 
    You might not believe this, but my perfectly bald head is filled with useless information that makes me a devastating player at any bar trivia night. But I am finding more and more these trivia nights are less focussed on general trivia and more on themed nights which I find a bit boring. 
    But in 1997 and for all other purposes, I was head over heels in love with Jason. If you went back and read I’ll Never Wear Boxers Again, then you know how it started between us about a year earlier. 
    And since we never openly acknowledged our lust filled nights, I was confused, lovesick, and angry most of the time surrounding this secret relationship. With the amount of alcohol we consumed, my undercover burgeoning drug use and intense feelings, I’m surprised we didn’t have more violent arguments. 
    I’ll preface this story by saying I wasn’t the only one confused. Jason was in deep denial about his feelings for me and often used me more as a cumdump than a boyfriend. Though his intentions were probably more honorable than mine but both of us was stuck in this endless circle of sex, lust, anger, and hurt. 
    At one time or another, each of us tried to break this unhealthy cycle we had created for ourselves. As a gay man it was easier for me to find a willing receptacle. All I had to do was go to any gay bar and dance around in my underwear, twenty minutes later I’d be thrusting into some random dude or bent over taking a dick in the backroom.
    Jason had to employ a different strategy to find sex. His modus operandi was quantity flirting. He had figured out that sooner or later some random girl would agree to fuck him if he asked enough girls. So during this period, there were many nights he’d come home horny as fuck and needing to play around with me to scratch that itch. 
    Over the course of our “relationship”, I lost count of how many times I would see some ugly skank slip out of his room and make that long walk of shame back to whatever rock he found them under. And some of these “girls” he should’ve been more embarrassed than he was for taking them to his bed, but that’s a him problem. 
    With him being so deep in denial with his sexuality, those encounters might have been a way for him to justify the fact he wasn’t really gay no matter how many times I slipped inside his ass. As long as he was still sexing up girls, then he wasn’t really a fag but maybe bisexual.
    And that was an important distinction for him to make, which he did often. Usually it was right before I put my dick in his ass, he’d look up at me and say, “I’m not a fag.”
    What was I going to say? My dick was literally an inch away from the very place I wanted it to be. So I would always respond, “Me neither.” Then I’d do about the gayest thing one can do to another man. 
    But I was talking about 1997. I was working the mid shift, 12 pm to 8 pm, so after going home and taking a shower, I met up with Jason around 9 pm at TGI Friday’s. He had been there since five so he was pretty fucked up. 
    Our beer of choice at TGI Friday’s was Killians Irish Red Lager. They were served in a 23 oz chilled glass and we would normally knock back seven or eight before the night was finished. And in between each 23 oz Killians Irish Red Lager, we’d have a shot of our favorite drink. 
    Okay, they weren’t technically shots. I think I should explain before we move on. 
    Our shots were one of TGI Friday’s signature cocktail, the Malibu Baybreeze. This was a cocktail that had 2 oz of Malibu (coconut flavored) Rum, Pineapple Juice, and topped with Cranberry Juice in a ice filled 12 oz glass. 
    For some reason we loved that drink back then. So after each beer, we’d order this cocktail and then race to see who could finish it the fastest. The only rule, we had to drink through the straw. My personal record was five seconds. 
    Over a period of time, especially when they were really busy, the bartenders would grow tired of making so many of these cocktails, we had a habit of ordering them for several of the regulars. So for us, they started making us doubles and putting them in the 23 oz glasses. My personal record was about eight seconds.
    I know what some of you might be thinking. There was no way we would have the equivalent of sixteen beers and who knows how many double cocktails and still manage to walk upright. Then you would be wrong, very wrong.
    Jason and I were professional drinkers back then. We’d drink a solid five or six hours and then I would drive us twenty minutes back to our apartment. Don’t judge me, you do unbelievably stupid things when you’re twenty-two. 
    From the day I turned 21 until I turned 30, each football Sunday, five of my friends would drive about 45 minutes away to this amazing sports bar called Kokomo’s. There were closer locations to all our houses, but one of my friends, Five, was in (love) with one of the waitresses at that location so he made us go there.
    I can’t remember her regular name, but she also did strip shows in her private basement bar, and I remember her professional name, Velvet. Of course I’d remember her stage name. She was the only female stripper that ever gave me a boner. But that’s another story for another penis.
    Even though we’d arrived for the first game of the day at 10:30 am, Velvet didn’t start until 3 pm. We’d make sure we sat in her section so when she did come on shift, she would always be our waitress. We’d actually eat lunch and also dinner because we wouldn’t leave until the late night Sunday game was over. We’d basically drink for about twelve hours.
    Then we had our Friday game nights at my apartment. We’d all meet up at my apartment and play card games all night. It was standard practice for Jason and I to polish off two cases of beer and a 750ml bottle of Vodka. So our consumption was legendary in the circle of bars we frequented. Not only did we spend money like drunken sailors, we also tipped crazily. 
    How could two twenty-two year olds afford to drink like this you might ask? Prices weren’t the same as they are today. We could get a pitcher of beer for $10, .10 cent wings, and $2 well shots. So our Sunday football all day tab was about $150 and we split that five ways. 
    As a business owner, I am appalled by what I’m about to disclose, just remember times were different back then. Restaurants/Bars were making money hand over fist. Rent, labor, cost of goods, were maybe a third of what it costs now. Hell, bartenders/servers were only making $2.83 per hour because we really did live on our tips.
    Because we tipped so heavily back then, our bar tabs started shrinking the longer we frequented any establishment. After drinking for six hours, it was normal for me to receive a twenty dollar tab. We’d each, Jason and I, tip the bartender forty dollars and call it a night. So for eighty dollars, the bartenders were basically giving us who knows how many free drinks a night.
    Life was different, I had a 1200 square foot basement apartment with two bedrooms, a private entrance, and it cost me $800 a month. Jason and I split everything down the middle so our basic needs cost less than $600 a month. As a bartender in a very busy restaurant, I was making $200 in tips on a bad morning shift. Saturday lunch shift I was walking out with about $400, so I had cash coming out of my ears. 
    There was one ime after it got cold enough to warrant wearing a jacket, I grabbed one at random from the closet. When I put my hands in the pocket, I found tip money from the last time I wore it five months earlier. I had so much cash back then I had completely forgotten about the three hundred dollars. 
    But we’re talking about 1997, one of the more violent arguments I ever had with Jason. So when I arrived at TGI Friday’s, Jason was fucked up and in a bad mood. He had met his bartender crush’s boyfriend and it finally sank in no matter how much he tipped her, she was not going to suck his dick in the parking lot at the end of the night. 
    The other bartender, Nick, informed me Jason already had about eight beers and four of our “shots”. He was hoping I was there to bring him home. Nick had been a bartender for years and knew the signs of someone drinking in anger. But Jason was adamant that he wasn’t ready to go home yet and had no interest in stopping for the night. 
    There lies the dilemma of any bartender with a regular heavy tipper. If they cut off the drunk person, they run the risk of losing that income, on the other hand, if they continue to serve said drunk person, they run the risk of an altercation in the bar or worse, an accident on the way home. 
    I was only there for about ten minutes when Jason told me to fuck off and leave him alone. Remember, I was twenty-two, and you do stupid things at that age. So I did just that. I paid for my unfinished beer and I fucked off to the gay bars.
    TGI Friday’s was located on Union Deposit Road, about ten minutes away from Stallions, the largest gay bar in Harrisburg at that time. By the time arrived, Jason had called several times. He was angry that I left him there and was looking for a “fight”. I wasn’t in the mood to indulge him in an argument. So I ignored him.
    Stallions was a three level club but during the week, only the bottom level was open. The upstairs levels were the nightclub, dancing and drag shows while the bottom level was more like a neighborhood bar. There were a few pool tables, some arcade games, dart boards, and they hosted Karaoke on Tuesday nights. This was by far my least favorite level but it was the only one opened that night.
    Brandon, the downstairs bartender, was a good friend of mine. He was early thirties and had a nineteen year old twink boyfriend named Nicholas, not Nick, Nicholas. Nickolas was short, maybe 110 pounds, with a flaming red mohawk and a lip ring. I always thought Nickolas was hot but as he was Brandon’s boyfriend, I stayed away. 
    My last night in Harrisburg, some eight years later, I fucked Nicholas in a one room apartment next door to Stallions but that’s another story for a tired penis.
    Brandon was average height, a bit chunky but very cute with short brown hair. He served me my first legal drink in a gay bar called Strawberries the night I turned twenty-one so I had a soft spot in my heart for him. Those first few months he kept me away from the pervs, creeps, and drug pushers and introduced me to a group of gay’s that I regularly hung out with as we made our rounds of queer circle. 
    There were only about ten people there that night when I rolled in around 10pm. It was Wednesday night as I surveyed the crowd, I didn’t see anyone I knew other than Nicholas and Brandon. So I sat next to Nicholas and ordered my go to gay drink at the time, a Greyhound. 
    Nickolas was newly out to the world. He was a little punk rocker whose usual attire at the time was red checkered pants, black leather work boots, leather harness and nothing else. He was also a huge flirt and on the prowl to bring in a third for their sexual escapades that normally happened in the bar after they closed. 
    Don’t ask me, I just knew to keep my hands off his scrawny little ass. There was no way I was getting involved with that trainwreck of a couple no matter how many times they enticed me or how many free drinks Brandon gave me. And it was a lot. 
    Brandon liked them young and later on, after they broke up, Nicholas told me that Brandon had urged him to get me in a threesome with them. Nickolas was hot, but something about Brandon just turned me off so I always declined. But I will admit, one of the only reasons I did fuck Nickolas eight years later was to rub it in Brandon’s face right before I left. 
    This particular night, Nickolas was wearing a pair of black spandex shorts, black leather work boots and a smile. And the moment I sat down next to him, he jumped into my lap and kissed my cheek. I might have copped a feel of his little package as he squirmed around in my lap, maybe, but I’ll never tell.
    It was strange for me to be there on an off night, as I had the reputation of only showing up when I was looking to fuck. So Brandon said something along the lines of, “What are you doing here on a Wednesday?”
    “Relaxing after a long day.” Though Jason and I had been playing around for almost a year, I had yet to tell anyone about him. So I was dealing with all that emotion alone.
    “Let me help you with that.” Brandon declared and poured us Purple Hooter shots. 
    I had really only gone there because Jason was being an asshole and I wasn’t really looking to get hammered as I had an early shift the next day. But who could say no to a purple hooter. Not me, and after three greyhounds and two purple hooters, my will to call it an early night went out the window. 
    Nickolas and I started a game of pool. Back then, I played pool all the time. My buddy “Five” and I spent at least three hours a week playing at a local pool hall with regulation sized tables. I was really good once upon a time. On a bar sized table, I was virtually unbeatable. 
    Full disclosure, I loved playing pool with Nickolas, mainly because I would stare at his narrow ass every time he bent over to shoot. So as the night progressed, I was becoming increasingly horny and actually thought about taking them up on their offer to play. But that was as close as I would ever come to indulging their fantasy. Because a quarter after midnight, a tall slender boy with a caesar haircut, piercing blue eyes, and a sexual swagger walked in and asked if he could play winner. 
    I took one look at this boy and flashed him a smile and said, “I’ll play any game with you.”
    His name was Brandon, I know, confusing right. But he was known throughout queer circle as having all meat and no potatoes. And later that night I found out that was correct. He had an eight inch cock, straight and thick but little bitty balls that would have been perfectly fine on an eleven year old boy. Not a twenty-five year old man with a dick that could choke a horse, or a Jason.  
    For sake of clarity, my friend, I will call Brandon 1. I could give Brandon 2 another name but where would be the fun in that. 
    Nickolas quickly figured out that I wasn’t going to play with him so he went back to the bar to sit with Brandon 1 while Brandon 2 and I started to play. It was apparent from his first break, he was a great shooter. And after four games, we were tied, two to two. That’s when the night started getting interesting.
    First off, the loser of the next game had to buy the next round. So when I went to the bar to order the drinks, I asked him, “Do you know him?”
    Branond 1 frowned. “He’s kind of a whore.”
    “I like whores.”
    I could tell Brandon 1 didn’t like the guy. I wasn’t sure if it was because he had intentions on me for that night or if Brandon 2 wasn’t really a good dude.
    “Everyone says he doesn’t like to use condoms and he’s always staying for the afterparty at Strawberries.”
    Strawberries was right next door to Stallions and was a little narrow bar that was famous for a group of guys to stay after closing and run trains on naive twinks and do copious amounts of drugs. 
    Partipating in crazy sexapades didn’t bother me, but not playing safe did. AIDS was a huge deal and a guaranteed death sentence not to mention all the other STDs going around the gay community. As horny as I was, as dumb as I was, I was always careful to play safe. 
    As the months went on, I found out that most of what Brandon 1 told me that night was a lie. It was true, Brandon 2 was a whore, but so was I. He always played safe and didn’t sleep around near as often as his reputation suggested. 
    It all started because Brandon 2 had been seeing one of Brandon’s 1 friends that ended badly due to rampant drinking and drug use about six months earlier. A group of these older gay men were mad that Brandon 2 wasn’t a naive twink that could be passed around at those famous after parties at Strawberries. 
    Full disclosure, a few months after my twenty-first birthday, I was that naive. But that’s another story for a naive penis. 
    And the most interesting thing I found out about Brandon 2 was never mentioned at all. He loved watersports. 
    Jason had called me several more times that night but I always ignored it. I fully intended to honor his wishes by fucking off and leaving him alone. And some time later, when Brandon 2 followed me into the single occupant bathroom and started sucking my dick, I figured I’d start forgetting Jason by riding Brandon 2’s eight inch cock. 
    Brandon 2 still lived with his parents, so we couldn’t go back there. And I lived twenty minutes away in Grantville Pennsylvania, a place not easily accessible without a vehicle. So Brandon 2 didn’t want to come home with me. But I did manage to blast a load down his throat before I left with a promise to hook up again soon. That didn’t happen for another six months or so but it was worth the wait, let me tell you.
    By the time I made it home, around 1am, I was pretty drunk and ready for bed. Jason had not returned yet and a part of me was worried. I knew he was fucked up more than usual and he would never leave his Jeep there so the odds of him driving home was rather large. 
    But I was mad and being twenty-two, I shut my bedroom door and went to bed. I think I might have been asleep before my head hit the pillow. 
    “Hey asshole.” 
    I don’t know exactly what time Jason barged into my room, but I do remember coming awake and seeing him looming over me like some kind of vengeful angel. Before I could really blink the sleep from my eyes, Jason’s fist connected with my cheek and I fell back against the bed.
    No matter who you are, getting sucker punched in the face awakens something primal inside you. I’m not a tough guy by any means. Over my lifetime, especially back in High School, I had my share of fights. I’m naturally strong and can take a punch without collapsing like a sack of potatoes. So it really didn’t surprise me that I immediately jumped out of bed and went into a defensive stance. 
    I was still trying to process what just happened, and Jason lunged for me again. I’ll admit to all of you, there wasn’t a lot of force behind Jason’s first punch. Maybe it was because he was drunk and having trouble standing, or maybe he really didn’t want to hurt me. But when he lunged at me again, I didn’t have the same problem he did. 
    My fist connected and I felt his nose break. Blood immediately began flowing down his face and he looked at me in shock. LIke he couldn’t believe I had actually punched him. Then his eyes filled with anger and he attacked me. 
    We fell back on my bed, blood pouring down on the both of us, as we wrestled around for a bit. I slept naked, and not only was I self conscious about my nakedness, but I really didn’t want to hurt him. So I tried to block his blows and get him into a position where I could get away from him.
    Then a wild punch connected with my eye and I decided enough was enough. I threw him off me and started punching him as hard as I could. I made sure not to hit him in the head, I focused all my blows on his back. All I really wanted to do was stop him from hitting me. So after about six or seven hits on his back, I jumped off the bed and stood there gasping for breath. 
    Jason was groaning in pain, holding his broken nose as he tried to stop the blood. He was writhing around my bed and I grabbed a shirt from the floor and threw it at him. “Are you done?”
    Jason put the shirt up to his nose and said, “I’m done.”
    “Then get the fuck out of my bed. You’re bleeding everywhere.” 
    It took him a few moments to gather the energy to get off my bed and stumbled out of my room. I slammed the door shut behind him and stripped my blood soaked bedding. After putting the sheets in the washer, I remade my bed and was just about to crawl inside when I heard Jason calling for me. 
    As mad as I was about him attacking me in my sleep, I was still madly in love with him. And I could hear the pain in his voice as he called out for me. All the anger melted away and I ran out and saw him lying on the kitchen floor. 
    He had a towel filled with ice clutched in his hand but was face down moaning in pain. 
    "What's wrong?” I asked. I know, he had a broken nose and I was asking what’s wrong. But I was still a bit drunk.
    “I can’t breathe. It hurts. I think you broke my ribs.” Jason managed to say between breaths. 
    That’s when I ran over and knelt down beside him. I lifted up his shirt and looked. I could see where I punched him, his skin was red and angry looking. The next day, the left side of his back would be one big bruise but that night, it just looked hot. 
    His eyes were already bruising and the blood flow from his nose had pretty much stopped. He looked horrible. I immediately felt sorry for him. “I’m sorry.”
    “After this, me too.”
    “What do you want me to do?” I asked him as I tried to move him into a sitting position. 
    “I think I should go to the hospital.”
    “You can’t drive, I’ll bring you.” I offered. 
    He looked at me and then reached out with one finger and hit the tip of my dick gently. “Maybe you should get some clothes on.”
    On the way to the emergency room, Jason came up with a story to explain where he got his injuries. We both knew, the moment an ER doctor saw him, he would know he was in a fight and report it to the police. 
    Twenty minutes earlier, we were trying to kill each other and now we were conspiring to lie to a police officer. The basis of the story, Jason was out at a bar somewhere downtown, and after he left, a few guys jumped and robbed him. Then he drove home where I decided he should go to the hospital. 
    As we suspected, the ER doctor called the police and after they triaged him, the officer took his statement. Then as Jason was filling out the paperwork, the officer found me in the waiting room and interviewed me. 
    This wasn’t the first time I had lied to a police officer and it wasn’t the last. And from the look on his face, the police officer didn’t believe a word I said. I have no idea what he thought really happened but our story was so weak, Jason couldn’t remember which bar he went to, nor where he was parked, nor could he offer a description of any of the attackers. But I think the main reason he didn’t believe our story was that Jason had his wallet in his personal effects when he was admitted.   
    We were pretty quiet on the ride home. It was almost five am and he had to be at work at 8am and my shift started at 10am. He had a broken nose, a cracked rib and a bruised kidney, needless to say, only one of us made it to work that day. 
    The explanation he gave me behind his anger never made sense either. Yes, he was mad that his bartender crush wasn’t interested in him, and yes he was mad that I left him at TGI Friday’s, and yes he was mad that I went to Stallions and got a blowjob from Brandon 2, but none of that was the reason he attacked me. 
    After my shift the next day, I went home to check on him as well as to shower. He was propped up on the couch watching TV, bored out of his skull. When I went into the bathroom, he followed me and sat on the toilet as I showered. 
    “What are you doing tonight?” He asked.
    “Maybe go to Stallions.”
    “Why don’t we just get some beer and hang out here. I’m off tomorrow.”
    Truthfully, I was still angry that he had punched me. And I wanted to go back to Stallions to see if I could find Brandon 2 again. So I answered noncommittally. “Maybe.”
    “If you’re going to just hook up, you could always fuck me.”
    I started laughing. This entire situation was so ridiculous. Even in my young confused brain I knew what we were doing was bizarre to say the least. “You’re so banged up you can’t even walk. I’d break you.”
    “I’ll just take some more pain killers.”
    We ended up staying home that night. And somehow, we even took turns topping. We snuggled in his bed and I pretended we were a couple. It was nights like these, alone in the safety of our apartment, wrapped up in one another’s arms that kept this dream alive of us one day becoming a real couple. 
    When we arrived home from the hospital, I helped him get undressed and put him to bed. I made sure his phone was charging and right before I turned off the light, I asked, “Do you need anything else?”
    “After all this, the least you could do was give me a blowjob.”
    There it was. Our relationship summed up in a single sentence. After I broke his nose, his ribs, and bruised a kidney, after all that, the least I could do was suck his dick. Any normal human would have run away from this situation. But I have never been normal and I didn’t run away. I sucked his dick.
  3. Jason Rimbaud

    Untitled Stories

    By Jason Rimbaud,


    Life In Glasses
    In the last eight months, I somehow managed to write about two hundred ninety-five thousand words over six stories. And out of those six, four are first draft complete. 
    Untitled Story Number One: Set in Hershey Pennsylvania and revolves around a plot to assassinate a sitting US Senator on the road to a presidential nomination and the contract killer who decides to stop it. The first draft is 96,345 words.
    Untitled Story Number Two: The story takes place in the US Virgin Islands as our protagonist deals with the loss of his parents after a sudden illness. He meets a boy at a house party and quickly falls in love. But everything isn’t as it seems and when the press catches wind of his budding romance, choices must be made by both boys that will alter their lives forever. A short story with 22,889 words.
    Untitled Story Collection Number Three: This chronicles the affair between two singers, one at the height of his career and the other climbing his way to the top. The idea of this story began with my short story already posted online at Gay Authors many years ago entitled Fractured. Told over a span of five years and through four short stories, this is a tale of addiction and the struggle to find one’s identity amongst the lens of fame. Total word count is 89,545.
    Untitled Story Number Four: What happens when a closeted boy gets a pride themed thong as a secret santa gift? Who gave it to him and why? Based on a writing prompt at Gay Authors and was my entry for last year's Christmas story. Sadly it was not finished in time as it was a complete mess even with help from two of our Awesome Dude writers who tried to edit it. Hopefully it will be retooled for this year's entry for Christmas. Word count 14,289
    Untitled Story Number Five: In 2023, Tyler was forced into questioning his sexuality for the first time in his life. After reconnecting with an old friend he quickly falls in love. Now a senior in high school, he is pressured into raising his GPA from 3.5 to 3.7 from his father who has grand plans for his only son. As midterms approach, his barely passing grade in Calculus forces him to take drastic action on the very eve his entire world comes crashing down. Can his boyfriend save him from himself or will Tyler have to face things alone? In progress, current word count is 48,584
    Untitled Story Number Six: In 1995, Daniel steals a car and runs away to the big city to escape his homophobic parents. He is caught after crashing the car and sent to a boarding school that specializes in gay conversion therapy. He returns at the start of summer and has to navigate the court ordered restitution to pay off the stolen car, his overly religious ex boyfriend who is trapped in denial that the only way he can survive is to lash out in violence. Can Daniel survive the summer before he turns eighteen or will he be trapped in a town he hates. In Progress, 22,923
    Earlier this year, I made an end of year goal that I will have at least one story completed and readying for posting online. Thus far, I am well on my way to achieving this amazing feat seeing as I opened a restaurant last year and have just finished signing a Letter of Intent (LOI) on our first brick & mortar restaurant in downtown San Francisco. We have moved on to the financing stages and if all goes well, by mid August our very first restaurant will be opened and ready for customers. 
    With a new restaurant opening looming above my head, I don’t know how much time I will have to focus on my writing. So to achieve this goal, I will choose one of the above stories to complete before the end of the year. If anyone has a particular one that interests them into reading more, I am taking suggestions. 
    On a completely different note, in the mid-eighties, I read a book of short stories called Thieves World, a shared world fantasy series created by Robert Asprin and featuring some of the most well known writers of the seventies and eighties. My memory is that authors could use any characters already created or introduce new ones set in the city of Sanctuary. 
    As the series continued, I became fascinated by multiple stories taking place in the same location independently of the other stories. Twenty years ago I tried, and failed, to mimic this by writing multiple stories set in the same small town of my youth. This would be a semi-autobiographical tale told through a fictional lens.
    For several reasons, this concept failed. I was not a good writer and the story quickly got away from me due to lack of plot and/or planning. Recently I revisited this concept and two of the above stories are set in the same location. 
    I guess my hope, after I finish playing in this setting, is that maybe another author might want to jump in and play around in my world. Either by continuing any of the stories I post or creating new ones. But first I have to actually finish something.
    Wish me luck on signing my lease, I’m so excited to actually be able to see people enjoy my food in a restaurant setting instead of just doing take-out.
  4. Jason Rimbaud

    New Goals For A Pretend Writer

    By Jason Rimbaud,


    Life In Glasses
    Have you ever read something you wrote twenty years ago and literally cringe in embarrassment? I have so many times it’s becoming a constant state of cringe. And believe me, I’m a master of cringing. 
    I’ll give you an example of a cringe that came over me about six months ago..
    Twenty-one years ago I wrote a fanfic about the members of Nsync. Which I find to be strange as I have never been a fan of their music. Nor have I been attracted to any of the members of Nsync, then or now. 
    I always found my taste in men to be a bit on the nerdy side. Give me a man who wears glasses, a bit awkward in social situations, and I’m all in. If you add in a darker skin tone then I get a mental erection and it's all over but the moaning.
    A few of you might know my husband is ethnically an Indian who was born in Malaysia. He’s almost 5’ 10” and weighs 120 pounds skinny butt naked. Does he wear glasses? Check. Is he smart? Extremely. Is it any wonder why he gives me mental erections just by walking into the room?
    Back to the fanfic I wrote. It was twenty chapters and just over 100K words. The plot revolved around an assassination attempt of a US Senator at a concert in Hershey Pennsylvania. Of course the protagonist meets the members of this boy band and the plot is off and running to a climax I still believe is pretty good.
    But you ask, is the story any good? I can say honestly, it had some really good scenes, a fairly interesting plot, mixed together with some of the worst writing I have seen in a long time. Trust me, I read it, then I read it again. It wasn’t great by any standard.
    The tone was all over the place. Due to the main plot, it was a bit dark. After all it was about assassinations at the core. I tried to weave suspense throughout the narrative, and I think I tackled that part okay. But then I would have a scene of graphic sex, eight or nine pages of graphic detail. So it was this weird mix of death, humor, and jerk off material. Sound like a story you want to read?
    Yet can you believe at the time, I would receive up to fifty emails when I posted a chapter. I thought I was on top of the world. Which only goes to prove the theory that even a bad writer can get sympathy platitudes. 
    I actually had an idea for a sequel. Thankfully it never materialized as I would have another novel to look back on and cringe.
    Why did I fail to write the sequel you might ask? A few months after I completed the novel, I kind of went off the rails with a love affair of cocaine and Oxycontin that I wallowed around for a few years. And that addiction morphed into a habit of picking less than ideal boyfriends that only fueled my drug addiction that caused me to choose bad boyfriends which fueled my drug addiction.
    And if any of you are wondering what life was like during that time of my life or if you are contemplating on getting a drug habit, I urge you to scroll down to the past blog entries and you can experience all the chaos that comes with those addictions. 
    Or if you want to really experience what goes through a drug addict's mind, you can always read my poetry. I might have stopped writing stories but I never stopped writing. I poured all my mania, my anger, my drug addled thoughts into some pretty amazing pieces. In poetry I found a way to confront my demons and exorcized them one piece at a time. I am still rather proud of my poetry.
    Then I somehow gave up the drugs and the poetry. I swapped them for blog entries. Those posts really delved into the characters of my sordid past and focused on my journey into sobriety. They were funny, sad, and at times would drive any sane person mad at the stupidity of my actions. But through it all, I remained honest and wrote with an intensity that scared me at times and healed me at others. I showed the bad along with the bad, and was unashamed. 
    Then just like real life, days turned to weeks, months turned into years, and slowly my life got on track. I’ve been clean for over fifteen years. I focused on my career that afforded me an amazing life in San Francisco. And that focus on career came with a hefty price. I had walked away from writing and found peace and a measure of what I thought was happiness.
    Then I met the man who would become my husband. That is when I found out there was another level above a great life. For five years I went from great to perfect. I had found my life partner, the person that would spend every night sleeping next to me. That person that can make me smile just at the mere thought of his name. And when he decided that our life needed something else to make it better than perfect, he brought a cat home named Peaches. And then somehow it got even better when he brought home another named aptly, Kali. 
    And life is still perfect. And I know some of you might be thinking there is a “but” coming. You would be wrong. My life is still perfect. We started our own business. I’m doing something I love. And yes it’s slow getting off the ground, and we are still struggling to be successful. But I’m happy.   
    Throughout that feeling of happiness, I had a growing feeling deep down in the darkness of my heart. It was a feeling I had lost long ago. That feeling that urged me to get back to what I’ve always said was my first love. 
    Even before the love of drugs, I had a love for writing. From my earliest memories, I have wanted to be a writer. And for a multitude of reasons, I slowly lost that love to create stories. Yes, I wrote poetry, blog entries. Those were things that were needed at the time for my own sanity. But I wanted to get back to crafting stories.
    So I made a plan to get back to where I knew I wanted to be. Firstly, I would gather all my writings that were posted in various places under a bunch of different names before I settled on Jason Rimbaud for a pen name. I had numerous short stories and novels, mostly on Nifty. And I’ll admit that in those early days, I wrote a bunch of stroke material. 
    Secondly I wanted to start writing seriously again. So in July 2022, I made myself a promise that I would write at least two hours every day. And thus far, I have stuck to that promise without missing a single day. 
    I have written a bunch of flash fiction, even a few short stories since then. I also wrote a bunch of blog entries that no one will ever see due to the fact they focus on my husband and our lives together. They are way too personal to ever share. 
    The flash fiction stories were a way I could dip my toe back into serious storytelling. I needed to relearn how to write stories. I had been writing true to life ramblings so long I had forgotten how to structure a real fictional narrative. And that was a huge challenge for me.
    Then in mid-November, I saw a writing prompt somewhere and got this idea about a story involving a pink jockstrap. And I got really excited about this premise. So excited that I actually wrote it. And then I got brave enough to ask a few people to help me with the edits and beta reading.
    Was the story great? I’m not sure. They gave me amazing feedback and insight but by the time I was somewhat satisfied it was New Years Eve. It’s a bit too late to post a Christmas story after New Year’s so I think I’ll save that until next year. I do feel a bit bad as they had to wade through lines upon lines of crappy writing and I never posted it.
    But that’s not what this post is about. And judging from their feedback, I have a lot to relearn about story structure, plot, and characterization. I mean, you can’t walk away from something for twenty years and expect to be mediocre when you return after only six months. 
    My passion for writing was not diminished in the slightest. Their critique actually started a fire inside me. So what I’m really saying in this post, I am actually re-writing that old fanfic about Nsync. 
    Of course I removed all mention of Nsync. I created my own fictional boy band. I also updated the story to be more modern and expanded the cast of characters. I cut entire chapters and trimmed certain scenes, plus added a bunch of new content.
    And then there’s the sex. I had to tame the sex a lot. I didn’t eliminate it all together, because for some reason not only am I getting back into reading light erotica I’m also interested in writing it again. What am I saying with all this?
    I rewrote the entire story completely. Now I’m going back and adding/cutting/expanding the story from the beginning. My goal for this year is to finish the story and see if anyone would like to host it on their site. 
    I’m relishing the journey of finding my voice after so many years of writing tongue-n-cheek blog entries. And I think some readers might find this change confusing as they expect a more cheeky tone in my writings. I know in the long run I will feel more fulfilled in doing something that makes me extremely happy. And for a guy that has no reason to be as happy as I am currently, I am grateful.
  5. Jason Rimbaud

    True Ramblings

    By Jason Rimbaud,


    Life In Glasses
    So we have been open for a month. And I know the pandemic has been heartless for countless small businesses around the world. Thousands of restaurants have closed forever, who knows how many people are out of work due to these closures. So it might have been foolish on the surface to open a new restaurant at this particular time. But we did. 
    I am also saddened by the damage that has been done to the San Francisco restaurant/hospitality scene. A lot of my friends lost everything and it is heartbreaking. The only good thing, after two years, those friends that moved away are slowly moving back.  
    “N” and I were standing outside our restaurant a few days before we opened kicking around ideas on how to get the word out that we have the best damn wings in San Francisco, when we saw a group of middle schoolers, about ten to twelve boys, walking down the sidewalk. He pointed out the group and said, “there goes our lunch crowd in a few weeks.”
    We watched as the group of middle schoolers suddenly took off running as a group across the lawn towards a single middle schooler. As a group, they jumped the single kid and started kicking him and punching him. Then they stole his shoes and his bag and took off running down the street causing several cars to come to a sudden stop.
    I turned to him and said, “maybe we should make them order to-go only.”
    So I have gone the entire pandemic without catching Covid. I have been working steadily and have been around people the entire time. Covid has run rampant through both of our restaurant groups. Between all our locations, when i was working for someone else, had about 40 cases in the three locations. “N’s” restaurant group has had more cases than I could count. He also had three deaths related to Covid. It’s been a hard two years on that front.
    “N” and I were talking yesterday about how lucky we were to escape Covid as we have been working with the public since day one. Our entire circle of friends have had it at some point. So I brought up that we might have had Covid but never had symptoms. He shrugged and finished his Mojito.
    Why doesn’t underwear come with a warning label, “might cause pregnancy.”
    Does anyone have a favorite color for their undies? Mine is red. I have upwards of twenty pairs of red undies alone. For some reason, and my husband agrees, my thingy looks great in red. Briefs, boxers, jocks, Mr. S Leathers, any type really. 
    By the way, Mr. S Leathers, a San Francisco original has some of the best fetish accessories I’ve ever seen. Prices are a bit on the high side but the upside, you get really good quality.
    Which brings me to the subject of toys. Does anyone like to use toys in your relationship? I do. I have about a hundred little metal cars that I force my husband to play with me. He doesn’t like to but I guess it’s better than seeing me cry. 
    I’ve been creating my own personal Christmas Village for the last few years. Building houses out of balsa wood, popsicle sticks, and plywood. I find it very relaxing to build, paint, and construct my perfect little Pennsylvania town. I have chocolate shops, Santa’s workshop, reindeer barns, ice skating ponds, colored sand to mimic ice and snow. And a Mr. S Leather store, complete with tiny dildo’s in the windows. 
    “I’m getting rid of Britta, getting rid of the “B”, she is a “GDB”.
    For the last few months I’ve realized that without a real direction in my life, I tend to ramble on about underwear. I really don’t think we spend enough time focusing on underwear as a culture. Underwear has so many uses. Support, keep your junk nice and tight while running. The right type of material can help keep you dry and itch free for your twigs and berries.
    Boxers for that loosie goosie feeling for your peen. Boxer Briefs to keep your bulge, well, bulging. Jockstrap to show off your ass in the gym. Thongs to get your partner boned up in a hurry. 
    In my sluttier days, I wore different types of underwear based on the mission I had for that particular evening. Jockstraps were for dancing in the club and showing off my goods. If you saw me in the club wearing a jockstrap, then I was ready for some fun in the downstairs bathroom. Boxers are only used for sleeping. A practice I learned from Jason all those years ago. Boxer Briefs are always my go to style to make my bulge look good in jeans. Briefs are the perfect accompaniment for sweat pants and T-Shirts. 
    And no, I don’t work at Mr. S Leathers. I’m just a fan of their products.
    Mr-S-Leather Explicit Content Beware!
  6. Jason Rimbaud

    After Twenty Years...I Just Did This

    By Jason Rimbaud,


    Life In Glasses
    After Twenty Years...I Just Did This
    So I’ve been in the restaurant/hospitality business for over twenty years. And I can’t believe that after twenty years, I just did this. And before I go into what life changing craziness I just decided to embark on, let me tell you about my writing.
    Some years back, I lost the memory stick that contained all my writings for the last thirty years. And yes, not only did it hold all my stories, notes, outlines, it also contained all my work notes that I had gathered over the years. I’m not sure which hit me harder, the writings or all the content I had created that I used on the daily for work.
    So I decided to gather all my writings into google sheets to ensure I never again lose my tattered attempts at writing. I have already lost way too much due to losing memory sticks, crashing computers, and random acts of god.
    And in this attempt to make sure I got literally everything I ever wrote/posted online, I went back to 2002 and took everything I wrote for Nifty. And as I was copying those stories, I made the mistake of actually reading them.
    Have you all seen this trend of people reacting to things on YouTube? If I wasn’t so bald and fat I would so do a reaction video of myself reading those “stories”. Talk about bac, I can’t believe I once thought those stories were gold.
    In my defense, at the height of my online posting, I was getting up to fifty emails a day with these little stories. So more than a few people fed into this delusion. I even won a few readers choice awards. 
    Trust me, in no way am I defending these “stories”. Trust me, I won’t even tell you the name I once wrote under. That’s how embarrassed I am about the words I wrote and posted all those years ago. And it wasn’t Jason Rimbaud so don’t bother checking. 
    I’ve been in the restaurant/hospitality pretty much my whole life. I started as  a bartender at twenty-one in a redneck bar in the backwoods of Pennsylvania and somehow moved up over the years to where I’ve worked for several celebrity chefs and amazing start-ups that are still flourishing even through the pandemic. I’ve opened seven restaurants for other people and have been on the ground floor of one of the fastest growing brands in the San Francisco Bay Area. 
    As a writer, something I love doing, I’ve only really attempted to write full time back in the early 2000’s. I took four years and all I did was try and get published. And yes, I managed to get my stories in a few anthologies, a few poetry books over the years but I was never really good enough to break into the big time. I think my biggest issue, at least back then, my stories had such a small targeted audience.
    I write gay fiction. Well, I once wrote slash gay fiction but that’s another story all together. Gay fiction isn’t really burning up the charts and unless you manage to find work at a streaming service. But I never really wanted to write for a show, my love has always been books/novels.
    I will admit for the last fifteen years or so, I haven’t really focused that much on writing. A few years ago, I had almost finished a book about an alien invasion in Washington State, real end of the world stuff. And then my memory stick fell out of my shoulder bag and I ran over it a few times.
    I have since tried to recreate the story but I could never get it right. It was over five years work lost in a single moment. And that bummed me out. I thought I was destined to work in a restaurant for the rest of my life. But then something happened a few weeks ago that would change my life forever. 
    Some of you know that I’m married. And “N” is also in the restaurant/hospitality industry. But he hates it. So two years ago he started going back to school to get a degree in accounting. And he did, a month ago he graduated with honors with his bachelor degree all the while he worked a full time job. 
    And once he graduated, “N” and I were talking about the next steps. We spend a boatload of money on his degree and he really wants a job where he can use it. The biggest problem we both face, we have been successful in restaurants. And for those of you that don’t really understand what that means, let me explain. 
    When you reach a certain point in your career, no matter what your field is, you have a track record of success. And people pay extremely well for that track record. I know people are complaining about the restaurant/hospitality industry not paying well. But if you have the right resume, you can make really good money. Especially when you’re offered profit sharing. 
    Both of us have been wanting to leave the restaurant industry for some time. But we had been so successful that if we were to make a move on a fresh career, we’d have to take a dramatic pay cut. As much as fifty thousand a year. And we have worked way too hard to make a life for ourselves, that going back isn’t a viable option.
    We aren’t rich by any standard. We live in the most expensive city in the country, so if you don’t make at least one hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year, you’re living paycheck to paycheck. But we are comfortable. 
    In my spare time, I have been collecting all my old writing. An hour here, an hour there, while maintaining a very stressful opening for my restaurant group. One of my old stories caught my attention. It’s a love story set on St. Martin, with a small little hook that I thought wasn’t that bad. Not the writing, it was horrible. But the overall plot was kind of cool.
    And in my reading, instead of copying and pasting, for some reason I decided to transcribe it instead. This led me to actually rewrite the entire thing from top to bottom. It was around 120 pages originally and now it’s a bit more. I am working on another draft as we speak so I don’t know where the final word count will end. But I’m having the time of my life. 
    After one stressful day, I was complaining to “N” about how much energy I’m putting into this latest opening. And how I’m getting frustrated in making other people money. And yes they pay me for all my energy, but at the end of the day, the owner benefits way more than I do when I successfully open a new location.
    “If you don’t like it, why don’t you quit.” That was “N’s” sage advice. So I replied, “And do what? Go work for someone else?”
    “You’ve opened a billion restaurants for other people, why don’t we open our own?”
    For anyone who has read my musing, you know that I love super spicy hot wings. I have been known to drive 45 minutes to San Jose so I can get my 4 Alarm Hot Wings from SmokeEaters. I have literally been to every wing place in the San Francisco Bay Area trying their “hot” wings. And besides SmokeEaters, I have always been disappointed. 
    So over the last ten years or so, I have been creating my own spicy wing sauces. I have perfected that art of cooking chicken wings and have some amazing sauces that I think are better than anyone’s currently in San Francisco.
    “Why don’t we open our own?” Fuck yeah, so that’s what I did. As of June 1st, we are now business owners. We have been opened for the last three weeks and I’m having the time of my life. “N” and I have decided to take our future in our own hands. So now when I’m working eighty hours a week, it’s at least for myself and our future. LIfe is good.
  7. Jason Rimbaud

    Chit & Also Chat Equals An Upset "N"

    By Jason Rimbaud,


    Life In Glasses
    Chit & Also Chat Equals an Upset “N”
    May 12th, 2022
     
    I can’t believe it’s already May 12, 2022. Life seems to move faster and faster the older you get. I’ll be fifty in two and half years. Where the hell did the time go? Just yesterday I was twenty year old chasing fuzzy bunny slippers and now I’m lucky to find my slippers. Not sure if that is a euphemism. But it sounds dirty so I’ll allow it. 
    So I’m bald. But that’s been for like ten years now. I’m one of the lucky ones. My head is perfectly round like a bowling ball, it also has three holes in it. Wait, I’m forgetting a few holes, that’s so not like me to forget a hole I have. Told you I’m getting old.
    Remember when I was obsessed with my drug weight and how I hated to be sober because it made me fat? And once I quit drugs my friends used to say that I was finally getting to a “healthy weight”. Which we all know is code for fat ass. Well, no one accuses me of that anymore. And I’m a few pounds heavier than I used to be.
    I’m married, for three years now. We have been together for almost seven years. So my days of chasing train twink's and straight boy crushes are long behind me. As well as any type of sex. I’m trying to tell you that I never have sex anymore. And it’s not like I don’t try to jump my husband's bones/bone at every opportunity. For some reason he hates it when I try to dry hump him in the middle of Target. He’s such a prude sometimes. 
    I am now the owner of two cats, Chit and Chat. So my once pristine carpets are destroyed and filled with stains. And not the fun stains that I am accustomed to cleaning. Fur balls, and vomit and that’s just from my husband. 
    My job is amazing. It keeps me busy but opening new locations and getting into the corporate side of the business is so much fun. I don’t want to tell them that I would do it for half the money they are paying me. Even I think they pay me way too much for the work I accomplish. 
    My husband, I love the way that sounds by the way. My husband just graduated from an online college for accounting. He decided to change careers at *insert age*, and is now living his best life as a stuffy accountant. Did I mention that he crammed a three year program into one year? Did I also tell you that he did that while working a full time job? Did I also tell you that he graduated with one of the highest rankings in the year? Boom, humble brag about my husband, no regrets.
    The last three months, I have begun gathering all my writings, Blog entries, poetry, and converting them to Google Docs so I can keep them all in the same place. During this process, I first started with my Blog at AwesomeDude. I went all the way back to the very first one with the intention of copying and pasting into Google Docs. But I found myself re-reading the entries and I found so many errors, spelling or grammatical that I actually rewrote all of them. From start to finish. I wasted almost two months rewriting them all before I started on my poetry, and I am now working on all the stories I posted under a name that none of you know. 
    Did you know that twenty years ago I was rather prolific on Nifty writing fan fiction? Did you also know that I won several Boy Band awards writing under my first pen name? You didn’t, because they were all fucking horrible. I know, because I am reading/rewriting them now for some weird reason. Maybe one day I’ll let you read them so you can see how much they suck. 
    Getting back to my Blog, boy was I a mess back then. Do you remember those angst filled, drug induced, straight boy crushes that almost killed me? I don’t. It was like looking at someone else. I guess I am so far removed from that person that I actually enjoyed reading the old entries. On entertainment value, I’d say my Blog was a 9 out of 20. On personal growth, 20 out of 20. 
    I posted on several different sites over the years. And as I have been gathering them all together, I have come across stories I completely forgot I wrote. Poetry that was really good, it’s under my name but I’ll be damned if I remember writing them.  Is this what happens when you finally get your shit together and grow up? 
    I used to be a clean freak, I’d have marathon cleaning sessions. In each room of my apartment/house, all the carpet had to be vacuumed in the same way, each with complete straight lines. I washed the baseboards every week, dust the tops of doorways, clean all the doors to my kitchen cabinets. Scrub the floor and if I’d find even one little stain on my carpet, I’d shampoo the entire thing. But that was before “N”.
    Upon reading my Blog, it seems that all the men I dated/fucked are messy. It’s easily the one thing that connects all my hookups together. I still hate leftovers, I don’t understand why you need to have leftovers? Why? You never fucking eat them. Throw them away. Why do you constantly make me clean up after you by cleaning out the fridge every few days of leftover food that you just had to save? 
    “N” comes home from work. Before I tell you that, let me explain a little about “N”. “N” is 110 pounds if I put rocks in his pockets and weigh him fully dressed including shoes. And he’s five foot nine inches, so he’s not short. The only reason I tell you this is to explain why I do five loads of laundry each week with only two people in the house. 
    “N” wears this every time he leaves the house. Three to four pairs of long johns, a pair of jeans/pants, three pairs of socks, a Tank-Top, a T-Shirt,a pullover sweater, a hoodie, and of course undies. That’s seven days a week! 
    Before I came into his life, I’m not saying that he wore the same long johns, socks for days on end, but he was only doing one load of laundry a week. I’ll let you decide his clothing habits. 
    So when my lovely husband comes home after a long day at work. The other thing about “N” is, when he was going to school full time, he was also working full time. He is as dedicated, driven a person as I ever met. He’s smart, way smarter than I will ever hope to be. He’s hot, fucking hot in a can’t believe I get to see you naked whenever I want kind of way. He’s so fucking hot if I wasn’t so in love with him I’d want the whole world to see his naked ass. But he’s a messy mother fucker. 
    He comes home from work, after studying five or six hours in the morning before working an entire day, and his shoes get thrown in different directions, he takes off his long johns, and pants, and undies in one motion. So I have three to four long johns, pants, undies, all inside out, layered on top of each other. His socks come off the same way, three pairs inside out layered, his sweater and hoodie, inside out and layered…in a heap on the kitchen or living room floor. 
    He then gets a new pair of undies, sleep pants, three pairs of socks, a Tank Top, T-Shirt, and a sweater/hoodie. Then he crawls into our bed, we have three thick comforters and he still complains he’s cold. I’m in the house, in a pair of shorts, sweating because he has the fucking heat turned up to the hell setting. Our two cats, Chit & Chat, are literally open mouth breathing because of the heat. And he’s fucking cold. 
    He then gets ready for bed. He takes off the sweater/hoodie, the T-Shirt, throws them on the floor next to our bed, and goes to sleep. In the morning, he gets a new T-Shirt, sweater/hoodie and puts them on. After he takes a shower, he takes off his undies, his three pairs of socks, his Tank-Top, his T-Shirt, and his sweater/hoodie and puts them on the bathroom floor. Right next to the laundry basket, because he prefers his clothes on the floor. I love him. 
    We have four laundry baskets around our house. For one, because for some reason we go through a lot of dirty clothes. But mainly because I always have a laundry basket handy for me to pick up his clothes from the floor and put it inside the basket. He then starts the whole process all over again. I do a lot of laundry. Do you understand how much time I spend just turning his clothes right side out before washing them? You don’t because no one is as messy as my husband. Not your husband, or any husband that has ever been a husband in the history of the entire fucking world. 
    September marks the 16th year I’ve had a Blog on Awesome Dude. Sixteen long years of rambling, digressions, and pointless rants that my one loyal reader has had to put up with. I feel sorry for whoever that person is. I probably have made him/her/they dumber in the process. But that’s the risk you run when reading anything I write. You must have missed the disclaimer. 
    I’ve been toying with the idea of doing something special in September. Like maybe I’ll post nudes in my Blog, one nude for each year my Blog has been hosted at Awesome Dude. I could probably find a nude from every year. Then all you could see the way I’ve gotten balder on my head and hirsute in my ears and upper shoulders. By the way, no one ever told me that not only does hair grow out your ears the older you get, but for some reason my eyebrows are getting bushy as well. Fuck you all for keeping that secret from me. 
    I also thought I could do a Blast from the Past section in my Blog. Posting something once a month to remind my one loyal reader of the absurdity of my past. Or I could work in the titles of my old entries with a link for those who might want to revisit those digressions. Seriously, when I read the entry “I’ll Never Wear Boxers Again”, it might be one of the best things I wrote here. 
    But all that sounds like a shit ton of work and I’m way too lazy to do any of that. Though I did have fun going through my photos finding all the nudes I’ve taken over the years. I don’t want to slut shame myself, but I was a fucking slut. Some of the photos I looked at and thought, why did I get laid so often in my youth? There is a whole series of just Las Vegas photos that would make a seaman blush. Boom, my first cum joke of this Blog, no regrets. 
    “N” had wanted a dog from the first moment I met him. I’m not an animal person. If anyone remembers an entry called “Giant Can Of Red Bull, Spearmint Gum, and a Pack of Marlboro Lights” would know that. I completely refused to get a dog. They are messy, dirty, and stain the carpets. I would not have a dog in my fucking house. Plus, I have a hard enough time cleaning up “N’s” shit on the daily. The last thing I want to do is clean up actual shit from the street a few times a day. The one thing I make “N '' do, he must clean the litter box. And if he “forgets” I dump a bit of fresh litter on his side of the bed to remind him. Just a little game we like to play. Don’t you worry about that. 
    Chit is an orange tabby female cat. According to “N”, orange tabby females are very rare. Chit was brought home about 10 months ago. Chit is a very nice cat, cleans herself often, has a clean butthole, and much to “N’s” chagrin, is my cat. Chit follows me around the house, no matter where I’m at, Chit is right there next to me. Chit helps me do laundry, helps me clean, offers advice while I’m playing video games, watches me while I eat. What else, she’s 11 pounds at 10 months old, so she is still a kitten. Oh, and she fucking sleeps on my face every night.
    “N” is always cold. I have tried to get Chit to sleep with “N”. But for some reason, Chit is not happy unless her ass is firmly pressed up against my mouth. I sleep on my left side, facing my wonderful if not messy husband. My arm is stretched out like I’m trying to stay connected to him in our sleep. Chit sleeps in the corner of my arm, her head facing “N”, her ass in my mouth. And when I move my head back a few inches to get a breath that’s not filled with hair, she presses back until she makes contact with my mouth. Six hours a day I have to put up with this cat needing me to breathe on her ass.  
    Chit wakes me up every morning at 3am by slapping my face with her paws. She will continue to slap me until I roll over on my back where she will then sit on my chest, her face about an inch from my mouth and demand head rubs for about twenty minutes. Once she decrees that she is finished with head rubs, she will smack my face for me to roll back over on my side where she will assume her position of staring at my husband with her ass back in my mouth. At five am, she will start headbutting me until I get up to feed her. Once she is fed, I am dead to her for about seven hours. She sleeps next to my husband, purring in his ear. 
    Chit is a very proper cat. She lays down with her paws crossed, staring blankly at me as I move around the house. The upside, I can do anything I want to her  and she doesn’t seem to care. I touch her paws, trim her nails, rub her belly, all this she takes in stride. Have you ever given someone a “raspberry”. You know, you put your lips on them and blow out. I do this to her all the time, and she just sits there with a look on her face of “continue, let me know when you are done.” 
    To get my revenge on her, when she is sleeping in the ray of sunshine that comes through our patio door, I start rubbing her head, her belly, anything to wake her up. Then once she goes back to sleep, I’ll do it again. One time I timed it, I fucked with her sleeping for thirty minutes and she didn’t move more than her tail twitched. Chit likes to take showers with me. She gets soaking wet and likes to run to my sleeping husband plop down on his chest. It’s one of his favorite ways to wake up in the morning. 
    About two months ago, “N” decided that our perfect little proper cat is depressed. So he brings home a little psycho that we named “Chat”. Chat was abandoned, so she never had a mother to teach her things like, how to groom herself, how to cover her waste, or how to do anything. So we have a complete psycho that has disturbed our lives in ways that we will be feeling for years to come. 
    If you thought I was mean to Chit for fucking with her while she sleeps, then you haven’t seen nothing what Chat does. It took us about a week to bring the two together. Chit and also Chat are now friends. They sleep together, groom each other, steal one another's food, shit in the same box, and generally cause mayhem in our lives. 
    I know I said Chit was a proper cat. But that was a lie. Chit has destroyed my carpets, my couch, my top comforter, and all the strings to every single hoodie I own. All of them. She is a complete nightmare walking. I cut her nails, we have scratching posts all over the house, but she refuses to use them. I fucking hate her. 
    No matter where Chit is, Chat will stalk her in a way that only a two pound kitten can do, unsteadily. Chat will creep up and then run at full speed and launch herself into Chit. I find it crazy that Chit is so gentle with Chat. She could easily knock her into next month but I’ve seen Chit actually run into a wall to avoid stepping on Chat. 
    The other day, remember, Chat has only been in our house for five weeks, Chit must have gotten tired of the smell because Chat hasn’t learned to groom herself. Chit ran over and forced her to the floor, and started cleaning her from nose to tail. “N” and myself were cheering her on by saying, “clean her butthole, teach her to clean her butthole”. And Chit being a proper cat, did just that. No more smelly Chat. Boom, kind of a Friends reference, some regrets. 
    “N” was hoping when he brought Chat home, that he would finally get a cat of his own to shadow him all over the house. He took off four days to make sure I was at work so she would bond with him. He demanded that only he be the one to feed her. After the first day was over, and I was heading into work, the moment the door shut behind me, Chat started crying at the door and did so for the rest of the day. When I get home, Chat comes running to me no matter what she is doing. 
    So now I have two cats, Chit and Chat, sleeping on my face. Chat is learning that if she smacks me in the face during the night, she will get head rubs too. I now get woken up in shifts, one for Chit, and one for Chat. Believe me, I thank my husband every morning by waking him up when they wake me up. It's a game we love to play. A game that has evolved into my husband threatening to move into the guest room if I insisted on playing it with him. We so love to kid each other. 
     
    Where was I? That’s right. I’m happy.
  8. Jason Rimbaud

    The Thing About Mark Is...

    By Jason Rimbaud,


    Life In Glasses
    June 25th, 2011
    The thing about Mark is?hard to define and I?ve tried to define it, shape it, and understand it going on three years. It could be his looks, he?s a real fucking hottie in a complete nerd star way. His personality? Maybe, he?s playful and caring and loves his friends and family with a passion that is scary for someone with my background. His work ethic? He goes to school full time and works full time. His drug addiction? He has to smoke first thing in the morning and several times throughout the day to feel normal. The thing about Mark is?I haven?t a clue.
    June 20th, 2011
    I know it?s been forever since I last Blog. So much has happened since my descriptive day in the life entry a few months ago I don?t even know where to start. Have you ever thought about how ridiculous that statement is?I don?t know where to start? Sure you know where to start, you just fucking started there.
    America killed our biggest enemy, Congressman Wiener set pictures of his cock to the entire twitter-verse, Michelle Bachman decided to run for President, and Sarah Palin gave us a history lesson on Paul Revere. Oh yeah, that?s right, and I?m single again.
    I know you?ve missed reading my boring Blog entries but I have a damn good reason for my silence. It all started about a year ago.
    July 6th, 2010
    ?What are you typing over there?? Mark asked me as he devoured the egg sandwich I made him, two eggs over easy on white bread with a thin layer of mayo, cheddar cheese and extra crispy bacon. I was drinking a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice that I bought at Whole Foods.
    It?s a mystery to me how anyone can eat first thing in the morning. I need at least two or three hours before I even began thinking about shoving something in my mouth. So he?s eating like a delicate flower, cramming the food in his mouth like it?s his last meal. Little bits of food are flying around the apartment like heat sinking missiles as he smacks and talks his way through breakfast.
    Okay, most of that last sentence is probably an exaggeration but you get the idea. He?s not the most mannered eater. From the way he eats you?d think he was the smallest kid in a litter of twenty that always had to fight for every scrape his older siblings didn?t consume. He was skinny as a rail and ate thirty-seven times a day but does anyone really have to eat that fast? Fuck, that steak cost $45 at least you could do was take longer than five seconds to eat it the damn thing.
    ?What are you typing over there?? It?s about six am on a Tuesday, a Tuesday that happened sometime last year around the end of summer.
    ?I?m updating my blog,? I informed him, dodging a bit of bread as it sailed by my head. I was still in the post-orgasmic bliss that he so often induced in the early morning.
    I?ve been having sex for more years that I care to share at this time. And in all that time I have never met another boy as horny as he was in the morning. It didn?t matter how many times we did it the night before or what was going on that morning, he was always ready to drop everything to satisfy his early morning cravings.
    He begins to read over my shoulder. ?Who?s Mark? And why are you writing about him??
    An hour later, and after one of our biggest fights, he makes me promise that I would stop writing about our relationship in my Blog. For some reason the idea that I was putting up our arguments, our fights, our sex life, and everything else I?ve shared over the last few years unnerved him to no end. I didn?t understand what his problem was; I wasn?t even using his real name.
    Side note: He hated the name Mark. He thought it sounded to trailer parkish. Like his name was any better. From what I understand, his name is fairly common in Russia and isn?t like an aristocratic name anyway.
    June 25th, 2011
    This was just one mistake in a series of mistakes that I made over the last year. The very first mistake, after that fight, was to give him the address of my Blog at Awesome Dude. And for that one person who reads it, you can imagine how upset he became after reading some of the stuff I?ve shared over the last three or so years. But that?s a whole other Blog post and would only make this one a bit more boring if I made you suffer through it.
    So I would like to apologize in advance at the length of the entry. I haven?t written in a long time and I have some shit to get off my chest. So it?s probably going to be a bit on the boring side, but fuck it, no one?s reading my shit anyway so this is mainly for me?and to piss off Mark since I?m sure he?s going to read it eventually.
    Though I stopped posting my thoughts on our life together online, I didn?t stop writing them down. So I?m going to cut and paste some of my thoughts in the attempt to cut down on the length of this entry to stifle your boredom.
    August 23rd, 2010
    This thing between us started so long ago; so long in fact that I can?t remember when it started. Well, that?s not really true; I do know when it started between us, I just can?t for the life of me figure out why or even how it happened.
    It?s all about timing I guess. Mark was there at a fucked up time in my life. At times he was the anchor that held me secure in an ocean of madness. And at times, he was the madness. It?s like the moment Mark came into my life, he?s been nothing but trouble for me. Oh what a perfect and fragile mess we are together.
    And I was so over him; at least I thought I was over him. I had moved on with my life and left him and all his fucking baggage far behind me. At least that?s what I told myself these last two years without him in my life.
    August 17th, 2010
    ?Have you ever been completely and perfectly blown away? Have you ever experienced a feeling so intense it rips you in half and draws you away like a rushing river, helpless, totally out of control??
    Mark said these words to me what feels like a lifetime ago. Back when we were still an us?when we were still in love?I mean?when we were in love the first time around.
    I often wondered if he meant like falling in love because he then added?
    ?It?s like an ache deep inside your chest so haunting that when that one person isn?t around, you feel so empty and nothing can fill it?no drugs, no sex, nothing.?
    And I often wondered; even after Mark and I split up that first time, if I had in fact ever been completely and perfectly blown away. I?ve been in lust, gut wrenching lust that is so powerful it threatens to rip apart your soul. And yet that lust always seems to fade with release. I?ve been indifferent numerous times, just going through the motions, insert penis, thrust, repeat, make an ?O? face, fall asleep. I?ve felt infatuation, pheromone driven urges that seemed so epic for weeks at a time only to fade as the smell dissipates from my sheets. But have I ever been in love? I don?t know.
    ?Do you know the true thrill of life? Not the simplistic feeling of riding a coaster or driving too fast on the wrong side of the road late at night without the headlights turned on or even that moment of epic, perfect release. It?s not something one can explain; it?s something one has to experience for one?s self.?
    June 20th, 2011
    Mark is/was/will always be a pot head, so during the quiet times, normally late at night, he would often wax poetically about deep subjects that have no clear definition. Never quite grasping concepts, he seemed to only dance around the edges. If you?re head is hurting, you can only imagine how my head felt after he told me that one night while we lay next to one another after a particular emotionally charged round of sex.
    What the hell are you going on about, Jason? I can hear you asking this question. Though I suppose if you aren?t asking this question or one similar, you should hit the back button on your browser because that?s the whole point of this entry; I don?t fucking know what I?m going on about.
    But me being me, I?m going to try and figure it out as I write these thoughts down. And since you?ve decided to come along for the ride, I?m assuming you?re still reading this drivel, so be prepared for a few digressions, a tangent or two, and my usual way of meandering my way through random thoughts until I get to a point.
    July 29th, 2010
    We started two years ago, the first time. And I?m sure you all remember that first time so I shan?t go on about it again. And if you?re like the majority of people in the world and you don?t know what I?m talking about, then do a little research in my past Blog entries (especially on Awesome Dude) and discover the boring words that made up my life with Mark.
    Because it really started six months ago for the second, first time. A time you haven?t been privy to as of yet because Mark is being a little bitch and doesn?t want me sharing with my one reader anymore. So perhaps I?ll start there.
    Some of you out there that partake in the ?harmless? addiction of smoking cannabis will know what the term 4/20 means. And for those of you that aren?t hopelessly addicted, I shall briefly (and that?s quite a feat considering I can?t do anything briefly) explain.
    4/20 is a slang term used by pot heads to identify April 20th, as weed day. Many demonstrations are held on this day worldwide to try and get pot legalized. I know it?s fucking stupid, but pot has never been one of my addictions, but whatever makes you hard and spurting.
    Side note: Most pot heads I know, and I?m talking about the everyday, three or four times a day smoker, seem to have a lowered sex drive, and I hear Dr. Drew, from Loveline, talk about it all the time as he fields callers questions. And the number one complaint from the partners of pot heads is their partner seems to have no desire to have a healthy sex life. Why would I ever want to smoke a drug that makes me lose interest in sex? Questioned answered!
    So this past April 20th, I was out with some of my ?friends? and we were having a few drinkie-poos and I did something very fucking stupid. And before you go all thinking dirty thoughts, I?ve been sober for a long time now so it wasn?t drugs I did on that lonely April day. It was something worse, far worse. I drunk texted, Mark, and that is just as bad as relapsing. Was I addicted to Mark? Fuck you for asking.
    Mark, my one time straight boy crush that finally admitted he more than liked me after a year and half and some six months of ?fooling around? above and below the covers. He was also narced out by some rat bitch cum dumpster that he once dated to his mom after she found out Mark and I had been making out at a party in front of the world, or at least the entire campus, to see. And after all that, a few months later I ended up firing him from my hip upscale restaurant in Palo Alto for stealing. Yeah, you know that crazy Russian.
    This is the text I sent Mark on that drunken night: ?Hope you?re having a high time on this 4/20.?
    I know it?s pathetic; you don?t have to inform me.
    The time I sent the text was 8:30PM on that lonely Tuesday night. Here?s the text he sent back at exactly 11:35PM that same night: ?who is this?
    You felt that, right? It wasn?t just me that was filled with rejection. You can only imagine how I felt about that, especially because I had been drinking and lost deep in relationship depression.
    Not only had he seemingly moved on with his life but had deleted me from his life as well?and by that I mean he deleted me from his phone. We all know it?s really over when you get deleted from the phone, because let?s face it, who the fuck remembers telephone numbers anymore.
    There is only one thing worse than getting deleted from a phone and that is getting deleted from FaceBook. He had already done that the day after I fired him but I won?t get into a digression about that.
    Who the hell has so much time on their hands that they go searching other people?s friends on FaceBook and then has the time to send me an instant message asking why Mark deleted me as a friend? Who has that kind of time? My nosey fucking friends, that?s who.
    I was furious of course. Had I thought about deleting him from my life/phone? Hell yeah I did but I never had the courage to actually go through with it. And, Mark, the one that had dominated my life for so long and had affected me in so many ways actually did what I couldn?t do. You better your furry ass I was pissed. And hurt.
    I stared at the phone for a few seconds/minutes/hours, however long it took my drunken mind to process the words on my phone, before I texted back: ?sorry, wrong number?
    And almost immediately he sent this text back: ?liar?
    And that?s when I ordered another shot. That?s also the last thing I can clearly remember for the rest of that blurry night.
    The next day was one of those kinds of days where you hope the things you remember from the previous night really never happened and you hoped you only hallucinated the events. But I have no such luck.
    While I?m on the subject, maybe all you computer programmers out there can help me. I need someone to invent an I-Phone application that somehow checks the user?s blood alcohol content. I don?t know, maybe you blow into the speaker jack and a few seconds later your phone registers your B.A.C. and if you have reached that pathetic point of drunkenness, the phone shuts down for five hours giving you enough to sober up. Do you know how much money I would pay to have an application like this? Mr. Gates, are you reading this?
    I looked at my phone and saw that not only did I text Mark but he had in fact moved on and deleted me from his phone. I was crushed.
    But then throughout the day I started obsessing over it like I tend to do in my hyper selfish way. I kept reading his last text over and over again. And then I saw a tiny thread of hope, so small an atom would look over and say, ?boy that?s fucking tiny?. I started thinking he knew exactly who had texted him. I wasn?t sure what his game was but I knew that he knew who that text had been from.
    Why else would he wait three hours to ask who it was? Why else would he call me a liar when in fact I did lie and said it was a wrong number? And for some reason, just knowing that I wasn?t deleted from his phone helped me move on just a bit more.
    June 26th, 2010
    Some of the gayer readers from San Francisco might recognize that date. For those of you that aren?t quite so gay or don?t not live in the Bay Area, its Gay Pride week.
    I never really was that keen on attending Gay Pride Parades. Don?t get me wrong, I?ve gone to them and did all the drugs, fucked all the boys, and basically lived out the life from Queer as Folk for years. But in reality, I?ve always had a love/hate relationship with Pride Events and mostly think it?s pretty ridiculous. Why do you ask?
    I think it gives normal everyday queers like me a bad name with playing to the worst possible stereotypes and lewd in your face behavior that just goes to strengthen the bigotry of the religious right and homophobes that breed like jack-rabbits and brainwash their little heathens into hating for the sole purpose of hating. But that is not what this Blog Entry is about either. I apologize for those of you that read this last paragraph. But not enough to actually delete it, my way of punishing you I guess.
    Where was I?
    A few of my ?friends? convinced me to go this year. I must have been asleep when I agreed to this but whatever. Up to this point, I must admit that I wasn?t hitting the dating scene much beside a few random hook-ups via gay bars, gym bunnies, or trolling about the Castro. I didn?t want to admit it to anyone, but Mark really broke my heart and I wasn?t in any way ready to jump back onto that horse anytime soon. Besides, I had been clean for a while and felt like I needed sometime to work on sober Jason without any distractions.
    I didn?t tell my ?friends? that I knew the real reason they invited me to watch the parade, and it wasn?t because they were dying for my company. They had someone in mind that they believed would fill the void Mark left inside me and they wanted me to hook up with him. They looked so smug as we drove to San Francisco I didn?t have the heart to tell them it wasn?t ever going to happen. Instead I just decided to let the cards play out to the bitter end. I?m devious like that; sometimes.
    We met up with their friends at 10am on that beautiful sunny day and I pretended to be surprised that everyone seemed to have a boyfriend except me and this very attractive blonde boy that looked to be around 25. I was 35 at the time, why the hell they thought I would go for a younger man is beyond me. Except that Mark was younger than me and I guess they thought that was my bag.
    Just so you could fully appreciate my day, and before you get a bad taste in your mouth about blonde boy, let me digress for a moment.
    He was hot, seemed well-read, and didn?t seem to smell bad for being half a hippie. He was a typical little twink that didn?t eat meat because he couldn?t bear the thought of those poor animals dying so that he might live. Though he did seem to be fine about eating eggs and diary; a practice I find to be a bit strange considering those same animals that he didn?t want to eat were still living in horrible conditions to be milked as so forth but whatever makes him bend over and take it.
    And as the day progressed, and as the alcohol started flowing, he started complaining about everything. He didn?t like the way the sun fell on him there, he didn?t like the cigarette smell here, the queens standing next to him kept leering at him; this behavior started to grate on my already fragile nerves. I was truly ready to throw him over my shoulder and toss him into the bay or just take him to a hotel and fuck the whininess out of him. Either one would have been acceptable and more enjoyable than listening to a hot blonde boy bitching about everything that came into his field of vision.
    My ?friends? of course were dressed somewhat scandalous. Two of them were dressed in black leather chaps, leather harness, and various studded bracelets etc etc. And a another one was only wearing a skimpy white pair of boxer briefs that were so tight you not only saw the side he dressed on but if he was circumcised or not. And for the record, he is cut and hates it.
    I always teased him about it, I prefer cut dicks, always have. He thinks his parents mutilated him at birth. But I?ve always looked at it this way; at the end of the day, if it gets hard, what does it matter, I?ll suck it either way.
    So blonde boy was dressed pretty Emo-ish. He wore tight black skinny jeans, with bright red boxers. I must admit he did have a real cute ass that filled out those jeans nice and wow. He wore a studded silver belt, and had a lip ring which he always played with?click?click?his little pink tongue would flick it back and forth against his teeth. His nails were painted black and his hair did one of those flippy things. I looked hot as usual.
    We found a place to squat while we waited for the floats of gayness to reach us. Everyone except for me had been pre-gaming for hours so by this time they were all feeling a bit loose and crazy. There was a lot of kissing, groping, and in one case a hastily completed hand-job from the couple on my right. I didn?t get the handy-J, I just watched one do the other. I was sober and more than a bit bored and annoyed at the world around me. Bored Jason is never a good combination, never.
    It reminded me of a time back in my younger days when I was hitting on this guy but not having much luck. This other guy, a fucking hottie, was getting close to sealing the deal. So to avert the attention from the hottie and onto me where it rightfully belonged, I did something so outrageous just so I would get noticed. I jumped up on the bar and started doing a striptease to Britney Spears Hit me Baby One More Time. I never did get the guy I was going for, but the old queens at the end of the bar shoved money in my undies so I guess I made out in the end.
    I had almost reached that point where I could feel myself gearing up for some inappropriate attention. Blonde boy was becoming more of an annoyance the drunker he became. He was hitting on me like I was his last chance at finding sex, groping me, and he kept trying to shove his pierced tongue down my throat.
    I already am not a fan of kissing, maybe after I?m with someone and the kiss means more than a prelude to sex, then kissing is fun. But for just hooking up, or even the first few weeks, you want to do something for me, suck on my junk.
    Blonde boy was driving me so crazy I knew it wouldn?t be long before I either shoved my cock in his mouth just to shut him up or beat him within an inch of his life and then rush him to the hospital and nurse him gently back to health just so I could beat him again.
    The only satisfaction I got was by chain smoking cigarettes. Because each time I lit up, he?d make a funny face and back away until I was finished. I smoked so much that day I thought my lungs were going to turn black and crawl out of my chest and walk away down the street. My clothes stunk, my fingers were turning yellow and I didn?t give a shit because for five minutes at a time, blonde boy left me alone.
    ?Can I have a light??
    I hear this, behind me, it?s a familiar voice. A voice I never would have expected to hear in the middle of San Francisco?s Gay Pride Parade. I noticed the looks on my friends face and reached in my pocket for my lighter and turned around and stared right into the eyes of a very timid looking Mark.
    Fuck me.
    ?Can I have a light??
    I must tell you, he looked good; like a proper nerd star. He wore blue jeans, just a little sagged, enough to just make out the tops of his boxers, they were greenish that day, a simple black T-shirt that said, ?My Dick Tastes Like Your Chap Stick?. He wore a black hat with a single pink triangle on the front. Since I last saw him he had added an eyebrow ring over his right eye, he was absolutely orgasmic. Fuck me.
    All this I took in a single glance. What I studied just a bit longer was the look on his face. His usual confident mask was there, lurking in the background but he looked hesitant and just a bit expectant; like he wasn?t sure how I?d received his inquiry for a light.
    ?Hi.?
    He smiled and looked down at his feet briefly. I brought the lighter to the end of his cigarette. ?Thanks.?
    That?s when I noticed he wasn?t alone. Standing just behind him was a very attractive looking guy. If I were to guess his age I would have bet quite a bit of money that he was only a few days past his eighteenth birthday. And the way he was staring at Mark?s back spoke volumes of what he felt about my nerd star. I hated him immediately.
    ?I thought you hated these things,? Mark stated as pointedly ignored my ?friends? who I?m sure were giving him dirty looks. Looking over to my left I could see blonde boy?s eyes darting back and forth between us, a pained look on his face.
    I shrugged. ?You know me; I?m always down for anything.?
    ?I remember.? Mark smirked, a knowing look danced around his eyes.
    ?You remember everyone, everyone this is Mark.?
    We all made small talk for a few moments. My ?friends? are great, they did everything right after Mark and I broke-up. They talked shit about him, swore on future unborn children that they wouldn?t rest until my honor was revenged. But here we were standing face to face, and they weren?t sure how they should react. Should they be rude to him as propriety dictates? Should they act like nothing?s wrong as social behavior dictates? Or should they pointedly ignore him? They went with the latter.
    ?I didn?t really want to come but, Bryan, just came out and wanted to experience the whole ?pride? thing first hand.? Mark explained without anyone prompting him. I thought it was cute the way Mark made air quotes when he said pride.
    I had just met Bryan and I could already tell he was completely in love with Mark. And knowing Mark as well as I did, I could tell he was oblivious about it. My hatred for Bryan slipped away like so much water from my back. I immediately switched my attention from unattainable Mark to safe target Bryan.
    ?So Bryan, what do you think of pride so far??
    Bryan?s eyes, when not fixed on Mark, were darting around the crowd growing larger and larger with everything he saw. Over there were two bears dressed in work boots and daisy duke shorts basically raping each other, while back over that way two fem twinks were arguing loudly. Apparently one of the twinks kissed another guy for a drink and the other twink, I?m assuming they were boyfriends, thought he had cheated on him. Down the street a ways, two older gay guys were standing there quietly holding hands and I swear they had tears of joy in their eyes. You know the usual suspects at Gay Pride.
    ?It?s amazing, seeing so many people come together. It?s like I can forget all about the last four years of high school.?
    From that statement alone I immediately fell in love with Bryan, as a little brother. Something about the way he still looked at the world with fresh eyes gave him an innocence that drew me in and felt like I should protect him. Or get him laid and get some of that freshness rubbed off. So I went with the latter and got him drunk and then blonde boy busted his Gay Pride cherry in an alley off Market Street. But that?s not really what this Blog entry is about either so I?ll continue onwards.
    I could tell that Mark and Bryan were at Pride alone and we sort of adopted them into our little group of wacko?s. Mark knew most of them and after a few awkward moments they fell right back into their pattern of playfulness. My ?friends? pretty much decided that Bryan was our mascot and life was good that day.
    It wasn?t long until the chemistry that is always between us came to the forefront and we started ignoring the rest of the group as we got lost inside our own little world filled with inside jokes and knowing looks that always drives my ?friends? crazy. All those months of being apart did little to curb our connection and the past hurts melted away like the new spring. At first it was little jokes accompanied by casual touches, an arm there, a shoulder pat here. We had some clean chit and some dirty chat like we always seem to do. And by the time we were ready to leave, it was quite obvious that we were going to hook up again. Just being that close to him was driving me crazy and I didn?t care about anything but waking up in his arms again.
    I had offered to drive everyone so after collecting Bryan from blonde boy, he was pretty much passed out by this time, I drove the three of us back to my house where we deposited Bryan on the couch. The rest of the night is/was for us and I won?t go into the details because it?s too personal and I don?t want to lose the magic that we created. It?s enough to know that we spent most of that night talking and in the morning light, we were an ?us? again.
    February 16th, 2011
    Mark and I have been together since that Gay Pride Parade where fate stepped in and pushed us to confront the past and agree upon a future. And I?m not sure when it happened but the other day I couldn?t help but notice that we?ve spent almost every night together in the last four months. And I think he pretty much lives with me now; he has a drawer in my room, space in my closet, and my bathroom is littered with his shit.
    I?m a clean freak, pretty much O.C.D. and Mark is what I call a fucking slob. He leaves dirty dishes everywhere; I once found a fork and plate in the bathroom. Not sure if he was eating while?well taking a shit?but really. Who leaves dirty dishes in the bathroom? He leaves his dirty clothes everywhere, boxers in the kitchen, why? I think one of the reasons he ?moved? in was so that I would do his laundry and clean up after him.
    I?m not really complaining, after all he so pays for it in spades?and blowjobs?and he lets me fuck him whenever I want?so it?s cool.
    Now I?m not saying it?s all been fuzzy bunny slippers for us all the time. He works fulltime and goes to school full time, so his schedule is already pretty full. And I?m a full blown workaholic so I don?t have much in the way of free time either. We?ve both had to make some adjustments and sacrifices to keep this thing alive this time around.
    You want an example. How about Thanksgiving? All he could talk about was how excited he was that I would be spending the holiday with his mother and sister. Apparently it?s the one day his mother lets him cook and he lives for that day. And he wanted to spend it with those that he loved.
    I thought it was weird that his mother actually agreed to these plans as she had never been overjoyed that I was the one that made her little baby boy into a queer. Yet I must admit that this time around she had really tried to be a supportive and understanding mother. I know Mark was floating around cloud twenty-three by her actions.
    I?m in the restaurant industry and being manager number three in a three manager restaurant means I get all the shit shifts. I don?t have a wife, kids, and blah blah blah. That?s right boys and boys, I had to work.
    True we closed early on that day so I did make it over to his house for a late dinner (which his mother kept warm for me) and dessert with the family (they waited for me). But I could see it in his eyes that he really wanted me to be there all day to help with the cooking and socializing.
    How was I to know that I was the only and first guy he ever brought over to the house to meet and hang out with his family? Let me tell you, it made me feel like shit not to spend the entire day with him but it made me feel all fuzzy bunny slippers to know I was someone special enough to invite over for family time.
    The next big disappointment, I don?t consider Christmas a big tragedy because he?s Jewish and doesn?t really celebrate that stupid holiday, was New Year?s Eve. It seems quite a few of his friends were going to some private party in San Francisco and he wanted me to escort him for the evening and to do the traditional midnight kiss. Needless to say we didn?t get that kiss until almost three am.
    Yet again, I had to work as the fireworks display brings in thousands of people to the wharf area and we were crazy busy. Needless to say we didn?t get that magical kiss until almost three am as I got stuck on the B.A.R.T. train for two hours with all the riders leaving the firework display. He was a bit upset but understood that business is business. Plus I promised we?d spend Valentine?s Day together.
    I had begged, pleaded, offered free blowjobs to the other managers, anything I could think of to make sure that I had off on that so overrated day of ?romance?. And fate, that mother fucker, decides to fuck me again; this time with no lube or a reach around.
    Three days before February 14th, the general manager calls me into the office and informs me that the owners wanted me personally to work that night and there was no way I could have the day off.
    I avoided Mark?s texts all day and only told him about the change of plans after I fucked him into delirium. That conversation was one of the hardest talks I ever had to do and I saw it in his eyes, he was crushed, upset, pissed off, and pretty hurt on top of all the other emotions probably running through his mind.
    I had made plans to decorate the apartment, cook him a romantic dinner, wine and dine him until his pants came off and then he would get dessert. He knew how much effort I had put into the whole ordeal so at least he understood that I was just as bummed.
    The only good news about that day was at least I didn?t have to close so I would be arriving home around 9 pm. So we adjusted the timetable and he seemed to be pretty understanding after I fucked him into submission.
    I wish I could erase the first half of that Valentine?s Day from my brain. Just like Murphy?s Law states, everything that could have possibly gone wrong did that Monday. Two of my line cooks didn?t show up, the fish company delivered the wrong fish and we had to change our special ?lovers dinner? that took four weeks to design.
    While I?m on the subject of restaurants, I want all of you that have never worked in the service industry, to listen up and really pay attention. You need to have some fucking understanding when things don?t go as smoothly as you expect them to with your dining experience. You have no idea how one tiny little detail can fuck your world six ways from Tuesday. We juggle all the balls in the air and one slip up can snowball into a cluster fuck of errors that we have no control over.
    You 9-5er?s need to understand this as well. When you don?t feel good you call in to your boss and you get the day with pay. Maybe someone has to cover a few of your projects but usually your work waits for you until you?re better. If you have a family emergency, you call up your boss and you get paid time off to handle your affairs. When a server gets sick, they show up to work because if they don?t work they don?t get paid. When their life falls apart they show up for work because if they don?t then they don?t pay rent that month.
    Most of you when you?re feeling a bit under the weather or just pissed off at the world can hide out in your office or cubicle and no one?s the wiser. Not us, no matter what?s happening in our lives we have to kiss your fucking ass and treat you like a king because you are so fucking stupid you think the whole world is going to end if you didn?t get that one last Happy Hour cocktail before Happy Hour is over. Just because your food took twenty-five minutes is no reason to yell at me and call me all sorts of names. Oh yeah, fuck YELP.com.
    So I was talking about Valentine?s Day and what a cluster fuck it turned out to be. Our expediter (the person in charge of calling out the food orders and making sure all the food is delivered to the right table) had to leave in the middle of service because he?s a breeder and didn?t aim for the chin and his wife decided that day was the perfect day to have a stinky pooping machine. Strike one against us. Redesigning our menu because our vendor sent us the wrong fish was strike two against us. Strike three came from left field and left us with lost food tickets, badly timed food courses and a feeling of disappointment to almost every single diner in the restaurant. In all my years of restaurants I had never been as embarrassed as I was on that day. To go up to table after table and apologize for screwing up their special day was draining on every level because I knew we dropped the ball. It was horrible.
    It was close to ten thirty before I managed to drag myself from the restaurant and all the problems that developed that day. Of course as a good boyfriend, I kept Mark updated on the stasis of my departure, explaining the delays. And he was unusually calm and understanding about the whole ordeal. All he kept replying to my texts were to make sure I text him when I sat down on the train.
    I am a creature of habit. I always sit in the same train car and if I can in the exact same seat on each car. This favorite seat of mine happens to be the handicap seat. I like sitting sideways on the train as opposed to riding backwards or forwards. So I sit in the handicap sideways seat and I always sit in the second to the last car on any train. Why?
    If I sit in the handicap seat in the second to last car when my train arrives at my destination it stops right in front of the up escalator. The moment the train stops I can run off the train and be the first up the stairs putting me ahead of the slower moving masses. Brilliant huh?
    I caught the 10:52PM train and sat in my usual spot and texted Mark that I was on the train. He sent me back a smiley face and I took a deep breath knowing this horrible day was about to get much better.
    My train ride is usually 42 minutes or so and then I get into my car and drive another twenty minutes to my apartment. So I knew I had some time to kill. I opened my laptop and lost myself in my latest story. But that oblivion didn?t last long.
    At the very next stop I was shocked when the doors opened and I saw a very handsome looking Mark walk on the train and sit down in the seat across from me. He was dressed in black slacks and a dark gray button down shirt. He looked amazing.
    He sits down across from me and after giving me a shy smile he opens a book and pointedly ignores me. Though he was ?intently? peering into his book, I couldn?t help but notice the smirk on his face as he sat there ?oblivious? to my presence. So I do the same, I stare at my screen while stealing glances at him.
    We do this for two more stops, making eye contact every few moments and pretending to be embarrassed when caught looking. I must tell you, it was hot.
    Finally I couldn?t take it anymore and I shut my laptop and asked, ?Excuse me, what are you reading over there??
    He sits there in silence. After a few moments, he turns the page and then shut the book, marking the page with his finger. He looks up and flashes the cover towards me. ?Just some light reading.?
    I started laughing. He was reading my copy of Dorm Porn. ?Light reading huh??
    He shrugged. ?My boyfriend always seems to be at work, I?ve got to get my kicks somehow.?
    ?Your boyfriend would rather work than come home to you??
    ?He has a stressful job, and he does take care of me. I just get lonely sometimes.?
    ?What does he do??
    Without missing a beat Mark looks at me and says deadpanned. ?He sells couch insurance.?
    Mark is the master at role playing. He loves creating wild scenarios to spice things up as he puts it; it really turns him on to live out his fantasies. Well, two can play at that game.
    ?He sounds like a real tool. If you were my boyfriend I?d never leave you alone.?
    He smiles at me, I can see the lust building and for a moment I wonder what is to come. ?He has his moments. What are you doing tonight??
    ?I don?t know, but I?d love to get a drink with you.?
    So there we were, me dressed in my stinky restaurant clothes, walking through the Castro pretending we didn?t know one another, talking about lives we didn?t lead and dreams we?d never realize. We ended up at the Look Out, a well-know bar in the Castro that allows smoking on the patio, talking small talk and flirting through the night. We awkwardly had a ?first? kiss standing on the balcony overlooking the street. And when he breathlessly asked if I?d like to go back to his hotel and spend the night with him, I about lost it.
    His hotel happened to be my favorite one in San Francisco, a little Kempton property with a Jacuzzi tub and glass shower. Beside the bed was a chilled bottle of Champagne and caramel dipped strawberries. We toasted our ?meeting? and fed one another strawberries before we undressed one another and went for a nice long soak.
    We ended up talking most of the night, connecting in ways I didn?t know were possible and closing the gaps that had widened with our hectic work schedules. It was probably the single most romantic night of my life. It was also the night I really knew without a doubt that I had been completely and perfectly blown away.
    The next morning he would tell me that he had been planning this whole ?seduction? for weeks and had booked the hotel room back in December. That little fucker let me make all those plans knowing full well it was nothing but a waste of time. These grand gestures were one of the reasons I fell in love with him.
    June 27th, 2011
    But in reality, times like these were few and far between for us. Even though Mark worked full time and went to school, in his heart he?s a pot head. And being a pot head means he spends a majority of his free time zoning out in front of the TV; disconnected with the world for large chunks of time.
    I?m a full blown workaholic that tends to put my job above my personal life and sometimes happiness. I focus so much on work that I am often disconnected in my personal relationships because I can?t live in the moment without worrying about the next day.
    You see, the thing with Mark is we are actually perfect for each other. We?re both passionate humans with the capacity for grand gestures and picture perfect moments that we painstakingly conceive and execute flawlessly. Both of us spent more time creating moments than actually taking the time to enjoy the moment.
    You see, the thing with Mark is we?re horrible for one another. We are both demanding and so often unwilling to bend or compromise for anything much less for each other. Our fights were epic struggles, shouting matches that came just short of violence.
    Have I ever been completely and perfectly blown away? I can now answer that question, though I think it?s too late for that to make a difference. Self-realization always comes too late and with too high a price.
    I haven?t been completely and perfectly blown away. But I?ve come close enough. I?ve always thought of heaven as a metaphor for perfection. And if that?s the case, then I?ve only ever reached the edges.
    Mark and I started drifting apart all too soon after that ?perfect? Valentine?s Day. A part of our divergence was due to his grades slipping. I understand he?s so close to achieving his dream and worked and sacrificed way too much to screw his future up now. He started spending more time at his house focusing on his schoolwork. It was closer to school and spending every night with me was a distraction.
    I?ll forget the part that I worked until midnight most nights and he had plenty of time to do his homework.
    After months of sleeping with someone, it was a bit lonely at first but as time moved on, I started to embrace the emptiness of the apartment. Mark and I as a couple was hard, only seeing one another for late-night hookups and dirty weekend sex was easy. After a week of not seeing each other for five days, we were so both horned up that we spent most of our time in bed rutting like two teenagers and for awhile that worked for us. But a relationship is a living, breathing entity and if you starve it, it will die slowly but surely over time.
    I?ve come to realize that being with Mark was much like getting fucked by a jackhammer. I know the orgasm is going to be epic but it?ll also tear up my insides.
    Mark and I stopped being an ?us? on April 1st, 2011. It?s an appropriate day and sums up our relationship perfectly.
    The decision to end it was mutual and we parted this time around as friends. I still love him and for most of the day I miss him terribly. His sense of humor is so like my own it?s almost like he?s inside my head. No other human on this fucking planet gets me like he does and he?ll always have a large space in my heart that is uniquely his and no one else. I often find myself comparing other guys I meet to Mark and I say to myself that they have large shoes to fill.
    When I first started writing this Blog Entry a few days ago, I had no idea what I was trying to convey. I was trying to wrap my head around the emotions that have been causing me so much grief and the only way I know how to work things out is to put words to paper so to speak. I had some anger lurking there, lots of heartache, a touch of longing, and even fondness of a time when I had a partner that was a close to perfect as I could ever hope to find.
    For reasons I won?t go into, I needed to get my thoughts about him down on paper so I could find a way to let this shit go.
    Okay, I?ll go into it even though I just realized that this Blog Entry is already sixteen pages long. That?s pretty fucking wordy even for my usual long boring entries.
    On June 17th, I was a bit drunk and very horny so I thought I?d go on Grindr and find a cum dumpster to vent my frustrations and release all the animosity I had pent up from Mark into. And what happened? I actually met an amazing guy and instead of hooking up we spent most of the night texting back and forth. And the more we spent chatting, the more I was intrigued. After having a great night chatting, we actually met the next night and had such a great time talking that it was only two days later we spent most of the night together connecting in so many ways.
    He wasn?t Mark, but that was okay. He was a writer, smart and uniquely sexy with a mind and humor that was refreshing in my fake world of hookups and one night stands. I was more than interested on that Monday night a week ago but as fate would have it the very next day at nine-thirty in the morning Mark texted me out of the blue. He wanted to know if I would want to hang out with him for the day with a few visiting friends in San Francisco.
    You see, the thing with Mark is I?m scared we?ve only reached the end of the second act.
  9. Jason Rimbaud
    The Wheel of Time: A Rambling, Digression Filled Review
    By: A Fan of the Books
    So somewhere & somewhen, I started replying in a Wheel of Time: The Series thread and realized after a few pages that it was way too long to post in a thread. Plus it was filled with colorful metaphors, talks of naughty bits, and generally senseless ramblings that I decided about that time for a new Blog Entry by the amazing Jason Rimbaud. Or is that the absent Rimbaud? Doesn’t matter.
    But before I start to bore you with my thoughts about a show that has been finished for almost three months, let’s go back in time. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. But definitely in the realm of times.
    The year was 1993, this little freckled-faced boy, who was filled with hopes and aspirations of one day becoming a writer of fiction, wandered into a magical place called Borders in Harrisburg Pennsylvania. 
    For those of you too young to remember just what the hell is a Borders, I’ll tell you. And again, I’m not saying this is true in all places and also times, I’m just saying what I knew to be true back in 93’. 
    Borders was a place that if you entered the store at a particular time, and you went up the long escalator to the second floor, and turned left and went straight to the back corner of the store. You would find one of the biggest restrooms you have ever seen in your life. And if you went into that restroom, you would first see a row of sinks, eight of them, then a wall of hand dryers, then if you continued walking around the pony wall, you would find a row of a thousand stalls, seriously there were a billion stalls in that restroom. 
    And like I said, if you were to walk into that bathroom at a particular time, and walked around that pony wall, and enter the very last stall on the right, then you might be able to get a blowjob from a random stranger. Who I might add, would refuse to look at you much less talk to you after the deed was completed and you accidentally ran into him perusing the rows and also rows of books.
    No my friend, we didn’t have hook-up apps like Jack’d & Grindr where we could see the photos of the person before we hooked up. Or read a profile detailing what they were into and what they wanted to do. 
    Nope, we had to do it the old fashion way. Sit patiently in a stall, sometimes hours before we finally got that wonderful signal, shove our penis into a hole in the wall, and pray beyond hope that it was at least a halfway decent looking guy. The times that ended up happening were few and very, very, very, very far between.
    So that is Borders kids, you don’t know what you were missing out on. Complete anonymous sex with older men, whether you liked that or not. That was the option back in those days.
    So there I was, a young man filled with testosterone and a full head of hair, perusing the rows of books waiting to see if anyone entered that magical place. As it happened, while I was waiting for something exciting to happen, I noticed a display of books. This display of books was in the perfect eye line of the entrance to the restroom. 
    I’m sure you’ve seen those displays, normally a huge cardboard placard of the cover of the book, with maybe a few reviews of the book, and the title. 
    And there it was, this large placard, saying coming this fall, The Fires of Heaven by Robert Jordan. And the cover is rather plain, just a man standing in the middle of what looks like a courtyard wearing a red coat, with orange hair. But in the background was a man standing there with a staff slung over one shoulder and a wide brim hat. This was the image I was intrigued by. Who was that man in the wide brim hat?
    Keeping one eye on the entrance to the restroom, I quickly realized that The Fires of Heaven was the fifth book in this epic fantasy series. I knew that because they had the first four books on the table under the placard, and being somewhat intelligent, I surmised that these were the first four books of the series. 
    And the rumor was back then, that this was going to be the final book of the series. Who would attempt to write a ten plus book series of fantasy. 
    I usually never want to start a series until it is complete, as I hate waiting for the new book to come out. And kids, if you thought waiting a week for a new episode of your favorite TV show, then try waiting two years or more for the next installment. That is patience.
    And if you really want to talk about patience, it took me another ten years before I got the ending I so wanted from that long ago day of sloppy blowjobs and cover art. Chew on that patience I displayed.
    Though I went to Borders that day for a quick, sloppy blowjob from a random stranger in the restroom, I picked up the first book of the series and decided to read a few pages while I waited for someone to go into the bathroom.
    Now I'm going to be honest here, I’d like to say that all thoughts of strange men sucking me off left my future bald head upon reading that first prologue of Eye of the World. But that’s not true, I ended up with a somewhat younger man than normal on the receiving end of my…bellend. But that’s another story.
    I think I finished all eight hundred or so pages in a few days of the Eye of the World and immediately went back to that Borders, not for a blowjob but to buy the next book in the series. Over the next few weeks I devoured all four books and couldn’t wait for the fifth and final book to come out. 
    Being a massive fan of the books that I am, and not that fan that thinks the books are perfect, I am fully aware that the first three books are somewhat a slogfest and let's not talk about eight, nine, and ten. But I loved the storyline and had the biggest crush on Mat, the one who turned out to be the figure in the wide brim hat. 
    I was stoked that the Wheel of Time would finally be getting the live action treatment from Amazon Studios. And once I saw the trailer, I knew it was going to be different then the books for a multitude of reasons.
    The average book length, not dick length, is eight hundred pages. That’s crazy long. And there is no way in hell they could do one book per season. 
    Who would expect a show to last 14 seasons anyway.
    We know that Robert Jordan loved describing the most mundane things in finite detail and that's not even discussing his fascination with ladies dresses and hairstyles. The books have a lot of filler that could be cut and never missed.
    By the way, how does one actually go about sniffing in disgust or anger? The female characters are always sniffing, pulling their hair (though I have noticed a lot lately that women constantly stroke their hair in public like a boy scratches around his crotch) and looking disapprovingly at every male they see.
    The story itself takes place over a period of three years. ( I had to look that up as I thought the story took place over a much longer period of years. That means Rand was only 19 when…) No spoilers. So 14 seasons would age the characters out.
    The amount of time spent traveling from one place to another is so time consuming that I know they would have to keep the story moving at a faster pace. So avoiding certain places and events only makes sense.
    There are thousands of characters in these books and many of them have speaking parts, so combining several characters into one or omitting them completely is understandable. 
    My husband, “N”, who does not offer blowjobs in the restrooms…anymore, has no experience with the book series. Except that he constantly tells me to throw out my WOT books because they are cluttering up the bookcase and he can’t put up more photos of us sans restrooms.
    “N” is a huge fan of fantasy & Sci-Fi, so he was all in after watching the trailer. And after watching the first three episodes, he was hooked. But then became rather pissed off because Amazon decided to drop a new episode weekly instead of all at once. He made me…physically threatened my life if I were to watch them without him.
    I’m sure none of you know this, but I am a huge fan of Survivor. Yes, that reality show that has been on the air for twenty years. Don’t judge me, I had to get blowjobs in restrooms by random strangers when I was young, I don’t know any better. 
    “N” also likes Survivor, but can’t stand waiting for the new weekly episode to drop, so I watch it first, and then once it's all released, then he will binge it in like three days. 
    That is what he made me promise to do, wait until it's all released and then watch it with him all in one night. And I don’t like watching TV like that. I like to digest what I just watched and think about it for a week before dipping my bald head back into the experience.
    So on Christmas Eve we snuggled in bed, I hate watching TV in bed, and binged the remaining five episodes.  
    “N” loved it. He liked the characters, the cinematography, the special effects, the magic system, and of course, the Trollocs. And I will agree, the first six episodes look fantastic. I love that they are filming in a location that is unknown to most American audiences. So it looked like a fantasy world. And yes there are CGI touches to things, but they built a lot of actual set pieces in the amazing landscape that is Czech Republic, in Prague. 
    He loved the mystery that is, which one of them is the Dragon Reborn. I actually enjoyed watching it with him in bed as he went back and forth. It is Matt, oh wait, it has to be Perrin, no I think it is Egwene. I’m sure it's Perrin, Holy Shit! It's Rand, I knew. 
    And he asked me questions about the books, which I refused to answer. He begged me to tell him what happened next, and all I can say, I don’t know, they changed so much I have no clue. Then he offered me blowjobs, not in a restroom much to my chagrin, and when I still didn’t acquiesce to his demands he cut me off from sex completely. So back to Borders…Wait, Borders are no more. Balls.
    “N” didn’t know what they had changed, made up, omitted, or combined into single characters. All he knew is he loved the drama, the mystery, the scariness of the Whitecloaks. Who I must admit, are even more terrifying than in the books. 
    So “N” didn’t understand when Tam first drew the Heron sword, I took a sharp intake of breath. And grinned from ear to ear when Morgaine and Lan were kicking Trolloc ass in the Two Rivers. The encounter Perrin had with the wolves in the forest only fueled his theory that Perrin was the Dragon Reborn, I only smiled. When the camera focuses in on the dagger, I yelled something out, but he didn’t understand why. 
    I got so excited when I first saw Thom in the Inn telling us the tale of the Dragon Reborn. And when he was killed by the Fade, I inwardly smiled as I am rather certain that isn’t the last time we see Thom. Or when I first saw a red haired Aiel in the cage, I giggled at the implication and wanted to know how they would portray the best fighters in the world. Nor did I say aloud, what the hell is that? When the Ogier first arrives talking to Rand in the Inn. 
    Or why I starting yelling, thats what I’m fucking talk about, when the Maiden of the Spear was on that snowy mountain top and I saw she was pregnant. Though I did remain rather silent as I watched in awe as she proceeded to take out all those soldiers. But I did get to see his reaction when he realized that the soldier was Tam and that badass fighter was Rand’s mother.
    And much like him, in a way it was a new story for me as well. I knew and understood the changes they had to make. And actually liked that they changed the age of all the lead characters. Or making the show way darker than the novels. Bloodier than Jordan would ever dare dream. And lets not forget boobies, there are boobies and butts everywhere. And maybe even a hint of ball bag, Lan’s ball bag. 
    Nudity is looked up as taboo in the Two Rivers, but throughout the rest of the books, there are boobies flooping around everywhere. And lest we forget, Rand and Egwene have been doing the nasty for a while. And Perrin knocked up some chick before slicing her open like a ripe Cantaloupe. Lan and Nynaeve knocking boots, that didn’t happen until book 10 or something. Moiraine being all lipstick to Siuan butch amazingness. Everyone is fucking,
    From the very beginning, which I do think was a bad cold open for Wheel of Times, I knew this wasn’t Robert Jordan’s Wheel of TIme anymore. And I was completely okay with that. If the concept is that everything has happened before, and these people are constantly being re-born into different ages, then this is just a different version of events that happened a long time ago in our future. The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills. 
    So in the books, the Whitecloaks were dangerous and very militaristic, but damn, what a way to introduce them. That scene was deliciously twisted and just the way I imagined those zealots to behave. I think his fascination on Perrin and Egwene wasn’t really explained well, there were several leaps of logic in why he suspected them to be from the White Tower. But, plot, I understand.
    I still would like to ask the showrunner why he spent almost an entire episode of only an eight episode season on an Aes Sedi and her Warder. That actually made me angry and wish I was back in that cold restroom with strangers sucking on my weiner. Lan didn’t need to thump his chest, in the books he was more reserved and rarely showed emotion. I thought it was so out of character and still don’t understand why they felt this deserved an entire episode. It didn’t further the main story, nor did it really tell much about the White Tower and the Sisters. 
    Let's talk about the magic system and its live action depiction. I absolutely loved how they showed the one power. And yes I’ve read the naysayers talk about how they don’t go into detail about wielding the One Power on the show and casual viewers don’t appreciate the toll it takes on the user. Fuck you, visually, it works. Not everyone bones up about magic systems and how they work. And the wisps of smoke, gray for the Sisters and inky black for the men, I thought really captured the yen and yang of it all. 
    And did the Whitecloaks put a beat down on the Tinkers, probably my least favorite groups in the entire series. The Way of the Leaf reminds me of vegetarians and I like my meat! (that's a long way to go for a dick joke, but I’ll allow it).
    We got to see a truly badass false dragon kill everyone and Nynaeve dropping the One Power bomb that healed everyone. That was epic in all the right places. I am finding this Nynaeve more tolerable than in the books. In this weaving of the Wheel, I dislike Egwene more, which I find distasteful. In the books, Nynaeve is the worst depiction of a female character I have ever read, watched, dreamed about in all the weavings of the Wheel. EVER.
    The actress who plays Egwene is simply amazing. And with the exception of Mat, who I didn’t think captured the essence of what Mat was, the rest of them are really good in their roles across the board. But Moiraine steals the show, she is perfect in every way and her scene where she fucks her “pillowfriend”, is amazing. Great acting. I didn’t find a weak actor in the bunch, just a stellar job of casting. 
    We get to see a scene from book 3, when the Two Rivers folk are riding together and start singing and then Moiraine tells the story of Mantheran, I got chills. It made me want to go join in the fight against fades, trollocs, the dark one, and Borders restroom trolls. 
    The last two episodes were my least favorite. And not just because they had changed so much of the story that I was literally lost a few times on who these people were. But mostly because you could tell that Covid restrictions really hit them hard. Set pieces were smaller, probably to disguise they had less extras than before. Unfinished special effects, and one of their main characters refusing to come back to finish the show in the poorly cast Mat.
    How much rewriting do you think they had to do to cover the absence of Mat in the final two episodes? Did I mention the horrible special effects in the last battle with the Trollocs? And why did they only send eight people to defend the gap against hordes of Trollocs anyway? Covid.
    I can forgive the limitations of the last two episodes. I also forgive the rushed ending as Amazon refused to move the premiere date to give them more time, so yes, it wasn’t perfect. 
    But I can’t forgive the way they ended the season. Three untrained Aes Sedi being led by a too weak to serve accepted, doesn’t matter she was tower trained, took out thousands of trollocs. And yes the idea was to say that Nynaeve and Egwene were that strong in the One Power, that even an accepted could destroy everything and everyone being linked in a circle. 
    Rand was the one in the books that appeared in the sky above the gap and saved everyone, thus proclaiming himself the Dragon Reborn. But they had to have a scene where Egwene saves Nynaeve’s life. Doesn’t matter that throughout the entire book series, Egwene was known to be weak in healing. Nor does anywhere in the books show that much destruction can be had without the aid of enhancement items. It really left a sour taste in my mouth.
    And before you say, “They made it all girl power because of the times and the me too movement. All males are stupid and useless without a woman telling them what to do”. I only have to ask one question, did you read the fucking book? Robert Jordan clearly wrote that into the story thirty years ago. Every single female character is written from a view of power, except for Min. They always know what to do and think men are stupid. Robert Jordan had either a very high opinion of women or thought they were all horrible, as every female character is written the same way. 
    So should you watch this show…like I said in that restroom stall all those years ago…yes, yes, yes!
  10. Jason Rimbaud

    "N" And I

    By Jason Rimbaud,


    Life In Glasses
    So I had plans. Much like every other person on the planet, I had plans for my future. It involved moving out of San Francisco and going someplace where “N” and I could buy a house and maybe start a family. And much like every other person on the planet, March 16th, 2020 happened and the whole world went absolutely bat-shit crazy.
    As of this current writing, it is October 12th, 2020 and I have been married for one year and two months with the most amazing person on this bat-shit crazy planet. (truthfully, when I first started writing this entry, it was my one year anniversary but things got away from me as it often does when you always get distracted by bright shiny objects)
    Over the course of my life, I have made some mind-numbing stupid decisions. I have more sophomoric mistakes and regrets than any one person should have to endure while still maintaining the fiction that he is somewhat intelligent. But if you look back at the entries of just this Blog, you will find the most asinine circumstances one could find them in. Granted, all of them avoidable if I had even an ounce of intelligence but I digress.
    For those of you that have not had the pleasure of meeting “N”, he is perfect in every single way…and yet he is also the most flawed human being that means the world to me. He is irritating while somehow making me laugh at the most inopportune times. He’s serious to a fault, not understanding irony in the slightest way, and often leaves me scratching my head in amazement/confusion. He is also the most loving person I have ever had the pleasure of sharing my bed with. I have never been so much in love while suppressing urges to strangle him at the same time.
    Like someone famous once said, Context is King, I’ll relay a little story to demonstrate how his mind works. Two days/weeks/months ago, I was at work while he was enjoying a day off, I sent him a text, “What are you doing?” (And for full disclosure, I don’t use abbreviations when texting…ever) His response, “Studying.” So I texted, “Are you naked?” After a few moments/minutes/hours/days of staring at the three black dots, he finally responds, “Why would I be naked, its cold outside”.
    Have I mentioned he doesn’t know how to flirt? And lying is not in his nature, so I’m stuck with an Indian Spock. (very logical at all times)
    My plans to move from a city that I’ve grown to hate for more reasons than I could relay to you, is on hold indefinitely. Why you might ask? Mainly because “N” has decided to change careers after being in the restaurant industry his entire life. And while we reside in San Francisco, he can take classes for free. By the way, is it any wonder that this very serious individual wants to become a CPA.
    So my amazing husband is working full time and going to school, virtually, full time. And I’m stuck in a job I no longer like but after all it is for our future so I soldier on.
    I’ve told “N” I love him a thousand times a thousand times. And yet, when I first saw him in his Sherwani, traditional wedding attire, I immediately started to cry. He came out of the door where he had been sequestered and I swear, my heart skipped a beat. The song was playing and everyone in the space was staring at us, our eyes connected, and in that moment, I understood what unconditional love looked like, what it felt like, and what it meant fully realized for the rest of my life.
    No matter how many years we will get together, I know I will always look back on that single moment and wonder in amazement, how the hell I became so lucky to have him in my life.
    So yes, the world is a bit bat-shit crazy right now, and yes I might be living in a city I no longer hold dear, but I get to be with him, and that makes life perfect.
  11. Jason Rimbaud
    So earlier this year, I started a show called Watchmen on HBO. I was actually a huge fan of the movie when it came out in 2009, and was really excited to see what HBO was going to do with that property. And I was really excited to find out that it wasn’t going to be a remake of the movie but more of a continuation of that story in the same universe. From the opening scenes I was hooked and after I watched the last episode, I wanted to find out who created it.
    And that’s when I was introduced to Damon Lindelof. And as I have nothing else going on I did a deep dive back into his credits to see what else he has done.
    Tomorrowland, never saw it, The Leftovers, never heard of it. World War Z, didn’t like it. Star Trek, Into Darkness, loved it. Prometheus, never watched it. Cowboys and Aliens, didn’t like it. And then I saw Lost in his credits. And then I saw that along with J.J. Abrams, Damon co-created and wrote more episodes than anyone else and served as the show-runner because J.J. was busy doing other things.
    Full disclosure, I’m not a huge J.J. Abrams fan. I think he single-handedly destroyed what little bit of love I had for Star Wars left after The Rise Of Skywalker. And though the re-make of Star Trek was okay, I thought Into Darkness was by far the stronger movie. And like most people, I was first introduced to the highly over-rated Benedict Cumberbatch, in this Lindelof penned movie.
    After finding out that Lindelof was the co-creator and prolific writer of Lost, I was intrigued to see how Lost would hold up to Watchmen. Judging by his age, and when Lost came out, I figured the writer that wrote Watchmen would be more mature, more confident, then the writer who wrote Lost. But Lost was a cultural pheromone back in the late 00’s, and I only missed it mainly because I didn’t have TV back then and streaming shows weren’t invented yet.
    And again full disclosure, I have seen a few episodes of Lost way back in 2004 and have heard the debate about the last two seasons, but I hadn’t really ever watched the show from start to finish much to the chagrin of one of my closest friends who figuratively eats and breaths this show even after it’s been almost ten years since the finale episode was shown. (Side-note, IMDB TV started streaming Lost for free May 1st, 2020 to mark the ten year anniversary of the finale)
    And since I’ve been out of work since March 18th, 2020, and rarely leave my condo in the hills of Twin Peaks in San Francisco, and the fact that I am pretty much bored with everything else on Netflix, Hulu, and/or Amazon Prime, I contacted my friend and asked if I could borrow the first season of Lost to finally  see what the fuss is about.
    You would have thought I asked him to be god-parent to my non-existent kids he was so happy. He started rambling on how we can finally talk about Lost and how excited he was to go on this journey with me as someone who never watched the show.  Like he could finally see it for the first time again through my eyes.
    And since my husband and I are really taking the shelter in place seriously, it was decided that my friend, “O” and I would watch the show together via face-time every day. Because I wasn’t going to allow him to come to my condo, I’m not sure he even knows what Covid 19 is much less that he’s suppose to stay inside his house. But that’s another topic.
    So on an infrequent trip to Target, I bought the first season of Lost and we picked a date to start watching the show together. I’m not sure if you ever watched a show before with a super fan, but it wasn’t more than 15 minutes into the episode before “O” started spouting off things that were foreshadowing later episodes down the line. I quickly realized watching it with him was not going to work so we came up with a new system. I would watch the show, make a few notes, and then afterwards we would discuss the episode and talk about where I thought it might be heading and so on. But only if he would refrain from answering any of my questions I might have or guesses of the future.
    And that lasted about ten minutes after I was finished with the two part pilot episode. So now, I’m watching season one alone, but I continued to make notes of the show and what will be following, is my take of Lost Season One, episode by episode.
    I am trusting that anyone who is reading this, will refrain from making spoilers in the comments, or correcting any of my guesses on where I think the story is going.
    And when it was going to be “O” and I watching together, we came up with a few rules that I continue to follow. I won’t refer to any of the actors by their real names, only their character names. And anything I say about anyone on the show is directed to their characters and not the actor portraying said character. During the course of this first season, I went back to earlier episodes and either watched it again or added to my notes as certain things stood out to me in later shows that didn’t occur to me during my first watch along. Any added comments will be in bold so you know when they were written.
    For the first several episodes, many of the main characters were never mentioned by name so I made up names for them until they were formally introduced on the show.
    And though I probably shouldn’t have to say this, I will be spoiling each episode as I post these Blogs.
    Lost Season One: Pilot Part One: (Jack Centric)
    The show opens with a close up of someone’s very blue eye. Blue eyes is wearing a suit and tie and is in the jungle. A yellow dog runs past and Blue Eyes gets up and runs through the jungle until he comes out on a beach. The sound seems muffled until the camera pans to the left and we see completely chaos and the screaming and noise from one of the engines comes blasting into the scene. Littered down the beach is wreckage from a plane crash.
    Blue eyes frantically looks around until he hears someone yelling and sees a man trapped under a wheel strut. As he runs down the beach, the camera focuses in on several actors on screen who I assume will become the protagonists of the show. Black Man is screaming out for Walt several times,
    Blue Eyes calls for a few people to help him and together they lift the wheel strut and pull the man to safety. Blue Eyes sees a very pregnant lady and rushes to help her. Claire has the most annoying Australian accept I ever heard, and I’m assuming it’s not a real accent.
    Blue Eyes realizes that Claire is fine and instructs Big Dude to take her somewhere out of the way and if the contractions come faster than three minutes apart to come find me. That’s when we are first introduced to Jack.
    Jack sees Pretty Boy trying to give a black lady CPR and tells him he’s doing it wrong. Pretty Boy is clearly panicking so Jack sends him off to find a pen, more to get rid of him than for any reason.
    After he saves Black Lady, he sees the wing of the plane is starting to fall down, and wouldn’t you know it, its right over the very pregnant lady and Big Dude. He rushes over and saves them in the nick of time when the wing crashes down and explodes. (I’m assuming because of the gas?)
    Jack goes into the jungle and takes off his coat and shirt, he has a deep gash in his side. He has found a sewing kit, and from his coat pocket, he pulls out a small bottle of Vodka. Then a beautiful lady from the Hobbit movie comes out of the jungle and after a few words, sews up Jack’s side.
    Jack tells her a story when she asks why he isn’t afraid. He tells her a story of his first lead surgery where he cuts something near the spinal cord, and he knew that he had to do something. So he allowed the fear to flood him but only for five seconds. Then he would get back to work. Pretty interesting story and gives the viewer a lot of information about this doctor that is going around helping everyone so calm and focused.
    I loved how he helped everyone else before he took a moment to fix what I can only assume is a very painful cut on his back.
    Later that evening, the whole camp is suddenly aroused when something is heard crashing in the jungle. It looks massive as whole trees are knocked over and it seems to move very fast, and it has the most eerie sound. We don’t get a chance to see it but it’s big and menacing.
    Flashback, Jack is sitting in his seat and flirting with the flight attendant, he makes a joke about the weak drink and we see why he had vodka bottles in his suit pocket, pretty cool call back. Across the aisle from Jack is the Black Lady he saved on the beach by giving CPR. She mentions she doesn’t like to fly and that her husband is in the bathroom. Jack says he’ll keep her company until the husband returns. Right before the turbulence started, the one where I’m assuming was the reason they crashed, Merry from Lord of the Rings runs past being chased by the same flight attendant that gave Jack the Vodka. The turbulence became so violent the little masks fell down and someone behind Jack who didn’t have his seat belt on was thrown up into the air. Pretty cool.
    Jack, Kate, Merry decide to head off into the jungle looking for the nose of the airplane. Jack thinks that if they can find it, that all planes carry a transceiver that will allow them to contact any rescuers that will be looking for them.
    They see the nose of the plane resting against a tree so they go inside and climb up the aisle way. Its pretty gruesome, at one point Merry almost falls down and he grips the leg of one of the dead bodies.
    Once at the cockpit, Jack breaks open the door and one of the pilots falls out and down to the ground. Jack asks if Kate was okay, and Merry replies, “Charlie’s okay too.
    One of the pilots is alive, but pretty banged up in the crash. But he informs Jack and Kate, that a few hours out of Sydney, the radio went dead so they turned back around to head back. They are at least a thousand miles off course and no one will know where to look for them.
    He shows them the transceiver and Jack asks, where is Charlie? Kate goes looking for him and he comes out of the bathroom. Moments later, the unknown/unseen monster is back and after a moment, rips the pilot out of the plane. Jack, Kate and Charlie run out into the jungle, the monster seemingly right behind them. Its pouring rain and they get separated, with Kate hiding in the middle of a few trees. She is frantically looking around and thinking back to Jack’s earlier story, she starts counting to herself, one, two, three, four, and she says boone, which is weird.
    The rain stops and she finds Jack and Charlie who look up, and the body of the pilot is high in the trees and fade to black.
     
    Lost Season One: Pilot Part Two (Charlie and Kate Centric)
    Opens on Jack, Kate, and Charlie walking in the jungle trying to operate the transceiver. And for no real reason, except for plot, Kate asked Charlie why he went to the bathroom in the plane. Conversations like these usually have some significance later on in movies and TV shows. Charlie says that he was so scared he had to throw up, does a throw-away comment about being a coward.
    Flashback, Charlie is running past Jack and Black Lady but this times follows Charlie as he searches in vain for an open bathroom. Once he finds one, he locks the door behind him and pulls out some yellow looking powder from his shoes. He takes a bit of the powder and eats it and quickly relaxes a bit. So Charlie is an addict. Turbulence starts and he drops the bag of drugs into the toilet. He struggles for a moment before leaving the bathroom to find a seat and straps himself in just as  the plane lurches about violently.
    Blonde Chick is sun tanning herself on the beach while everyone else seems to be doing something. Pretty Boy asks her for some help and she implies that she’s going to wait until rescue. Pretty Boy is her brother and the two start arguing.
    Pretty Boy leaves and Claire, the pregnant chick, is talking to Blonde Chick and Claire confides that she hasn’t felt the baby move since the day before right after the crash.
    Black Man is once again yelling out for “Walt”.
    For those of you keeping track, mainly me, this is four times thus far Black Man screams out “Walt”.
    But Walt is out looking for his dog, which I’m assuming is the one Jack saw in the opening moments of the show. Walt is screaming out Vincent and finds a pair of handcuffs in the jungle. Black Man finds him right after and in a very angry tone says something like, I told you to stay on the beach. Walt replies back as only an adult writing for a child would, and we realize that Black Man is Walt’s dad. I kind of get the feeling that Black Man doesn’t really like his son much. I’m sure its suppose to come across as worried, but I feel like Black Man is not a good person.
    Middle Eastern and Blonde Southern Guy are rolling around the ground fighting. Southern Guy is accusing Middle Eastern man of being a terrorist and Middle Eastern is accusing Southern Blonde for being the prisoner that goes with the handcuffs. They are pulled apart by Big Dude and we find out Middle Eastern name is Sayid, a former Republican Guard during the Iraq War as a communications expert. Big Dude is named Hurley, and I really like both of these characters right off the bat. Something about Sayid tells me he is very confident and extremely intelligent. Plus he has cool hair.
    Sayid informs Hurly that the transceiver is working but they need to get to high ground to get a strong signal to be able to broadcast their position. He points to a high point in the distance.
    There is a man with a piece of metal sticking out of his stomach that will die if something isn’t done soon. Jack is trying to figure out what he should do and gives a rundown what will happen to the man if nothing is done.
    Lost now gives us a moment to focus on some of the other survivors, one couple is Asian, and from the looks of it, they are married, but the way Husband talks to Wife, they are extremely conservative and Wife looks about crestfallen while Husband tells her to button up her shirt. But the moment Husband's back is turned, Wife defiantly unbuttons it again.
    Husband is preparing what looks like sushi, and tries to go about getting people to eat it. Hurly makes a joke that as hungry as he is, he won’t be eating it.
    Lost again goes out of the way to imply that Black Man and Walt do not really get along at all. But Black Man speaks in clichés and comes across as angry all the time.
    We find out that Blonde Chick is named Shannon. Pretty Boy and Shannon are again arguing about who knows what, but that prompts Shannon to approach Sayid, Kate, Charlie, about going out with them to higher ground. Pretty Boy goes along as well, presumably to protect his bitchy sister.
    Southern Blonde Man is reading a letter with a look of concern on his face and smoking a cigarette. This is the first time I’ve wanted a cigarette since I stopped two months ago when I went into Shelter At Home. He sees the group heading out so he decides to come with them. We find out that Southern Blonde Man is named Sawyer.
    An Older Bald Man, who we’ve seen in the background until now, and really the only time we see him fully is when it was raining and he was sitting in the rain with a look of glee, is sitting on the beach playing with a game of Backgammon.
    Walt approaches Bald Man and without turning his head, Bald Man says, Backgammon is the oldest game in the world. Two players, two sides, one is light, one is dark. Then he looks at Walt and says cryptically, “Do you want to know a secret?”
    This struck me as important, because normal people wouldn’t say one side is light, one side is dark, they would say black or white. Something is being set up with this character and his mysterious declarations, so I know to pay attention with this guy.
    Sayid and company are walking in the middle of the jungle and Sawyer keeps pressing Sayid to try the transceiver but he doesn’t want to, to protect the batteries when all of a sudden a crashing sound is heard and what I know to be for a fact a bear due to hours of playing Red Dead Redemption 2, comes crashing out of the jungle at the company. Everyone runs away except Sawyer who stands his ground with a look of determination on his face. Once the bear is close enough, Sawyer raises a gun, where the hell did he get a gun, and shoots the bear several times before it drops down almost at his feet.
    It’s a polar bear, in the middle of this jungle…now that was badass.
    Jack has settled on a course of action for the man with the metal sticking out of his body, and has enlisted Hurly to help him find any antibiotics that will help with his infection.
    Flashback, we see the man before he got a piece of metal inside his stomach, sitting on the plane flirting with the flight attendant, and we see Kate sitting next to him. After a brief conversation between the two about juice, we see Kate is the one that was handcuffed and she is this man’s prisoner. Now we know where the handcuffs came from and who they belong too.
    Kate takes the gun from Sawyer and in a comical scene, asks how to take the gun apart. She takes out the clip and the bullet in the chamber, and then gives it to Sayid. Sawyer makes a crack about giving it to the terrorist so everyone decides that Kate should have it. She takes the gun but Sayid has the bullets. Kind of funny, that they trust her for some reason, not knowing that she is the prisoner. Though the way she was acting with the gun, maybe murder wasn’t her crime.
    Sayid figures they are high enough, so he turns on the transceiver and gets a few bars but can’t broadcast because there is a stronger signal somewhere on the island that is broadcasting already. He tunes into the signal and a French Lady’s voice who is on a looping broadcast. Pretty Boy says Shannon can speak French so she translates the message, Everyone is dead, I’m all alone now on the island.
    Sayid figures out that the message is on a loop, and has been broadcasting for 16 years and 5 months. The camera pans back and then for a close up of Charlie’s face who asks, “Where are we?” Fade to Lost Logo.
    Wow, some pretty cool characters, a few mysterious ones, a criminal, a polar bear, and some kind of pre-historic monster stalking around the jungle. I’m hooked for now, can’t wait for the next episode.
  12. Jason Rimbaud
    So I went to a place to buy contacts, I won't tell you the name but it rhymes with BenRafters. After ringing in my 3 month supply of contacts, the lady said pleasantly, please look on the screen and make sure everything is correct, then please press a button to accept the payment. So far, pretty standard practices. But this is when they get sneaky. Because on the screen isn't a list of the items I purchased. Instead, on a white screen, with green boxes, and inside the boxes are bold black letters that says, $5, $10, $15, $20. Across the top is a banner that says something about donating money for something eye related.
    But I couldn't see a way out of the screen unless I pressed one of the boxes marked with a donation. So I look at the lady and ask, how do I get off this screen without donating to whichever charity you are shilling for. She smiles and says, just hit the button that says no thank you. I looked at the screen again, and finally I saw it, a white box on a white screen with white lettering that read, no thanks.
    How much money do you think they got out of people that just hit a button because they couldn't easily find the no thanks button. I looked at her and said, "this is a great scam you got going on here". And she had the nerve to look at me blankly like I was the asshole that didn't want to donate to eyes for the homeless.
    Do you think its right that companies prey on people in scams like these? This isn't the first time that companies purposely hold back information when it comes to your money. She could have said there is a screen that will ask for a donation for seeing eye dogs, but she didn't, she said plainly, please make sure everything is correct and then press a button to accept payment. 
    And while I'm here, in California anyway, my local grocery store always ask me if I would purchase a meal for the homeless. If I do, I get a free shopping bag. My answer is, why don't this multi-billion dollar a year company donate meals for the homeless. I can barely afford to purchase my after work beer to help forget that I live in the most expensive city in America and I can't walk down the street without stepping in shit or tripping over a crazy person shooting up heroin on my way to my overpriced condo that has amazing views of the alley and the building over neighbors hanging their undies over their balcony.
     
    Jason
  13. Jason Rimbaud
    Before I really get into the reason I started writing down these random letters to form words that structure the following incoherent sentences that you are about to read, I want everyone to understand why I decided to write this in my Blog instead of responding in the forum thread where I first started ruminating on this topic. I am writing it here mainly because I think I’m going to offend a few people that read this and more than likely piss off the rest.
    A few months ago, I came across a topic in the Lounge over at Gay Authors that got the wheels in my tiny little brain a whirling. So much did my head spin around and around, that even all this time later, I’m still thinking about the topic.
    I really don’t remember who started the Topic all those months ago, and it’s really not important as it doesn’t really have anything to do with who started the topic but what path that topic got me traveling on.
    To the best of my ability, the topic was “Do You Identify as Gay?”. It also included a poll of three choices…I identify as part of the gay community, I identify as someone who has sex with the same gender, I identify as something else (please explain). Or something along those lines anyway.
    When I first read this topic, the results were as following…
    72.41% or twenty-one posters identify as part of the gay community
    13.79% or four posters identifying as someone who has sex with the same gender
    13.79% or four posters identifying as something else
    And for full disclosure, I identify as something else. This something else with the tagline, ( please explain), is the reason I am writing this today and the reason I have done more research about this topic in the last few months than I have in the last twenty years.
    I have never spoken to the person who started the topic, nor am I judging that person or anyone that participated in this particular thread. I believe there is something deeper here in regards to my own journey then the author or other posters intended.
    And let me preface this by saying, I am not attacking, judging, or refuting anyone that shared their own experiences in this topic. Nor am I discounting their beliefs or personal truths. I am only referencing them as it led me to a better understanding of my own self.
    Upon first reading this topic, I believe I understand what the motivation the author had when they created the poll and the questions they proposed. And without putting words in anyone’s mouth, I believe the intention was to see how the other members of GA viewed themselves in a larger, cultural way. And on the surface, I think it was a harmless question without malice.
    The post started off something like, “I’m curious to know how many people on here identify as part of the gay community versus how many just identify as having same sex attractions without feeling a part of the larger, cultural gay community”.
    I first read this question more of, ‘hey, tell me how you feel about your place or lack thereof in the gay community at large’. I don’t believe there is anything wrong with the question that was put forth. I felt, and still do after all this time; it was more a curiosity to see into the lives of other individuals and to understand how they might see themselves in a grander scheme of life as it pertains to the “gay community”.
    And after reading all the response, a particular comment stuck out from one user. And again, I might be paraphrasing, but the poster said something like, “I have come back to this post several times because it rather irks me. I am gay. However, I am not a member of gay clubs, sports, or other so-called gay organizations. The feeling I get reading this, is that unless I “join up”, me and the others like me, are really not gay”.
    This comment intrigued me, so much so that I started doing some research into the poster. And no, I wasn’t stalking that user, but I did find out while I was stalking him that he identifies as a Dom in a BDSM relationship.
    The user clearly stated that he did not feel part of the gay community because he refused to ‘sign up’. And a few posts later he added, “My lifestyle is even smaller. Mainly found in small clubs, and yes online. But even thought we have BDSM clubs, I am not a member. Though my husband and I live that way. Does that make me less a Dom? No, Not at all”.
    Please understand that I know absolutely nothing about this user except what I have read in that particular topic and I am not refuting what he feels. I know nothing about BDSM except surface facts nor do I care to learn about this…lifestyle for lack of a better term. I do know that it’s not for me even though I understand that the participants feel a need to experience their life in this way and that there is a strong bond of love and trust in regards to their relationships. I feel everyone is entitled to love however they find it. And this post is not about BDSM but rather about the feeling this poster voiced about community.
    Webster’s define community as: a group of people living in the same place or having a particular characteristic in common.  It goes on with a second definition: a feeling of fellowship with others, as a result of sharing common attitudes, interests, and goals.  A few of the synonyms listed: group, body, clique, faction.
    When the user identified as gay but didn’t really have a connection to what most would call the gay community, preferring to just live their lives as they see fit and damn anyone that doesn’t agree with them. This statement got my little head spinning around. While this is an admirable trait, and one that I wholeheartedly agree with, it made me curious why he didn’t feel a connection to the greater gay community.
    I don’t know this user and didn’t feel comfortable enough to ask certain questions regarding BDSM and why this user didn’t feel a part of the community, so instead I went online and started doing research about the subject to see if I could get a better understanding of why he might have answered like he did and more importantly, why the question seemed to irritate him.
    And in my limited research about the subject, I found that most in a BDSM relationship identify first as a Dom or a Sub, then secondly as gay if they mention it at all. My understanding, BDSM is more important to how they live their truth than a label about sexuality. This seemed to be a logical reason why this user didn’t connect with the gay community.
    And yet it got me thinking why I don’t connect with the gay community though I live in San Francisco, seemingly the Mecca of gaydom for the United States and maybe for the rest of the world.
    I don’t have a lot of gay friends. And being gay does not now nor has ever really defined who I am as a human being. In my youth, I went to the clubs on the prowl for sex. I used more boys as dumpsters and playthings than ever made any real connections with the shallow people I met in those spaces. But that was a small part of biology, I was horny and wanted to find a release into the next willing receptacle but that wasn’t who I was or what I thought I should be. My community has always been those like minded individuals that share my same love of movies, video games, books, and historical places. At times, other gay people have fit that mold, but often as much, my friends are made up of all races, orientation, and gender.
    I have found in my travels, the “gay community at large” are shallow, promiscuous, addicts, that are too self absorbed to be good friends much less good human beings. And yes, before you get all angry, there are always exceptions. But go to any club on a Saturday night, and you’ll see rampant alcohol and drug abuse in the gay community, unsafe sex practices, and old men trying desperately to hang on to their youth by any means necessary.
    And if it seems like I’m judging them, maybe I am. But I don’t want to be associated with those types of humans. And it’s true, go to any straight club and you will see the same exact behavior which I think only proves that I don’t identify with them either.
    To get back to the user who identifies as BDSM, he would also say, ‘my lifestyle is even smaller’. He’s proud to say that he doesn’t belong to any BDSM clubs. He simply chooses to live out his best life with seemingly little regard for what others might think. This is a behavior I can support.
    Webster’s define lifestyle as: the way in which a person or group lives.
    The user is living his best life with someone who loves and respects him and for all purposes; he is living the lifestyle of a gay man. The user also used the phrase, ‘join up’. And this made me think about the grander implications of that statement.
    I feel that too many of our brothers and sisters are made to feel left out based on some of the marginal stigma surrounding certain lifestyles, especially if it’s on the fringe of the larger gay community. If the user, who identifies as a Dom, cannot feel like he’s a part of the gay community because he refuses to ‘join up’, then what does that say about this gay community? Is it because as humans, we tend to judge those that are different than us? If that’s the case, then we are no better than the homophobe that judges us because they do not understand us?
    To counter that point, the user that started the post topic and put forth the poll answers to begin with, stated, ‘For example, I personally identify as gay and very much feel a part of the larger gay community. Most of my friends are gay, I go to a mostly-gay gym, I play in a gay sports league, I go to gay bars/clubs/circuit parties, and whenever I travel I make it a point to check out the local gay scene. What I love about being gay in the cultural sense is that no matter where you go, you already have an established tribe/community that you can find support in through shared identity. I've found in my post-college years is that we are a community that tends to protect our own, and we've created our own institutions separate from the straight world to fulfill that purpose. It's ghettoization to an extent, but after living in the stuffy confines of straight life for so long, I've found that this much smaller community offers freedom to a level and in a particular way that people who aren't a part of it will never get to experience’.
    I think I could argue what the poster was referring to is not so much the ‘gay community’ but more of the gay lifestyle. Or what that perception of that lifestyle is from someone on the outside looking in. I do believe there is a certain perception of what most would call the gay community, and for a good portion of us, we would never identify ourselves in that manner.
    Urban Dictionary defines gay lifestyle as: a stereotype used by social/political conservatives to describe gay men being promiscuous, drinking, bar hopping, using drugs, cross-dressing, and orgies.
    Okay, I’ll be honest, the bit about cross-dressing made me laugh so hard I almost choked to death when I read it. But can you honestly say, you have never thought the same exact thing at least privately in your own brain. To most, the gay lifestyle doesn’t describe us much less define us. I have often lamented that who I choose to sleep with is such a small part of what makes me…me…that I rarely talk about it. I don’t go to Pride, I don’t participate in circuit parties, I don’t have orgies, nor do I have random encounters using phone Apps. That is not my lifestyle, nor has it really been.
    So why am I writing this? It’s not to bash the author of this topic, nor the user that doesn’t identify as a member of the gay community. The reason I wrote this and the reason I have been thinking about this topic for months, is because I was looking at this through the wrong lens.
    There was a time when gay individuals needed to bond together, first for safety, and then for support from a world that didn’t really accept us. And yes, having that support system truly saved who knows how many lives over the last decades. How many young people who didn’t commit suicide because they found a place that was safe for them to live their truth and find happiness within those communities? How many of the younger generation can go to proms with their same sex partner now all over the country? How many states have legalized same sex marriage? So much has changed for the gay community just in the last ten years that I never thought I would see in my lifetime. And thankfully, it has changed.
    Yet I truly believe one of the worst things we can do as a community is retreat into our gay clubs, gay bars, gay sports leagues, and leave the rest of the world behind. We didn’t affect change by hiding in the shadows. We changed the country because we got out in the light and demanded that we needed to be treated first as humans, with the same rights as all other humans, then by allowing straight people who didn’t know any better that we have the same goals, values, and desires that all humans possess. Who we sleep with is irrelevant in the grand scheme of life.
    My community, as defined by Webster, has always been made up of a fellowship of likeminded individuals that share my same attitude, goals, and life values. That is my community, and like most communities across the country, it’s not a gay community, it’s not a straight community, it’s a mix of beautiful humans that all strive to achieve a better life for those they love, and for those as yet unborn.
    I have seen a lot of ‘gay communities’ that do not share my same values and goals. And I will not be a part of them just because they also happen to sleep with other men. That would be like saying, I will only vote for this particular person because they also have the genetic coding that made their eyes blue like mine. Eye color and genital preference is so far down on my list of priorities in those I choose to surround myself with its practically nonexistent.
    If you find a gay community that shares your same attitudes, goals, and values, than great, you might have found the ideal life. But don’t get so hung up on only participating in ‘gay communities’ just because there are gay people there. Instead, create your own communities by including all people that share your values, embrace those that can bring something positive in your life and exclude all those, even the gay ones that would drag you down.
    Gay or straight, all communities are made up of humans first, and most of us are a wonderful, kind, generous, honest, loving, and accepting group that can do extraordinary things when we share a common purpose.
    I know that my thoughts might not be for everyone who reads them. And that’s okay. We are all on different places in our walk of life. I do know that over the last few months my perception of community changed and I believe I am a better person for it. So I thank whoever started this topic, and those that contributed to the thread as they all helped me come to a better understanding of who I am as a human and where I want to go.
     
    J
  14. Jason Rimbaud
    Starring Jason Momoa as Arthur/Aquaman, Amber Heard as Mera, Willem Dafoe as Vulko, Patrick Wilson as King Orm/Ocean Master, Nicole Kidman as Atlanna, and Yahya Abdul-Mateen II as Manta. It was directed by the wonderfully talented James Wan, the creator of the Saw Franchise.
    Aquaman takes place shortly after the events of Justice League. This bit of information seemed to be slipped in right away to make sure we all know this is part of the DCEU. But just as Wonder Woman carved her own path away from the sadness that was Man Of Steel, Batman V Superman, and Justice League with a story that focused on plot supported by CGI, Aquaman at its core, is a character driven film that made me care about the characters and their journey.
    Aquaman lives somewhere between the dark vision of Zack Snyder and the playfulness of Patty Jenkins, taking elements from both while carving a visually stunning film. I would venture a guess that the script was heavily rewritten multiple times attempting to course correct after the tepid reception of the Znyderverse and the sheer fun factor of Wonder Woman. The downside to what I am assuming is heavy rewrites, leaves us with a film that doesn’t seem to know what its suppose to be sometimes from moment to moment.
    Is it a light-hearted underwater tale with horrible dad jokes or a morality tale of sons paying for the sins of their fathers? As I type this, I still can’t tell you what this movie is about.
    In one of the darker moments of the film, Arthur takes out a bunch of pirates as they try to steal a submarine. While this sequence is visually stunning and really showcases the raw power Arthur can command, Arthur allows the father of one of the pirates to drown, thus creating one of the major villains in Aquaman’s cannon.
    This act really shocked me, as it was hard for me to believe that considering Arthur’s own mother was killed when he was young, that he could dismiss the pleas of a son to save his drowning father so flippantly.
    This sequence reminded me how I felt while watching Black Panther last year. Like Killmonger, Manta has a great back-story and a reason for revenge that makes his story arc believable and compelling.
    And in almost the next scene, Arthur and his father are in a bar drinking beer for breakfast when several scary biker looking guys approach them. This scene is played for suspense at first, when one of the guys barks out, ‘are you him’. Arthur turns around and for a moment, you think it’s about to go down. Then the scary biker looking guy exclaims out like an excited child that he wants a picture of Aquaman. This is like five minutes after Arthur kills numerous pirates on the submarine. And to make it a bit worse, there is a collage of Arthur drinking beer and taking photos with the scary bikers.
    The transitions between the dark and light moments happens so fast it was rather jarring at times. Yet Amber Heard was delightful as Mera, and has one of the coolest powers in the movie. Mera is far from being a damsel in distress. Not only does she stand toe to toe with Aquaman, but manages to save him numerous times and is a complete badass in her own right. Amber’s performance is well-rounded as I’ve seen in a long time. Plus, she’s a great strong female character for young teens.
    Orm makes a great villain and is almost underplayed by the talented Patrick Wilson. Though his motivation flips between his hatred towards Arthur whom he blames for the death of his mother and his hatred for the surface dwellers that has polluted the worlds oceans. I did find it a bit odd that his hatred for Arthur seemed misplaced as it would make more sense to hate his father who ordered the death of his mother.
    Take away the over the head message of the dangers of pollution, the jumps between light-hearted dad jokes, and brooding craziness, the core of the film is entertaining and I would recommend you watch it as the CGI is breathtaking.  
  15. Jason Rimbaud
    Fox News, CNN, MSNBC, AP, BBC America, CBS, ABC, we could go on for paragraphs just listing the different news programs in this country alone.
     About ten years ago, I stopped watching news programs on TV and its probably not the reason many of you might suspect. 
     Once upon a time, reporters would actually inform you of the current events in your local area as well as over the world. If you missed the nightly news, you would have no way of getting the information until the next day.
     There was no spin, no slant towards a certain agenda, no talking heads telling the viewers what to think or feel about any certain topic. Reporters were hired to give an unbiased view of the news. They were also for the most part a money losing program for the network. It was understood by the executives that the news didn't make money and never made a profit. Instead the news would bring acclaim and prestige to the network which would bring advertisers for the other shows. And for a time, the big three had the most respected anchors in the country.
     The big three, Dan Rather CBS, Peter Jennings ABC, and Tom Brokaw NBC, ruled the airwaves for over twenty years. They brought a gravitas and respect to their respective networks. 
     Out of those three, Dan Rather, who from 1980 until the mid 2000's, was arguably the most respected and most watched news anchor in the country. This was before his fall for presenting questionable documents regarding President George Bush's Vietnam service papers.
     Then Ted Turner came along with his visionary idea called CNN, the very first 24 hour news channel in the early 80's. But it wasn't until the Gulf War when the world first stood up and took notice. For the first time, CNN overtook the big three with an unprecedented scoop. They were the only news outlet to report from inside Iraq during the initial hours of the bombing campaign with live reports from a hotel inside Baghdad.
     Almost ten years later, CNN would also go down in history as the first cable news channel to report the attack on September 11th showing the first live footage of the plane crashing into the World Trade Center.
     And with the success of CNN, an Australian publisher, Rupert Murdoch, joined forces with philanthropist, Marvin Davis, to purchase a media company under the banner of 20th Century Fox, to compete with the big three in early 1985. By the third quarter of 1986, Murdoch led the company to earn 5.6 million dollars. In contrast, the year before of the same quarter, there was a 55 million dollar loss. For one of the first times in america, there was profit in the news and people started to notice.
     Some would say this was the start of the decline of traditional news programming as networks implemented new standard operating procedures to garnish quarterly profits. And those shows that didn't turn a profit, those anchors that couldn't compete with the more sensationalized reporters were slowly replaced. 
     Now reporters were replaced with personalities pushing narratives the network demands as they started to divide into Republican and Democratic propaganda machines.
     Traditional reporting was now regulated to newspaper only as networks focused on agendas and pandering to the advertisers. Thus paved the way for internet news shows who dove deeper into partisan politics with overt slants in one direction or the other. As of right now, no matter what side of the political spectrum you follow, you can find bias reporting that only reinforces your worldview and/or opinions.
     But none of the above reasons are why I stopped watching TV news programs ten years ago.
     The I-Phone brought a powerful computer in your pocket that gives you real time sources to find any information your heart desires. Why watch the nightly news that teases a story before a commercial break and then makes you wait now sometimes longer than 3 minutes. I just pull out my phone, and get the information from Twitter, Facebook, Google and I get the information without the talking heads spinning some story that happened ten hours earlier.
     Who still watches news programs and if you do, which ones do you watch in 2019?
  16. Jason Rimbaud
    I was perusing the Blogs over at GayAuthors.org when I happened to read a new Blog called Marty's Musing. I don't know Marty but the title caught my attention and I urge everyone to go there and read it as it is definitely the "muse" that started me down this long rambling entry of my mine.
    https://gayauthors.org/blogs/entry/17900-o-muse-where-art-thou/
    To briefly give everyone an overview, Marty once upon a time use to write a fair amount but for the last ten years or so has focused on other things in his probably amazing life. And a few months ago, he started getting the urge to dip his toe back into the writing pond and was having some difficulty finishing a story he began all those years ago. He also had a few new ideas but after writing a page or so he would find himself getting discouraged and abandon the words on the paper. At the end of his post, he posed these three questions.
    1. What is the cause of writers block?
    2. How does an author overcome writers block?
    3. O muse, where art thou?
    After reading Marty's post, and it's only about five paragraphs long and I have included the link above so I urge you to read it. As of this writing, there are about five comments and they are perfectly nice, encouraging words that I have come to expect from the members of GA.
    Things like don't force it, let it come naturally, just take some time and wait for good ole "muse" to return. Things like, go to the story prompts and see if anything gets your mojo flowing again. And for some reason, these positive answers who's sole intent was offer encouragement to someone that was feeling a bit down got me a bit fired up and I starting to respond to what had been said before me.
    And then much like I always do, my reply got to be pretty long with some colorful language, some blunt honesty, and childish musings about a subject I might not know anything about. So after a moment, I decided to post my reply in my Blog to keep from hijacking someone else's entry and to ensure I don't hurt anyone's feelings.
    I don't believe in the traditional idea of "muse" and its whoring reputation it carries around the world. You know the one I mean; you first meet "muse" at a coffee shop. You have a double shot of espresso with almond milk and you tell everyone you're sick of everyone raping the cows for their joy juice but secretly wish you could enjoy real milk in your beverage but don't want the judgmental guy behind the counter to give you a disappointed stare when you order. So you sit there, sipping your dairy free beverage and suddenly, "muse" walks in the cafe.
    "Muse" skips past the guy with the ironic mustache trying to construct the perfect sentence in his essay about the dangers of drinking milk. Pirouette's around the housewife peering intently at her Hawaii Five-0 fan fiction crossover with Magnum P.I.. Frowns at the out of work screen writer who is steadfast in his belief that he alone has the script that will finally show the amazing talent that is Nicolas Cage before sliding into the seat across from you and give you that dirty little smile as if to say, 'how you doing'.
    "Muse" seems to be very impressed that you are drinking a dairy free beverage and starts to gently rub your instrument under the table, discreetly at first. Suddenly your fingers are flying over the keys, your writing so fast you can't help but look around to make sure everyone can see that you are writing so fast and that the elusive "muse" has settled on you to employ its magic.
    Ironic mustache guy leaves in huff, his hopes of stopping the consumption of milk dashed forever as "muse" continues to do dirty things to your instrument. Housewife leaves, her face a little flushed but completely stumped how to finish the scene where Chin Ho Kelly and Magnum finally consummate thirty-seven chapters of longing on the hood of the iconic red Ferrari. While the out of work screen writer continues to struggle with the perfect script for Nicolas Cage. And sadly, this screen writer never stops at this attempt, never.
    Because now "muse" is no longer content to discreetly stroke your instrument. Now "muse" has progressed to doing something so dirty I can't even describe it with human words. But that doesn't matter, because your fingers are flying over the keys. You have a look of ecstasy on your face and everything is right in the world and you owe it all to "muse".
    This behavior continues for hours, days, maybe weeks that turn into months, and sometimes it could even last for years. You and "muse" seem to have an understanding, you'll keep writing in public spaces and "muse" will continue to rub your instrument.
    Once upon a time, I use to produce a fuck-ton of content. I have nine complete novels posted on Nifty and seventeen short stories that I uploaded over a span of about four years. I'm talking a hundred thousand words plus novels. I also wrote dozens of poems that some might have read once upon a time. 
    And trust me, I'm not claiming that these stories and poems were great or even good, I'm just saying that I use to produce a lot of content when I was younger.
    I will also say that I am rather proud that save for one sequel, every story I ever posted online is complete.
    When I was younger, I wrote a story that attracted some reader attention and garnered me hundreds of encouraging emails that stroked my fragile ego. And when that story finally came to an end after 32 chapters, the encouraging emails stopped arriving in my inbox. And I missed those glorious words.
    So to keep those emails pouring in, for the first time I started writing and posting chapters immediately after finishing them. I skimmed over them barely but really didn't have an idea on where I was going. But I was confident that I knew these characters and didn't think I needed to worry about the end. I knew I would get there.
    The first chapter was posted, and again, dozens of emails. The next chapter, I only received half the amount as before. And with each chapter after, the emails all but dried up. So by the time I got to chapter five, I was completely lost and the story fizzled away and I abandon it to the internet.
    The fans who loved the first story lost interest in the sequel because truthfully I didn't really have an idea I was just winging it and it showed in the writing.
    I didn't know then but I was scared. I wrote about some characters people liked and hoped to capitalize on my earlier success by offering up a shitty premise. Not even my sub-conscious mind could work out a plot that was so paper thin before I even put words to screen.
    I think a lot of people believe "muse" to be a fragile creature, one that is meant to roam free, to traverse where it will without any guidance or structure. As if any attempt will stifle the creativity it brings you. Many writers treat "muse" in this manner, with kid gloves, hoping not to anger the delicate flower that could leave you at a moments notice to rub some other instrument.
    Like one day you'll be at a party, you and "muse", and you turn your back to get a tuna poke on a piece of kale appetizer and when you turn back around, "muse" is off in the corner giving someone else a hand-job. And the frustrating thing, you've seen this other person's instrument, and its not as impressive as yours, but "muse" is going to town and suddenly you feel taken advantage of and then your instrument shrivels up until its barely a tip and no amount of writing in a public space can bring "muse" back to stroking your instrument.
    You continue to go to that same coffee shop, order the same boring milk free beverage, you sit in the same spot, hoping to attract "muse" again to your instrument. But "muse", that fickle so and so, rubs everyone else's instrument but yours. You get depressed, eventually you start ordering espresso with real milk cause you just don't give a fuck anymore and one day you wake up and you aren't even writing, you just surf FaceBook and comment on cat photos.
    I think writers tend to create blocks as they try and appease this thing called "muse". Whether its sitting in the same spot every day, listening to the same piece of music, having the room at the correct temperature, complete silence or even chaos. All these rules and structures they somehow believe will get "muse" back to where it belongs, under the table stroking your instrument. And in the end, writers allow these things to rule their creative life.
    Merriam-Webster defines muse: to become absorbed in thought, especially to think about something carefully and thoroughly.
    You don't get to the more popular definition of muse until definition number three, a person or source of inspiration. And that definition is the second one if the word is used as a noun.
    So why do most people believe that "muse" is more the third definition over the first. The definition where it clearly defines what "muse" is, to think about something carefully and thoroughly.
    So to answer Marty's first question, what is the cause of writers block. Maybe you didn't carefully think through the story in the first place.
    I'll add a question of my own, how can you hope to finish something if you have no idea where you want to go?
    I know there are writers out there who post chapters online as soon as they are written with little or no thought of where they are heading. And those same authors will argue they allow the characters to take them on the journey and they as well as the reader will find out together how the story ends.
    But how many of those stories are ever finished? Maybe 2%, if we the audience are lucky.
    Or the other side of the same coin, the never ending saga. You know the one where the author keeps rambling on for dozens of chapters chronicling in great boring detail events that never seem to progress the plot forward. Seriously, every story has to have an ending; its the nature of what we do. Overly long stories are nothing but a glaring sign screaming 'I don't have a clue where I am going but please take this journey with me and hopefully there will be a resolution sometime if "muse" allows it'.
    And let's be brutally honest here, most of these type of stories are complete shit. And the ones that aren't complete shit would never have a chance at professional publishing.
    Much like Marty, I too left writing some ten years ago to focus on a career that I ended up hating. I am currently trying to change my life path and have gotten back into writing almost every day.
    And like Marty, I went back to an old unfinished story and struggled for about three months to complete it. I already had seventeen chapters finished with a dozen more that had half-baked ideas but I could never get it moving in the right direction.
    The frustration was there mixed with a lot of fear that maybe because I stopped writing all those years ago, I somehow lost the ability to put words on the screen. And for a moment, I faltered. 
    I went over my past writings, hoping that "muse" would again grant me the inspiration to start writing again. I found an old outline I wrote on June 25th, 2002 on a yellow legal pad during a slow day at work.
    As I read the twelve page outline, a few things stood out among the shit. Some really cool characters, a few great scenes, a ton of out dated technology and some really stilted dialogue. Even without a strong idea, I was convinced this was my next project, my grand return to online writing.
    It was a constant daily struggle to accomplish anything. For every good scene I wrote, I would delete entire pages of shit that just didn't make any sense. It was the most difficult time I've ever faced attempting to do something that gave me so much pleasure in my younger days.
    After one particularly rough day, I took a break and went outside to empty the trash and then it hit me. The reason it wasn't going well was because it was shit. If its only a collection of cool ideas with some half-drawn characters but no plot to speak of, was it any wonder I wasn't moving.
    I was trapped at a certain point and no matter what little trick I did, I couldn't gather the "muse" long enough to do anything except stare at that dreaded blinking cursor. I hadn't thought about it carefully and thoroughly.
    Which leads to Marty's second question, how does an author overcome writers block?
    Merriam-Webster defines writers block: a psychological inhibition preventing a writer from proceeding with a piece.
    Makes perfect sense to me, most of the things we encounter in our life begins in the mind anyway. Why would a block be any different?
    What are some of the reasons one might get writers block besides the things I already covered above. 
    Fear is one that comes to mind first. Fear of letting other people read what we wrote, to voice our opinions, our viewpoint, or whatever it is we are trying to convey.
    Perfection is another. I can't write until its perfect. We fall into this trap of not even attempting until we think its perfect. 
    I hate to bust your bubble, but perfection takes time, and re-writes, and editing, followed by more re-writes. Perfection will come, but it will take time.
    Timing is another block. You start writing something like I did, but you really didn't have more than the seeds of an idea and quickly you lose focus and the story dies on the page. Ideas need time to be nurture, water the seedling and then shape it until you have a usable idea that will be turned into a realized story.
    So back to Marty's question, how do you overcome this dreaded affliction? Before I give you the definite and only answer, and I do have the answer. I'll give a few ideas on how to get some movement on your thought process.
    Lets pretend we are back in our favorite coffee shop with our diary free beverage and "muse" isn't stroking our instrument. Get up and go for a walk. Change your environment and ruminate on the idea at hand. Maybe change your music selection, read a few pages of your favorite book, play video games. Sometimes getting your conscious mind off the problem will allow for your subconscious to tackle the issue without you banging your head on the table in front of everyone.
    There a thousands of ways to alter your frame of mind, and all of them have one thing in common.
    There is a famous saying, 'the only way out is through'. Sometimes you have progressed so far that it is easier to continue the path ahead then to turn around and go back.
    Whether you change your environment, or your music selection, or the task you are accomplishing, all of these are paths of movement. You have to move from the place you are currently to somewhere else. Sometimes that movement might be forward, sometimes that movement might be sideways, or sometimes that movement is backward. And like in my case, sometime that movement is starting over from scratch. Standing still will never defeat the block in your life.
    J Michael Straczynski is a well respected writer of television, movies, comic books, books and any other medium that involves creating. He created Babylon 5, Sense 8, reimagined Thor, transformed how people write Wonder Woman and is hired often to re-write screen plays and polish them. 
    He is also famous for writing every single day. No breaks, no vacations, no holidays, no time off. Just like Steven King, who once stated that he wrote at lease five thousand words every day, JMS continues to write on a daily basis.
    That is the answer to Marty's question. You can only overcome writers block by writing. Writers get blocks, authors do not. Somehow authors have learned that writing is not a gift from the "muse" of legends. It's a skill that is honed by doing your ten thousand hours. It's getting up every day and writing before work, or after work, or on the train commute, or however you do it but all authors do the very same thing, they write every day.
    After I gave up on my old work, I saw a prompt as I was going through some Blog posts on GA.
    Prompt 706-Creative
    Tag-Sleep
    The patient has been in the hospital for longer than you have been alive. They barely look eighteen and doctors keep running all sorts of tests. You were hired to exercise the patients muscles, keep them groomed, and clean. While bathing them today, the patient woke up, what happens?
    I didn't happen overnight. I thought about this prompt for the rest of the day. When I cooked breakfast the next morning I thought about this prompt. A few days later when I was doing laundry, I thought about this prompt. The next week while playing video games I thought about this prompt. This idea consumed me for a few weeks before I sat down and wrote this paragraph...
    "Nuresh Rajendran whistled happily as he pushed the cart down the brightly lit hallway. He had just celebrated his 65th birthday the week prior and had been awarded a small gold watch. That watch signified thirty years of service, and though he moved a bit slower than he once, he still hadn't lost his love of the job."
    So to answer Marty's third question, oh muse, where art thou? It's where it's always been. In the idea that is carefully and thoroughly thought out before attempting to write it down.
    J
  17. Jason Rimbaud
    Not sure if anyone knows, I'm sure no one cares, but I go to Las Vegas frequently. And yes I do gamble a bit, but the main reason I go is for the food and the shows. I love magic shows and have seen every show in vegas that has any magic whatsoever. Penn & Teller is one of my favorites and I have seen them over twenty times. Especially since their show Fool Us, as they add new material almost every show. Plus I listen to Penn's Sunday School Podcast which always makes me laugh.
    Earlier this year, I found out that Criss Angel is leaving the Luxor Casino after ten years. He's moving to Planet Hollywood where he first started with his 2005 TV show and rise to fame. Apparently its a whole new show, so I'm assuming all the music will be different.  Here is a song that he plays during some fun close up coin magic in his showl For some reason, I love this song.
  18. Jason Rimbaud
    Four months ago, at least from the outside, most would say that I was on top of the world. I have a good job, a great apartment, and an amazing boyfriend. I had a good start on a saving account, a brand new car with all the bells and whistles. If I was a normal person, I would have been content at the success I enjoyed. Yet for all those possessions, something was lacking in my life.
    I first started working in hospitality the year I turned 21. I really didn't have the opportunity to go to college, and didn't really have any other avenues to traverse. What else could a cute gay boy do for work besides shake his ass as a bartender.
    And though I moved from working in gay bars, then stopped bar-tending completely, only to move into serving before landing a job as a manager a few years later. Truthfully, at least professionally, it was the only thing I was ever good at. And I can say with complete modesty, I am very good at my job.
    From the time I was a young boy, my only dream was to be a writer. And until I turned thirty, I followed that dream. But then I got sidetracked, I started listening to others telling me that I had to secure a future. So I guess you could say, I fell into the hospitality business. I built a career out of the one thing I was good at and for a time, I was content to do so.
    But content is not happy. The future was starting to cement, I started growing my savings account. And I had built up quite an impressive resume with some of the most successful people in San Francisco. 
    I calculated each move, every time I left and took a new position, it was for a better future for me. I sacrificed a five year relationship and more friends then I would care to admit in my single minded ambition to secure a future. 
    For a time, I told myself that when I reached success, when I finally made it, then I would focus on my personal life. But truth be told, the more successful you become, the more time and energy it takes to maintain that success. I started to wonder when enough would be enough. 
    Then I met "N" two years ago. Three hours after meeting him, I told my friend that I was going to spend the rest of my life with him. I just knew it. Two months later, I had gave up my condo in Daly City and moved into San Francisco with him. Again, from the outside, most people would say that I had it all. 
    But I wasn't happy. And yes, I could mask it at work, I am a professional after all. But the years of 14 hour days, six to seven days a week, working every single weekend. Sometimes not getting home until 1am only to get up at 4am and then head back to work for another 14 hour day. 
    "N" understood the long hours, after all, he is in the same business as me. The difference, the owner he works for truly believes in work life balance, and he rarely works more than 40 hours a week and always gets two days off a week in a row. I am not so fortunate. 
    In the dark parts of the night, snuggled in bed with "N", I told him about my long forgotten dream of becoming a writer. Of course he was interested in reading my work as any good "N" would be, I showed him my past writings. And he started to encourage me to take up the words again. And over the last two years, I have slowly dipped my toes in the water of creativity again. Though it had only been occasionally and in brief spurts only. And much like the discovery of an old friend, I started to realize how much I enjoyed sitting down at my laptop and spewing forth nonsense onto the screen.
    The dedication it takes to operate at the level I had managed to achieve is total commitment. It's working 14 hours in the restaurant, then spending another three hours at home answering emails from the department managers and various vendors that need my attention it seems daily.
    I will admit, I probably worked more than I needed too but the restaurant brought in 12 million a year and I was responsible for every dollar of it. So yes, my focus was on the bottom line for more than just my quarterly bonus.
    It had been brewing for a while, my unhappiness at work. And I can't blame the owner for wanting to make the most money he possibly could. But I started to wonder how much money was enough. I knew the numbers, I knew the magic number. Once the restaurant makes this magic number, anything over that amount is profit for the owner. And he was a single owner, he had no partners. So when he set the budget for this year 25% more than last year, I had to wonder what he was thinking. 
    He's the owner, he can set whatever budget he wants, its his right. And as a professional, it was my job to try and hit that budget. I"m not so naive that I don't understand business. He is only in it for the money. And its his money and his right.
    Any of you that understand budgets and how the restaurant business works, it is highly unlikely that any restaurant, unless something out of the ordinary happens, to grow a business by 25% over the previous year.  Especially when 35% of your business is tied up with the Moscone Center and their convention business.
    I'll give him the unreachable budget. When it was written the year before, he did not know Moscone Center was going to be in construction and all the conventions we enjoyed in 2017 would not be there in 2018.
    Nor did he realize that international tourism is down due to our current political climate. Add that to our out of control homeless problem and several large conventions citing homeless issues as the reason they are no longer booking in San Francisco, and its no wonder all restaurants in the city are down fifteen percent city wide.
    After talking with friends in the accounting world, he should be happy he's only down 10%. He is actually doing better than most currently in San Francisco. I have lost count of the high end restaurant closures and the celebrity chefs that are struggling to keep the doors open.
    I know the main reason he raised my budget so high, was to help cover the cost of his new restaurant that was opened in 2017 and was struggling, to put it mildly, in the current climate.
    For full disclosure, I started losing my happiness at work the moment I met "N" and realized he was something outside of work that was more important than anything. It had been brewing for months. So when the culture of the restaurant started to change and the owner started to show his stress more and more.
    So during the monthly meeting when he demanded what I was going to do to attain this budget, I brought out the numbers, a bit more in detail than what I describe above, and he looked at me and responded that it was only excuses and he didn't pay me to give him excuses. And he is right. He didn't pay me to give him excuses.
    So I said the first thing that came to me. And trust me, I had given better speeches over my career. And it might have been a mistake, but every fiber in my being said it was the right thing to do. I can't say what I told him, I don't really remember. But I resigned that day. For the first time in my life, I walked away with no notice and no prospects.
    San Francisco is a small town, every owner knows all the rest. And leaving like I did was not the smartest thing I could have done, but that was the day my happiness returned.
    And I will be honest, it wasn't just because my owner is an asshole, he is. But I don't think my life has room for something that is so demanding that takes me away from being happy in my life. 
    So for two months I've sat in my great apartment with my amazing boyfriend and made time for myself. For the first time in ten years, I have nothing to do. Everyday I spend time with "N" before he goes to work. Then I clean the house, I do laundry, sometimes I play video games, sometimes I get hammered in the middle of the day for no reason, but most of the time, after I do my house chores, I sit down at my laptop and write. 
    I write like I did in my twenties when the desire was strong and I didn't know what the future held but I was excited to face it. 
    My vacation payout alone was two months salary and I figured I was going to enjoy every moment. We aren't rich and my little diversion from work won't last much longer. After all, this is the most expensive city in the country to live and he won't let me be a bum much longer.
    I think my time in hospitality has come to a close. I think my next job will be something that will allow me to pay my bills yet leave me time to focus on what really matters in this life.
    The night I left my job, I went out and bought my amazing boyfriend a ring, we are planning on getting married next June and life could not be happier for me.
     
  19. Jason Rimbaud
    On September 22nd, 2006, I posted my first Blog entry. It was a tongue-n-cheek entry called Attachment VS No Attachment. It was a parody of my first time being with a boy that wasn't circumcised and the nickname that I was saddled with after telling my group of friends about the encounter. It would be the start of numerous Blog entries that were true to life but made larger than life. I was usually the butte of most of the jokes and sadly, as I look over the Blog entries and the titles, most actually did happen in one form or the other. 
    Mainly as I look over the past twelve years, I realized that I had forgotten a good portion of these events as I grew and change my circle of friends. It's strange, things that were so life-changing at the time, barely register in today's happiness.
    I long time ago I flirted with the idea of deleting this Blog as I didn't think it represented who I am anymore. I am quite happy I was talked out of it by a past member named Trab.
    I have since lost track of Trab but I will forever be grateful to his sage advice. Happy Anniversary to me and to all your Awesome Dudes.
    Jason
  20. Jason Rimbaud
    Just returned from watching Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom.  Or should I say dragged to see the flick.  
    I should start by saying that I am a huge fan of Jurassic Park, a satisfied fan of Jurassic Park 2, a meh for Jurassic Park 3, and a very disappointed viewer for Jurassic World.  
     
    For all the amazing CGI of the first one, they did not skimp on the story and characters.  All I have to say is Alan Grant.  Jurassic Park 2, the sequence when T-Rex squared pushes the camper off the cliff is stunning, again they did not skimp on the story and characters.  I know they have plot holes and characters that were only half developed.  But the entertainment factor of Dr. Ian alone carries that film that is re-watchable each time I see it on cable.  Jurassic Park 3, sees the return of Alan Grant, one of my favorite actors from the 90's and eerily attracted to in a carnal way, returns to an okay horror film.  I love the moments with Eric Kirby, he has some of the best lines in the entire film.  Plus, you have the human eating birds attacking our steadfast heroes.  Lets not talk about the spinosaurus as a villain.   
     
    Then you have Jurassic World some 17 years later with the amazing B.D. Wong and the over-hyped Chris Pratt and his abs.  Great CGI and a pulse pounding action scenes but with under developed characters, kids in danger for no reason, and a deeply unsatisfying ending that is a bit too nostalgic for my taste.  I felt that Star Wars Force Awakens suffered from the same malady.  A fan that grew up and made a homage movie to their childhood fantasies.  In both films, each writer and director focused more on feelings that actual story, spectacle over substance, and nostalgia dripping from the screen that makes me wish instead of essentially re-making a classic, they would have been better served in just re-watching the originals.  
     
    So when "N" insisted on us going to the movie tonight on my one day off this week, I was prepared for another Jurassic World.  After all, Chris Pratt has already given me a sequel that was boring on the surface, sub-par in the meat of the story, and just plain awful by the discovery of the villain.  Of course i am speaking about Guardians of the Galaxy Chapter 2.  
     
    I offered other opportunities, even went as far as begging us to go to Las Vegas last minute just to avoid this movie.  And much to my chagrin, he wasn't having any part of that strategy.  And once the credits rolled, damn was I impressed.  For the first time in a long time, Chris Pratt was more grounded as an actor since I first saw him on Everwood.  The writers/directors kept him from his Prattness and he acted the shit out of a smart, believable script that didn't seem like over two hours that it ended being.  Bryce Dallas Howard stopped being the damsel in distress/high heels from the previous one and held her own against the new villain of the piece.  I will give zero spoilers but finally a sequel to Jurassic Park that was promised.  I didn't stay past the credits so I don't know if there is a post credit scene., but they set up the next installment perfectly that made sense in the framework of the story.  Completely understand why its making all the money.  
     
    I would say watch this movie, you won't be disappointed.  
     
    J
  21. Jason Rimbaud
    It’s Thursday, September 21st, 2017 and I’m in Daly City California.  It’s my day off, nothing special about that except that “N” is working the morning shift and I have the whole day off to do whatever I want.  If I want to stay in bed all day naked, watching YouTube videos, I can.  Or if I want to do a marathon of jerking off to free porn on the whole interwebs, I can and no one can say anything about it. 
    And don’t think I didn’t contemplate that last one this morning after waking up with a full on robot chubby that wouldn’t go away that defies all logic for a forty-two year old man.  One of the reasons I was so happy with growing older was the mistaken thinking that my libido would diminish with the onset of old age.
    And yes, I know that forty-two isn’t old compared to some of the other humans that populate this planet nor am I saying that forty-two is old.  All I’m saying is that I was really hoping that I wouldn’t be the horny man I was in my twenties. 
    The man/boy that slept with the butt-crack of dawn for no other reason then I couldn’t think straight the moment things became erect.  And to be truthful, that was the only reason I slept with a little person when I was 22.  And because I wondered if his cock looked like a normal sized cock, for the record it did.  Nor was it because I wanted to see how massive my cock would look like going in and out of his little butt.  For the record he was a top…but that’s another story.
    Why at my age do I still wake up with a hard-on?  And even more curiously, why am I still horny the moment my boyfriend walks into the room?  When will I get the dreaded EDS the TV tells me happens to every man over forty?  For Christ sakes, I’m in my forties, do I still have to contend with my cock boning up with every stiff breeze that comes along?
    My boyfriend left at 7:15 this morning to go to work.  Apparently he had a few private parties and several larger groups for breakfast and needed to make sure he was there in plenty of time to oversee this madness.  And right after he left, I lay in bed with my other head ready for some fun. 
    So I did what every man/boy does when his penis is taking over…that’s right, I got up and turned on my X-Box 360 and started playing Assassins Creed 3.  And if you are wondering, I did not feel like a pervert playing games at 7:30am with a boner.  Nor did I have a brief/thirty minute fantasy what it would be like to have sex with Conner from the game.  And I am talking about a full thirty minutes of constructing a complicated story of what point in the game we would meet, the details of our first awkward encounter that slowly builds over time until we climax on the grass overlooking the manor with Achilles somewhat reluctant approval as he looks on.
    Besides my raging hard-on, the only thing I wanted to do today on this glorious day off, was to get hot wings from Buffalo Wild Wings in Daly City, Ca in the Serramonte Centre. 
    I believe that everyone who has been reading my Blog for any amount of time…mostly a few years ago when I actually updated my Blog more than once every few years, would know that I am quite addictive to all things hot…exclusively hot wings.  I will go to any amount of trouble to acquire those artery clogging morsels of ecstasy.  Lie to policeman, check, leave work early on a faulty pretense, check.  I’m not saying I would kill a human for those tasty treats, but don’t be the asshole that makes my life difficult at work and then stand in between me and those chickens that are fried in fat and then tossed in hot deliciousness.  Seriously, don’t do that because I’m not sure what or who I would choose.  Better to error on the side of caution then test my morals when it comes to hot wings.
    When “N” left for work, I was horny and really needed to release but I started playing video games instead of taking things in hand as it were.  Then after driving myself to the brink of madness wondering what it would be like to have sex with a 3-D construct, I really needed to curb my horniness with something tangible. 
    I played Assassins Creed 3 until 11am.  I know, that’s like three and half hours playing a game.  But all I was doing was waiting until Buffalo Wild Wings opened so I could indulge in man’s simplest pleasures.  Okay, seeing as I was talking about jerking off, I wanted to indulge in man’s second simplest pleasure, the consumption of Hot Wings.
    At 11:25, I called in my order to Buffalo Wild Wings.  May I have a medium traditional wings, all hot BBQ extra extra extra extra wet, with a side of Blazing sauce, a Chili Queso Dip with no pico de guillo.  I don’t really give a shit if I spelled that wrong.
    I’ve lived in the Bay Area for thirteen years.  I started going to Buffalo Wild Wings sometime in the last three years.  Just so I can give you full disclosure, I’ve ordered the exact same order at least once a week for the last three years.  It might have been longer/shorter, but I’ve spent way too much fucking money on this addiction that will probably put me in an early grave. 
    I arrived at Buffalo Wild Wings at 12:30pm, because I stopped at the grocery store to buy Fosters beer and Jack Daniels Tennessee Honey.  But before I talk about my Buffalo Wild Wings experience, I stopped at the local Lucky Grocery Store to do two things.  First, I wanted to exchange my bag full of coins, they have a coin star that you can exchange your coins into money.  When I first walked into the store, can you believe there was a line to use the coin star machine.  Three people in front of me and I joined the line as I was listening to Penn’s Sunday School Podcast and really not in a hurry.
    After about five minutes, the guy leaves and the next guy goes to the machine and places a paper bag on the counter.  His actions was hidden with his body, but after a few minutes and I didn’t here the sounds of the machine counting the coins to convert into money, I peered to my left and noticed that he had a paper bag filled with already rolled and packaged coins.  The type of packaging that looks like when you get coins from a bank.  And he was slowly breaking open the rolled coins and putting them into the counting thingy. 
    “Fuck this” I thought and walked back to my car to place my oversized container in my trunk.  All I wanted to do was cash in my coins, it wasn’t like I needed the coins to buy my groceries.  I then walked back into the store and grabbed two bottles of diet coke, three 24 ounces of Fosters beer, and a 750ml of Jack Daniels Tennessee Honey whiskey.  I walked to the front of the store, and they only had two registers open, and they had to have at least ten people in each line.  Of course, the self check-out lines was completely empty, but seeing as you can’t buy alcohol in the self check-out lines, that really didn’t help me. 
    “Fuck this” I thought as I dropped my basket and walked out of the grocery store.  After all, I had lots of places I could buy beer and whiskey without waiting in line on my day off.
    I drove to Serramonte Mall, where Buffalo Wild Wings opened a massive store.  When I walked into the store, it was 12:30, almost forty minutes from the time I called in my order.  I walked up to the counter and there was three younger girls behind it talking amongst themselves.  It felt like five minutes before I was even greeted but it was probably less than a minute.  But sixty seconds is a long fucking time to stand somewhere where three different people can see you and no one even says hello. 
    Seriously, right now, just start counting to sixty in your head and imagine you standing at a counter with someone standing behind it yet not saying a single word to you.  It feels like forever right.  That’s how I felt.
    Finally after three hours/thirty seconds, someone says hello.  I give my name, they read my order back to me, medium traditional wings, all hot BBQ extra extra extra wet, side of blazing sauce, chile queso dip no pico de guillo, that will be 30.92.  I give them my card, I total it 35.00 dollars and she says, your order isn’t ready it will be another five minutes.
    I sit down on the bench and continue listening to Penn’s Sunday School podcast.  After eight minutes, I walk back to the counter and inquire about the status of my order.  This is when the girl behind the counter decided to tell me, “There was a mix up of your order and they are re-making it, it’s not that busy so it should only be another 15 minutes.”
    I’m not mad that they lost my order, I’ve worked in the restaurant industry for more than twenty years, I understand that mistakes happen and orders get lost.  If they would have said something to me when I paid for my order, I would’ve sat there quietly while they figured it out.  But they didn’t tell me that when I paid, what they said was it would be another five minutes.
    And yes, I was really enjoying Penn’s Sunday School podcast, but I was also watching them.  It’s a habit I’ve picked up over my years of running restaurants, I always watch the staff members.  And in my watching, I saw that they were talking amongst themselves, pointing at me, and pointing back at the kitchen.  Then I also observed them getting on the phone, gesturing towards me again, and then a minute or two later, a manager walked up to the front and started looking at the computer while looking at me everyone moment or two.
    But I understand that things happen and though I knew deep down in my heart that something happened to my order, I was waiting patiently.  But after waiting eight mintues, knowing that something was wrong, and rightly/wrongly waiting for them to explain what happened to my order, I walked up to the front only to be told off-handedly, that they were re-making the order and that something happened.
    No apology, no saying they are doing everything they can to fix it, no offering a soda while I wait for the order to be corrected, nothing from the manager at all. 
    And I will be the first to admit, I was pissed.  From 7:30 in the morning, all I could think about was getting Buffalo Wild Wings, getting beer and whiskey and watching the remake of Magnificent Seven.  And once again, Buffalo Wild Wings fucks up my plans.
    Earlier I told you that I have been ordering from Buffalo Wild Wings for longer than I can remember.  What I never admitted too, was that they screw up my order at least 1 out of 5 times.  Now before you ask me why I continue to go back to the place that fucks up my order that often, I will point out that I have an addiction and I will always need hot wings in my life.  Always.
    I am rather proud that I didn’t yell, or demand some kind of free stuff, all I said was I’ve been waiting for almost 50 minutes and I want my money back. 
    I want to say again, that Buffalo Wild Wings have screwed up my order so many times that I am immune to their incompetency and always check my order before leaving the restaurant.  Over the years, I’ve gotten to know the front of house staff, and have seen lots of staff and managers come and go.  And usually all I do is smile and take whatever bad experience they throw at me because in the end I get what I need, Hot Wings.  I’ve seen great FOH staff, who cares but mess up continually, bad FOH staff that can’t get an order right if there was a gun to their head.  And everything in between.
    And before you say, the FOH staff can’t control the kitchen, I know that.  But Buffalo Wild Wings put the ticket on the bag, and I’ve seen the ticket never mention that I want no pico de guillo in my Chili Queso Dip.  I’ve seen tickets that never says extra extra extra wet on my Hot BBQ wings.  That is not a kitchen error, that is a FOH mistake. 
    And what really pissed me off today, when the manager told me they lost my ticket and was remaking the order, what pissed me off, she turned away and started talking to the girl next to her about the date she had the night before. 
    And I will be the first to admit, I’m not a nice guy sometimes.  I have a sharp wit and sometimes it can be extremely harsh when I’m not at work.  That didn’t happen today.  I was calm, and politely asked for my money back.  The manager looked at me, and said okay.  She processed my order, gave me the slip that said my order was voided and that my card would be credited for the amount.  She then turned away from me again and resumed her story about the night before.
    For the first time in my life, and it has already been established that I am forty-two, I looked up the corporate office and sent an email detailing my experience.  I didn’t demand my money back, nor did I swear and lose my mind which is what I would normally do.  Instead I detailed my experience today, and asked for them to try and fix the issues that seem to happen at each and every Buffalo Wild Wing I have ever frequented.  I said, “I wish I could quit you, because after giving you so much money over the years and having so many issues with your staff, I wish I could quit you, but I probably won’t because I love hot wings so much”.
    It’s been five hours and I haven’t heard anything back from their website complaint department and I wasn’t really surprised.  When you are such a huge corporation, people are going to give you money no matter what and that they believe that with all the new guests they get each week, they really don’t care about existing guests.  But that logic is flawed, and what they don’t seem to understand, sooner or later they are going to run out of new guests and there will be no one left to try their restaurant.  I spend so much of my energy making sure that all my guests are taken care of, I sometimes have nothing left to give to my boyfriend after a long day at work. 
    I left Buffalo Wild Wings with the idea that I would go to my local Hot Wing place that doesn’t really have spicy hot wings but have decent hot wings that I could purchase and then add my ghost pepper sauce to kick them to another level.  But when I arrived at their establishment, they were closed for remodel.  And then went to another hot wing place in Daly City and they were out of hot wings until 1pm because there shipment didn’t arrive on time.
    It’s now 5pm and I’m at home.  I did get my beer, and my whiskey, and I’m rather drunk, which is why if this Blog entry has mistakes or a rambling feel to it, it’s not my fault I’m on an empty stomach and rather drunk. 
    I still have a hard-on, I have no hot wings, and my boyfriend isn’t home yet from work.  Sometimes life just sucks no matter how hard you try and maintain positivity. 
  22. Jason Rimbaud
    This is my third day of being off, and I’m not feeling that good right now.  I think my liver is mad at me and/or dying.  Either way, I’m feeling poopy so I decided to sit down and type out a blog entry. 
    Let me start off by saying, my life is going pretty well for the last few years.  And since “N” came into my life back in January, I really have nothing to complain about.
    I have an amazing boyfriend who I love insanely, a job that doesn’t suck and pays a ridiculous amount of money even before I get my quarterly bonus.  And thus far, since January, I’ve hit my bonus every quarter.
    I bought an amazing condo this year, on a hill overlooking the ocean.  And on a clear day, I can just make out some of the taller buildings in downtown San Francisco.  And a month ago, I bought a brand new car, my first since 2005.
    Two months ago, on my way to work at 5:40am, heading northbound on 101 into San Francisco, my car engine blew up and I was stranded on the highway in line number one.  I’m not scared to admit that I was pretty scared as cars flew by me doing 70 plus miles an hour.  Seeing that tow truck pull up behind me was an amazing feeling let me tell you. 
    But let me again repeat, my life isn’t even remotely bad or stressful.
    So I can hear you asking, why am I typing this blog entry today?  What could have possibly happened in my almost perfect life that would get me off the couch and share something dark and twisted with all of you?  Maybe it as because Cole told me that he missed my writing.  Or maybe because I feel like things are going a bit too well and I’m waiting for the other boot to drop.  And trust me, that is a very real fear of mine, because lately it seems the only thing falling from the sky is fuzzy bunny slippers.
    Could it be that though “N” is almost a perfect boyfriend, maybe not everything is working out in the bedroom?  Is that what you are thinking?  Are you really wondering about my sex life with “N”?  All the dirty details of naked bodies under the sheets. Because I think that is asking way too much of me and I might stop typing this if you are going to be asking those kind of things.  My sex life with “N” is none of your business thank you very much.
    If I actually would take the time to research this, I’d know the exact date I am referring too but if you are that interested you can look it up yourself.  A few days/weeks/months ago, the crazy inhabitants of San Francisco suffered through a record breaking heat wave that rose to 106 on that Saturday. 
    And trust me, the normal weather conditions here have no call for air conditioning.  Just stop and think about that for a moment.  106 degrees without any air conditioning in city that is almost always covered in fog and mist.  Trust me, I have never had so many complaints ranging from this beer isn’t cold enough to my salad is hot.  After a few hours of dealing with bitchy guests due to the heat, I started saying at least your not back in that kitchen, where the temperature was soaring to 110 plus.  That shut up most of the guests.
    During the hottest part of the day, guests would come into our restaurant, feel the heat, and turn around and walk right back out.  It was so miserable, and I kept changing shirts as every few hours I would completely sweat through my shirt.  Nothing worse than having a person serving you food that is dripping sweat into your hot salad.  After it was all said and done, I had changed shirts three times. 
    On a separate note, I did write a thank you note to Old Spice deodorant, cause I still smelled fresh after that blistering day. (I actually don’t wear Old Spice deodorant but I can’t remember the brand I actually do wear and the bathroom is all the way across the house and I don’t want to get up and look)  Don’t judge me, I’m hung-over.   
    Have you ever been so miserably hot that you can barely think straight?  We all know, the heat does crazy things to our brains and after spending hours trying to calm down all the metaphorically fires that erupted due to the heat, that I was completely spent by the time I crawled inside my car and cranked the air conditioning to full blast. 
    People don’t realize how hard running a restaurant can be.  No matter what happens, I have to keep calm and always put the good of the restaurant above anything else.  So the amount of abuse I often take from rude guests leaves me somewhat silent when I’m not at work.  Being happy and cheery for eight hours a day, that usually by the time I’m finished with work, my give-a-shitter is completely empty.  Add all that usual bullshit but compound it by 11, and I was in a pretty foul mood.
    Those of you that are from our hotter states and who are accustom to those kind of temperature might not sympathize with me, so all I can say to you, fuck off, we all can’t be as tough as you. 
    It was so fucking hot outside, that my poor little car couldn’t keep up with the temperature I was demanding of it that my car started overheating.  So for parts of the commute home, I had to turn off the air so my car wouldn’t stop working.  So after giving all my kindness at work that day, I didn’t have much left for anyone, much less my boyfriend, by the time I made it back to my house.
    Now, before you ask, “N” and I have maintained separate apartments, mainly because I’m not happy about the neighborhood he lives in.  Seriously, my car has been broken into three times in two months in his place.  Plus, his place his pretty small, and as I have mentioned in the past, he is not the cleanest person I have met. 
    And he doesn’t like my place only because I live in Daly city, on a hill, overlooking the ocean, and it’s a bit far for him to commute to work.  He doesn’t drive and I’m not that close to our underground, and the nearest bus stop is half mile away, but on the way back, it’s a half mile up a hill, and I can’t blame him for not wanting to walk up that hill after working all day.
    And before you start yelling at me that I’m a bad boyfriend for not driving him around.  We work completely different schedules most of the time and its not that easy.  Jeesh, get off my back, I try to pick him up or drop him off at work as much as I can but sometimes I need to get my beauty sleep. 
    So needless to say, we spend most of our time at his place, and he rarely comes to my place unless we both have the day off.
    My condo has air conditioner, and “N’s” does not.  Matter of fact, he only has one window that opens so all of us can imagine how hot his apartment must have been that day.  So on that hot day a few days/weeks/months ago, I texted him while I was heading home and informed him in no uncertain terms that I would not be staying at his house like we had originally planned.  And again before you yell at me, of course I offered for him to come back to my place and enjoy the cold on that stupidly hot day.  Its not my fault he didn’t want to make that journey up that long hill after his shift ended.  I even offered to get a lyft for him but he refused.  So there.
    This is the part in this story when I tell you that both of us run highly successful restaurants so our schedules rarely match up and its something of a juggling act to coordinate time together that doesn’t involve us watching the other sleep.  I know its weird, but we actually like spending time together in or out of the sheets.  But relationships are better when both parties are awake at other times than just sex.
    And really, stop asking about our sex lives.  It doesn’t matter who tops or bottoms.  We are in a loving committed relationship and its not your concern. 
    Have I mentioned that “N” is an Indian that was born in Malaysia.  He has just a hint of an accent that makes my heart skip a beat each time he talks.  And he’s been here for years so he’s pretty much Americanized. 
    Let me set the stage for you, I’m at my house, taken a cold shower, and am now sitting in my living room naked, watching season five of 24.  Its been about three hours since I’ve gotten home and im finally starting to feel normal again.
    So he texts me and demands that I pick him up at work.  Now think about this, I get up usually around 4am and leave work around 2pm.  He goes to work at 4pm and gets home around midnight.  So when he demands that I come get him, it means that I would only get four hours of sleep.  And maybe I would have, if it wouldn’t have been Saturday night, and the next morning I would have to deal with Sunday brunch again, another heat wave, and more bitchy guests.  So I tell him that I can’t but that I would see him the next day.  I was planning on seeing him at work and having dinner.
    But he gets really mad and starts a barrage of angry texts.  I’ve had a few hours up to this point to cool off and get my head back on straight.  I know he’s still in the middle of the heat and his mind isn’t in the right frame to have a logical discussion about the merits of sleep or my lack of love for him.  And for a while, I keep that fact in my mind and ignore some of the more hurtful things he said/typed to me.
    You know those kind of comments that only someone who love you can make that send you right around the twist.  They know all your faults and fears, and can use them in the most horrible ways when they are mad at you. 
    After more than a few insults, I started firing back with both barrels blazing.  And for an hour or so, we go back and forth, calling each other horrible names, brining up old argurments, basically being awful to each other.
    What got my blood really boiling though, was he said I didn’t love him since I didn’t want to come pick him up and that I was selfish that I wanted to sleep instead of picking him up in my air conditioned car.
    I throw my phone across the room and storm around my apartment waiting for 11pm.  That’s the time when I am going to go to his work and tell him off face to face.  There was no way I was going to wait until I see him the next day.  And while I’m waiting, I’m rehearsing all the things I want to say to him, I’m not going to hold anything back.  I plan on bringing up past things that I let go but never really forgotten about.  It’s going to be epic, I’m actually looking forward to yelling at him, maybe because I’m so nice during my day job that I can get out all my aggression on him. Or maybe its because I’m a baby but I’m not going to tell him any of that.  Fuck no, I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.
    It’s after 11 and I’m driving like a mad man all the way across San Francisco to his restaurant which has the most lovely view of the Bay Bridge.  I arrive right at 11:30 and just wait outside, seething the entire time I’m waiting. 
    About 11:45, he comes out of the restuarnt and locks the front door.  After he locks the door, he picks up a bag and looks around until he sees my car across the street.  The moment he sees me, he smiles and starts walking to the car unhurriedly.
    I’m not going to lie, when he smiled at me a bunch of my anger went away.  But I wasn’t going to let this go and he had no right to say/type some of those things to me.  I opened the car door and stood up, ready to give him a good tongue lashing. 
    The last four steps he runs and jumps into my arms and kisses me until I can’t think straight.  After a few minutes, he stops and hands me the bag, saying, “I got you your favorite.”
    “Why” I’m a bit shocked.
    “Because I knew you wouldn’t eat dinner because you were mad at me.”
    Fuck him, though he was right.  I hadn’t eaten dinner.
    “How’d you know I would even be here tonight?  This whole thing started because I refused to pick you up tonight.”
    He looks at me, smiles the biggest brightest smile I’ve even seen and says, “Babe, I know you better than anyone, why do you think I said all those thing to you, I had to make you come here somehow, dumbass.”
    It was late, around 2am, and we are in his bed, a hot sweaty mess on his bed with one fan blowing around hot stagnant air.  He’s snuggled up to me, gently snoring into my shoulder.  And I have to been at work in two hours to struggle through another hot day with bitchy guests.  Life could not be better and one day, I swear, we are going to be exchanging “I do’s” before our friends.
    After all, the sex is simply amazing.
  23. Jason Rimbaud
    I have the day off, first one in a pretty long time that the Boyfriend is working.  Not saying he isn't the cleanest person on the planet, but he's messy as fuck.  So I really needed to clean the house while he's not around so he won't distract me by dancing around the house in his undies.  Though that does make me feel like fuzzy bunny slippers when he does.
    So I needed some motivation to clean this filthy house.  I searched through my almost one thousand movies and decided on re-watching Season 5 of 24.  
    I made myself some tuna salad, toasted my artisan sweet batard bread, thinly sliced some sharp cheddar cheese, salt and vinagear chips on the side, sat down in my kitchen and switched on Hour number one.  Five hours later, the house is not only still dirty, I haven't cleared the dishes from breakfast, so in fact, it is actually dirtier than it was when i started.  And to make it even more upsetting, I think I fell in love with Keifer Sutherland's ass.
    So much for cleaning motivation.  Though to be honest, I do have the urge to...err..polish something else entirely, thus making the house dirtier still.
    Having a great day off.  
    J
  24. Jason Rimbaud

    Blech

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    So waking up at 3am to go to work to complete inventory and payroll before working a ten hour day.   Can life get any better I ask you?
    Seriously...please tell me life can be better....
    TELL ME!!!!!
    Oh darn, I burned the muffins.
  25. Jason Rimbaud
    The sun had long set behind the mountains of the town of Glacier Bay.  The moon bathed the town in a soft light with a backdrop of twinkling stars in the October sky.  The trees gently swayed in the offshore breeze that hinted at the bone chilling weather that was to come but for now, the air was crisp and refreshing.  The leaves had changed giving the streets and parks a colorful facelift that brought in visitors from all around.  The last influx of outsiders bringing their pocketbooks before the long winter brought snow and ice and all the winter games along with it.  Some folks said that winter was gods way of testing the human spirit.  Much like the grass and trees, humans tended to go into a hibernation mode throughout the winter.  Surviving on the nutrients they had gathered in the spring and summer to get them through the harsh starving months of winter.  The world seemed a bit sadder in the winter months, most of the habitants of Glacier Bay walked with their head down, their faces covered by scarves and bundled up in colorful hats, gloves, and bulky winter coats.  In the summer, they would wave and shout out to their neighbors, most times stopping for moment to ask about families and goings on.  But with the onset of winter, one was lucky to get a polite wave as they rushed by seeking indoors over the blistering cold.
    On this particular night, Scott Taylor was staring out at the glacier that gave the town its name.  The glacier, brightly lit by the moon, reflected across the bay giving off the illusion the water was ice, calm and still.  This illusion was ruined every few minutes when a gentle wave would crash into the bottom of the glacier echoing off the mountainside. 
    Scott tucked his long blonde hair behind his ears and looked towards the town he had lived in all his life.  Glacier Bay, nestled at the base of a range of mountains that almost saw snow on the peaks all year round.  The glacier snaked its way down the mountain until it spilled out in the bay that was protected by a natural seawall.  When the town was first settled in the late 1800’s, the townsfolk had carved a deep channel for boats to enter the bay safely in the natural wall.  This was once upon time to protect the fishing vessels that were moored at the docks during the winter months.  Nowadays there was not much commercial fishing anymore.  All the boats moored at the dock were built more for pleasure and unused for most of the year except when their rich owners could get away from the city for a few short weeks and enjoy all the town had to offer.  Many local boys like Scott, made really good money taking care of the boats for their absentee owners throughout the year as well as maintaining the carefully manicured lawns and removing the snow from their vacation homes throughout the year.  It always amazed Scott how much someone was willing to pay to keep a house they would visit once or twice a year.  It seemed like a waste of money that could be better spent in other ways.  But Scott was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
    As he peered across the bay, he eyes drifted to the lighthouse.  There was no need for a lighthouse since the 1950’s and it had long been turned into a tourist destination with daily tours during the summer months.  A small gift shop in the base of the lighthouse offered those who had the need to buy souvenirs and keepsakes to remember their trip to Glacier Bay.  It had been closed for weeks now, abandoned until the spring.  Too many things in Glacier Bay seemed to be dormant for his liking. 
    Scott glanced at his watch and wondered again what was keeping his friend.  His eyes drifted back to the high school.  Thirty minute ago the lights had all but been turned off, signaling the end of the play and the participants headed home for the night.  Even if there was traffic leaving the parking lot, his friend should have arrived twenty minutes ago.  He pulled his coat around him tighter, it wasn’t that cold yet.  But sitting still on a bench for almost an hour had caused a chill to sink into his bones. 
    For the hundredth time, he checked his phone to see if there were any texts.  Since he had arrived, his sister had texted him three times about the ending of the play, his mom wanted to know what he was doing Saturday night and if he was free for dinner.  And a few more from random friends, but there was nothing from Jake.  Silent; much like the last week had been.  The old saying was true; you almost never miss what you have until it is no longer there.  And after a week of silence from his closest friend, he found that he missed him terribly. 
    Scott reached into his pocket and pulled out his cigarettes.  It was definitely a habit he was trying to quit but the craving was always worse when he was bored.  He hadn’t so much taken his first drag when he heard footsteps on the gravel walkway below.  Jake must have ridden his bike, otherwise he would have seen the headlights of his car as he drove around the lake.
    Though the moon was bright and the sky was clear, he couldn’t make out the face of the figure as it approached him.  But he would have known that shape anywhere.  He had seen that shape for eighteen years.  He peered intently as the boy walked towards him.  Once he was close enough to see, Scott could see his face was drawn, his eyes intent as he looked at the ground.  His hands were shoved in his pockets and his breath steamed in the night with every exhale.  He had ridden his bike.
    Jacob Rainer, his next door neighbor for most of his life.  The one person that knew every secret, every prank, everything he had ever done in his life.  They were together when Scott got the bright idea to jump off the roof with sheets tied around their necks; they were also together when Scott convinced his friend that crossing the bay in old man Thomas’s row boat was a good idea at 2am in the middle of winter.  From the time they could walk, they had been inseparable.
    The two boys, both eighteen and heading into their final year of school, could not have been more different.  Neither in looks nor in personality.  Jake was average size, short cropped brown hair, and always seemed to ponder each decision carefully before acting.  He was well liked by his peers and received mostly A’ and B’s in all of his classes.  Being the middle child, at home he would disappear as his younger sister seemed to garnish all the attention and his older brother couldn’t keep from arguing with his parents about everything.  Everyone who knew him would testify that out of all the kids, he was going to be the one that made it and made it in a big way. 
    Scott took another drag from his cigarette and waited for his friend to sit down next to him on the bench.  But that did not stop him from looking at his friend with an expectant look on his face.
    Jake moved his hand in front of his face, trying to avoid the cigarette smoke that lingered around Scott’s head like a halo.  “I really wish you’d quit those.”
    Scott shrugged, “Everyone needs a bad habit.”
    Jake settled back into the bench, and stretched his legs out in front of him.  “Nice night.  Won’t be long until winter arrives though.  I can smell the snow in the air.”
    Scott threw the cigarette on the ground and stamped it out with his foot.  “It is almost November.  Hell, Halloween is just around the corner.”
    Jake looked at his friend sideways.  “What are you going as this year?”
    Scott turned his head and looked at his friend, “Are we really doing this?  Small talk, like you haven’t said a word to me in a week, and you want to know what I’m dressing for Halloween.”
    Jake ignored the outburst, something he did often.  “I’m going as a father,” he said quietly.
    Scott’s eyes widened at the declaration.  “Well shit.”
    Jake stared at the ground, not wanting to make eye contact with Scott.  Instead he dug his toe around in the dirt.  “Remember the fall dance at the club back in August.”
    Scott couldn’t help but chuckle as he remembered that night.  That was the night he dumped two bottles of whiskey in the punch, one hour before he puked on Mrs. Turners shoes.  As much trouble as he received for ruining her shoes, it would have been worse if they would have known he was the culprit that spiked the punch.  “What about it?”
    “Christine and I…”
    “Christine?” Scott interrupted.  “Blankenship.”
    “Remember, Becky and I got into that fight.  She was mad at you for spiking the punch,” Jake explained.  “Becky went home with Julie and Christine was pretty drunk, so I offered to give her a ride.”
    “Yeah you did,” Scott said, laughing. 
    Jake stood up, and spat out angrily, “This is why I can’t talk to you sometimes.  Not everything is a joke.”
    Scott stared up at his friend for a moment.  Then he said in a quiet tone, “You’re serious.”
    “I’m gonna be a father Scott.  And I’m scared shitless.” Jake stated before turning around to face the glacier. 
    “Wait a minute,” Scott said, shaking his head.  “You slept with Christine the night of the dance and didn’t tell me?”
    Jake glared at his friend.  “Not everything is about you.  And no, I didn’t.”
    Scott pulled out another cigarette.  “Okay, lets start at the beginning.”
    Jake rubbed his eyes tiredly.  “Christine was hammered that night.  I would never take advantage of someone like that.  But she was all over me, and managed to kiss me before I kicked her out of the car.”
    Jake sat back down next to his friend and grabbed the cigarette and took a long drag before exhaling the smoke upwards.  “That’s how you do it.  Not in your friends face.”
    “Rodger,” Scott said with a grin.  “Continue.”
    “Becky and I were having problems.  She was so worried about what would happen at the end of the year when we go off to college.  It was so frustrating, I mean, why couldn’t we just be happy now, and worry about next year, next year.” Jake stated with a sigh. 
    “A few days later, Christine showed up at work, being all flirty.  Wondering if I wanted to get coffee after I was finished.  It was nice, hanging out with her, just being in the moment, not worried about college, and how many kids we needed to have, where we were going to live, you know.  Just two people enjoying each other.”
    Jake stopped for a moment and eyeing the cigarette before taking it again.  “So we hung out off and on for the next few weeks.  And I swear, nothing happened.  We were just talking.”
    “When did Becky find out?” Scott asked as he lit up another cigarette.  
    Jake took a another drag, looked at the cigarette in his fingers, and threw it on the ground.  He stated with a frown, “You sure seem to smoke a lot nowadays.”
    “What can I say, I’m an addict.”
    “Three weeks ago, Becky saw us at the coffee shop, she went crazy.  She wouldn’t let me explain, she started accusing me of cheating on her with her best friend, calling us all sorts of names.  It was in the middle of the coffee shop.  I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it.”
    Scott shrugged.  “I’ve been busy.”
    “That was the night it happened.  Right over there,” Jake gestured at the end of the walkway.  He grabbed the cigarette again and took a long drag.
    “Look Jake, I don’t mind if you smoke my cigarettes but you have to stop putting them out after one drag, their expensive,” Scott said with a frown.  “Are you sure she’s pregnant?”
    “She was pretty sure after a week because she missed her period.  Three tests later, and I’m gonna be a father,” Jake sighed.  “At eighteen, just like my father.”
    “That’s heavy,” Scott stated with a grimace.
    “And the really messed up thing,” Jake said quietly. “I don’t love her.  I love Becky.”
    “Does she know?”
    Jake shook his head.  “No one knows.  Just Christine, me, and now you.  Not even her parents.”
    “No wonder you’ve been avoiding me all week,” Scott said, his eyes wide in disbelief. 
    Jake stared off into the distance as he said, “I told her.  That I didn’t love her and that I wanted to be with Becky.”
    “How did she take that?”
    “She just starting crying,” Jake said, rubbing his hands through his hair.  “I can’t seem to do anything right lately.”
    “There is one thing you did perfectly,” Scott blurted out. 
    Jake stared at him flatly.  “Don’t be an ass.”
    “I’m just saying maybe you should’ve tried for that ass and you wouldn’t be in this situation.”
    Jake couldn’t help but chuckle.  “I’m not a pervert like you.”
    Scott laughed.  “I’m not a pervert anymore; it’s legal now in almost all fifty states.  We can get married and everything.”
    Jake shoved his friend playfully.  “What you do I wouldn’t call it legal in any state.”
    “They have all been consensual,” Scott said, pausing before adding with a grin, “except that one time but we won’t talk about him.  He deserved what he got anyway.”
    “Gross,” Jake stated dryly.  “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
    “Is she going to keep it?” Scott asked carefully. 
    “I’m not sure.  I didn’t know how to bring that up.  Fuck, I already told her I don’t want to be with her, I didn’t think asking about abortion was appropriate.” Jake admitted.  “I’m such an asshole aren’t I.”
    “Best thing to do is talk to your dad.” Scott offered. 
    “He’s going to kill me,” Jake said with a frown.  “He always told me not to do what he did.”
    “Look on the bright side,” Scott stated as he stood up.  “You didn’t, you’re not going to marry the girl you knocked up.”
    “Oh, you are so dead,” Jake snorted and started chasing his friend who had starting running towards his truck parked in the lot down the path.
    “You could never catch me slowpoke,” Scott called out over his shoulder before really turning on the speed.  His long legs made running seem effortlessly, and he had been running his entire life.  On his best day, Jake couldn’t keep up with him unless he slowed to a jog and this time was no different.
    By the time Jake caught up to him, he was leaning against his truck and the motor was already warming up.  He did notice that Jake’s bike was already in the bed of his blue pick-up.  Riding out to the glacier in the middle of the night might be fun but no one wanted to make the long ride back.
    Jake half-jogged the last ten yards, his chest heaving as he took large gasps of air.  He held his side and winced.  “I don’t know how you run that fast and still smoke that many cigarettes.”
    “Genetics,” Scott said with a smile.  He smoothed down his long blonde hair and jumped in the truck.  “Get in before you fall over.”
    “I was built for short bursts,” Jake explained as he climbed inside the 4X4 truck with a grunt.  “I’m much better on the wrestling floor.”
    Scott turned on the heat full blast as he spoke, “And yet, oddly enough, I turned out to be the gay one.”
    “That is true.  I’ve probably had my face in more boy crotches than you have.  If I’m not gay by now, I’ll never be,” Jake said proudly. 
    “You are one of the few on the wrestling team that could honestly say that,” Scott said, moving his eyebrows up and down suggestively.
    “Those are my teammates, I don’t want to hear about what they might do with you behind closed doors,” Jake complained half-heartedly.
    Scott laughed, loud and deep.  “Remember that time we went to that away game in Hillersville, now that was a wrestler that knew which end of a boy was what.”
    For the rest of the ride back to town, Scott told one outlandish tale after another about his many conquests and crazy exploits.  Like most boys do of a certain age, there was a large amount of exaggeration and all out lies.  Jake knew that Scott was far from being a virgin, and he did have a more active sex life than most boys in the school ever dared dream.  Most times he just hoped that most of Scott’s stories were fanciful tales designed to get a rise out of his listeners. 
    Scott was well known around the school at having the weirdest sense of humor.  No matter what the circumstance, he could always be counted on to say the most offensive thing at any given time.  It was something that Jake actually respected him for.  It took a very confident person to say whatever and not care what everyone else thought.  Scott truly marched to a different drum than anyone else.  He was never sure which boy was the good influence on the other.  All he knew, Scott was someone he could count on to always be there.  No matter what.
    For his part, Scott was at a complete loss of words.  He couldn’t even begin to understand what his friend was going through.  So he did the only thing he could do, try to take Jake’s mind off his problem, even if it was only for twenty minutes on the ride home. 
    Jake was almost smiling by the time the blue truck pulled up to 803 Campus Circle at 11:53pm.  Scott put the truck in park and stared ahead.  “Talk to your dad.”
    “I’d rather talk to your dad,” Jake stated with a grin.
    Scott laughed again.  “He’d be so happy to talk about sex with girls with someone.  You’d make his day.”
    “How’s he been the last few weeks?” Jake asked, looking at his friend intently.
    “He’s getting use to it,” Scott said with a shrug.  “Mom said it was okay for me to come to dinner tomorrow night.  So that’s a good thing.”
    Jake reached over and put his hand on Scott’s arm.  “Look Scott, I’m sorry I’ve been so distant lately.  It’s not because…you’re gay.  I don’t care about that.  And truthfully, I kind of always suspected.”
    “Really?” Scott asked.  “Why didn’t you say anything?”
    “Why didn’t you tell me?” Jake countered.
    Scott turned his head for a moment and looked out the drivers window.  “I guess I was scared.”
    “Of what?”
    Scott turned to face his friend.  “I think I knew that you wouldn’t care, deep down.  But I didn’t want to lose you.  You are one of the most important things in my life.  And I was scared to take a chance that you wouldn’t accept me.  Or worse.”
    “Or worse?” Jake asked.
    “Like, if you thought I was hitting on you on those times we would wrestle around.  Or the showers, or sleeping together,” Scott said honestly. 
    Jake made a face and said quickly, “That’s gross.”
    Scott’s eyes widened as Jake continued thoughtfully, “One of the reasons I always thought you were gay was when we wrestled and you’d get a boner.”
    “I so did not,” Scott denied laughing. 
    Jake laughed, for the first time that night, a deep belly laugh.  “Exactly my point.  You are more like my brother than my own brother.”
    Scott stated through his laughter, “Truth.”
    “I didn’t know what to say about this Christine thing, I was avoiding you because it’s got my head all twisted,” Jake admitted.  “But I realized that you might think it was because you came out.  And it’s not.  Honest.”
    Scott sighed.  “Thank you.  I will admit I was wondering if that was it.  It was weird not being able to talk to you about this stuff.”
    “Hey, you can always talk to me, I might not understand it all, but I’ll listen,” Jake said with a small grin. 
    “Thanks.  And you’re not worried what everyone will say at school about you,” Scott asked.  He had already heard some of the things that have been said.  For the time being, nothing had been said to his face but he figured it was just a matter of time.
    Jake laughed again.  “Scott, I don’t know how to tell you this, but I wasn’t the only one that suspected.”
    Scott was truly stunned.  “Really.”
    “Becky and even Julie told me that years ago.  Mike mentioned it in passing,” Jake said through his laughter.  “I think everyone knew and probably no one really cares.”
    “Well shit, I could’ve saved all that stress,” Scott said thoughtfully.  “If only my father would’ve suspected.”
    “He’ll come around,” Jake said confidently.  “He just always wanted a grandson.”
    “Well, maybe he can adopt Christine’s baby,” Scott snorted out, not being able to stop himself.
    “You really are an asshole,” Jake said, shaking his head.  “Really, a big asshole.”
    “You could come over and visit him, bring him presents,” Scott said more enthusiastically, gesturing wildly.  “Take naps with me in my bed.”
    “Just keep laughing,” Jake warned, but the corner of his mouth was curling up in a grin.  “Though, you are a great napping partner.  You like to cuddle.”
    “One time,” Scott admonished.
    “Best nap I ever had,” Jake said laughing.  “That’s when you’re father should’ve suspected.  When he walked in on us that day, you had even drooled a bit on my shoulder.”
    “You’re laughing now,” Scott replied.  “But Mom asked me if you were my boyfriend.”
    Jake stopped laughing and asked, “Seriously?  What did you say?”
    Scott put his hands behind his head and said, “I told her it wasn’t my place to out other people and if she wanted to know she should ask you.”
    Jake smacked him right in the stomach, hard.  Scott made a sound, and grabbed his stomach, though he didn’t stop laughing.  “It doesn’t help that you stopped coming around these last few weeks.  No telling what they are thinking.”
    “Well, I can bet they aren’t thinking I got some girl pregnant,” Jake said wistfully. 
    “No, can’t say that they are,” Scott agreed.  “Anything you need, just ask.”
    “Thanks.  But it’s time for me to go inside,” Jake stated as he stared at his darkened house, a lone porch light shining a light on the walkway.  “I’ll see you.”
    Jake opened the door and headed towards the front of the house.  Scott stared at him until he disappeared inside and the door closed.  Scott checked his phone and read a text that brought a grin to his face.  He replied, “I’m on my way.”
    He started up his truck and headed across town whistling.  He had wanted to tell Jake about the reason he came out but didn’t think it was the right time.  Not when Jake was worried about being a father to a girl he didn’t want to be with.  Not to mention that when Becky found out she would probably break up with him.  No seventeen year old girl wants to be a girlfriend of an eighteen year old that is having a baby with her best friend. 
    But that was for a later time to worry about.  For now, he was going to see the reason he came out.  And for now, that was all that mattered.

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