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Jason Rimbaud

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  2. Jason Rimbaud
    One Confused Gay Boy
    I almost did something last Monday night that I swore I would never do again. And just to get it out of the way right now, because we all know how easily it is for me to get sidetracked writing these blog entries, it has nothing to do with Cocaine.
    Though if it did have something to do with Cocaine I wouldn?t be a confused gay boy and this blog entry would never have been written. So I?ll let you decide which problem is more relevant.
    I think for you to really get a grasp on the events that transpired last Monday night, I think I have to take you back in time a few months. So come with me, let?s take a slow trip back in time when the weather was warmer, I was a bit thinner, and completely coked out of my mind.
    That really doesn?t sound like a fun trip at all. I think you readers are going to hate this blog entry. *shrugs* Not my problem, I?m not making you read this, am I?
    PLEASE DON?T STOP READING MY BLOG
    Before we begin, let me introduce the characters of this sordid tale. First, you have a twenty-two-year-old, let?s call him, Mark. Then you have a twenty-five-year-old, let?s name him, Dale. And lastly, you have me of course, because we all know that I?m the reason ya?ll are reading this blog. And I go by, Jason. So now that we?re all friends, why don?t I begin?
    THE BEGINNING (that?s a bit overdone now isn?t it)
    So I work in a hip up-scale restaurant in Palo Alto as a server, and working along with me are ten other guys and two girls. The ages range from thirty-seven to twenty-one and out of these twelve servers, I?m the only gay boy.
    So for those of you that are counting, the statistic that there is one gay boy out of every ten is still holding true.
    And for being such a diverse group of guys, I?m fortunate that everyone is really accepting of my sexuality. And after working there for a year, I somehow have gotten the nickname, Fag Boy. This was given to me by, Mark, a few months ago. And while not everyone calls me that on a regular basis, a few do and I take no offense.
    I really can?t, considering the name I gave, Mark, which everyone calls him on the regular. His name is Teabag, named after his love of showing everyone his nuts. I?m pretty sure I got the better name out of the two.
    From day one I?ve been out at work. And this is not from my actions because people still question if I?m really gay because apparently I?m ?straight acting?. My coming out happened the very first day when Mark asked if I had a girlfriend and I replied that I was single and very gay.
    QUICK BIO FOR MARK
    Mark is twenty-two, rather average looking with short dark hair, and big brown eyes. He?s also a complete homophobe, even after working with me for over a year, he still makes some really dumbass comments regarding some of the gay patrons that visit our hip up-scale restaurant. He?ll turn to me and say something about the gays and then realize who he?s talking too. Then he?ll blush and say, you know what I mean. I?ll call him a phobe, he?ll call me a Moe, and everything is fine. And before you get a nasty taste in your mouth regarding this youth, he?s changed a lot in the year since I?ve known him. And over time, we?ve settled into a nice routine filled with practical jokes and a genuine fondness for one another that has nothing to do with sexuality. Or so I thought.
    The best part about his homophobe actions is when he has to be the server for a gay couple; you can see it in his eyes, the panic that is lurking just under the surface. He?s always pleasant and professional but I know just how uncomfortable he is at those times.
    Why is it that most straight guys think every gay guy they meet will try to get into their pants? Seriously, does that happen?
    Whatever the reason, Mark is afflicted with this stigma. So to explain things to him, I took him out one night after work seven months ago. We sat down at the bar and to prove my point, I started pointing out different girls asking the same question, ?Who you do her?? In just a few minutes, he had said yes to about half of the girls and said no to the others.
    I then told him to start pointing out different guys to me and to ask me the same question, ?Who you do him?? I was surprised, after only a few minutes he realized what I was showing him. He really thought that gay guys wanted to fuck every guy they saw. Once he realized that even gay guys have a certain type they?re attracted towards and that most have no desire to date a straight guy, he became really comfortable around me.
    And since most of you are probably aware of where this entry is heading, I don?t feel like I?m getting ahead of myself at all by saying that I did notice that most of the guys he pointed out that night looked a lot like he did, same body type, same dark features, with the same style of dress.
    Some of you might remember Mark, I wrote in a blog entry called, Mistaken Identity and Two Rolls of Toilet Paper, chronicling our games we play at work. If you would like to know more about this, then I urge you to read that blog entry.
    Five months ago, I was still nose deep in Cocaine and pretty anti-social so I rarely hung out with my co-workers outside of work. But somehow, I was convinced to attend a twenty-first birthday celebration at a local dance club. And seeing this was the last server that works at our restaurant to turn twenty-one, everyone from work was planning on attending.
    I don?t know why I said yes, I didn?t even like the girl that was turning twenty-one. And at that time, going to a club just took time out of my doing cocaine.
    It?s weird now as I look back on that night. Basically if I would have stayed home to bump lines all night then the events of last Monday more than likely would?ve never happened and I wouldn?t be so confused right now. If only?
    I arrived at the club around 11:30 PM that night and found only the birthday girl and her two friends. Apparently the rest of my co-workers were planning on making a fashionably late appearance. Go them, I wish I was that smart.
    For over an hour the three crazy chicks bombarded me with stupid questions regarding my gayness and what type of boys I preferred. Even with my sneaking off to bump lines in the bathroom did little to help the situation and by 12:30 I had had enough. I wished the birthday chick happy times and promptly left the club.
    Oh if only the story stopped right there than this blog entry would be finished and ya?ll would be loads happier. But that?s not what happened because once outside I saw Mark and his friend approaching the club from down the street. Mark saw me and waved and headed into the club. And though I was planning to go home and finish getting fucked-up I found myself turning around and walking back into the club. This is where I found out that Mark had run out of gas and that the rest of the servers were just minutes behind him.
    So I love to dance, and if I?m in a bar that has music then I?m dancing. And for the next hour, in between birthday shots, I did have fun dancing with assorted people. I had six or seven shots in me by this time and had bumped who knows how many lines so when Mark asked me if I wanted to go outside and cool off a bit by smoking a cigarette I hastily agreed.
    I stood with my back against the building while Mark stood facing down the street, sort of sideways from me, staring at the passerby?s.
    After a few minutes of silence, he looks at me from the corner of his eye and states, ?You were going to leave when I saw you outside earlier weren?t you.?
    ?What?? I know, brilliant conversationalist.
    Again, he looked at me from the corner of his eye and said simply, ?You came back inside for me, didn?t you.?
    Since Mark and I hadn?t really hung out that much I wasn?t sure if he was being serious or not. Mark?s father left him at an early age and with his two younger sisters he is surrounded by women who constantly show him affection by touching, kissing, hugging. So for a guy he?s pretty touchy. So instead of taking him seriously, I lied, ?I was having a smoke.?
    Now he turns and faces me and looks me right in the eyes and says, ?Bullshit. You came back for me.?
    ?You think highly of yourself, don?t you?? I reply, not breaking eye contact.
    So we stand there, staring at each other for a few moments, each daring the other to make a move. Then he suddenly starts laughing and says, ?Of course.?
    We finish our cigarettes and head back inside where I, for the time being, forget about our exchange.
    Shortly after that night, I really went off the deep end and lost myself in depression and drug use. And though at work we still got along great, and he still did little things much like the above incident, I was too wrapped up in myself to really pay attention.
    But four months ago, this caught my attention, in a big way. It was a bad night at work. And by a bad night, I really mean that Mark and I had spent most of the night punching each other in the ribs or kidney area.
    SIDE NOTE: Some nights after working with Mark I?d go home with my ribs so sore it almost hurt to breathe. And on my than one occasion Mark has confessed too me that his back was covered in bruises.
    Anyway, Mark was standing at the computer putting in a guests order when I came up behind him and punched him rather hard in the ribs.
    After swearing loudly, he looked over his shoulder at me and said, ?You?re always hurting me, why don?t you make me feel pleasure instead of pain??
    I laugh and reply, ?That?s not my job.?
    He turns to face the computer again but I catch it when he almost whispers, ?It should be.?
    I was very high at the time and this statement scared the shit out of me. I?m not stupid, and I know the little games Mark and I played was our weird way of flirting with one another. But that statement hit a bit close to home. Once, long ago, I made the mistake of falling for my straight best friend and after that destructive relationship was over I swore I?d never do it again.
    So I did the only thing I could think of doing?I made a stupid joke and walked away. But this little exchange put me on my guard and I began to watch Mark rather closely. I then observed that Mark touched everyone, a shoulder pat here, an arm squeeze there, pretty harmless stuff really. But he touched me differently. It took a few weeks for me to pinpoint the differences but once I saw it, it was clear as day.
    That is a stupid expression, clear as day, isn?t? After all, I?ve seen days where the sky is filled with dark clouds and rain is misting up everything a few feet away.
    It took a few weeks for me to pinpoint the differences but once I saw it, it was clear as a beautiful spring day without a single cloud in the sky.
    That?s better.
    When he hugged one of the other servers, he would bend at the waist and make sure his crotch area would never come in contact with the other person. This was true even with the two girl servers. Yet when he hugged me, there was full body touching. I could go on but I don?t really have the time. Or to be more accurate, you might not have the time for me to ramble on and on about unimportant things.
    When Mark and I are surrounded by our co-workers, we have this playful, almost brotherly relationship between us but once we?re alone, Mark?s demeanor changes drastically and he even speaks differently, more relaxed, more comfortable. For a long time I allowed myself to view these differences as nothing more than another layer of our already complex relationship, much like the actions taken by a younger sibling who still has a bit of hero worship for his older brother. After all, I?m quite a bit older than he is and sometimes I can?t see the forest because of the trees.
    Three months ago, our playful games began to slowly change. Where once we left bruises when punching one another had, for lack of a better word, morphed into softer touching. Like we had given up all pretense of punching just to make contact and now had accepted the simple fact that we just like to touch each other.
    Because there are times when we are standing around in a group, he?ll make sure he?s as close to me as humanly possible without actually being joined with me. And yet he?ll ignore me at the same time, resorting to sideways glances instead of acknowledging my presence. And there have been several times when he?ll do something so bold that not only shocks me but him as well. Like the time I was standing at the computer and he came around the corner and immediately started grinding up against me or the time he walked into my hand with his crotch and moved his hips just enough that I felt the outline of his cock in his boxers. In both of these instances, his eyes widened, like he just realized what he had done, and he quickly walked away, behaving like nothing had happened.
    And the more he did this, the further I retreated into my cocoon of anti-social behavior. And just because I?m an honest kind of guy, I?ll admit that my attitude towards him slowly began to change. By this time I had let him see just a hint of my mental state and he knew a portion of my drug addiction. I?m sure he didn?t realize how bad it had gripped me because I think he would have tried a bit harder to get me to open up and trust him. And during these conversations he got a taste of how far down I was and how depressed I truly had become.
    Because one night after work, we were smoking and talking about friendship and the need to have people in your life, and I declared that I prefer to be alone and that having friends were overrated. He disagreed of course. He said that without friends in your life that care about you then you will never know that cocaine is slowly killing you. He further argued that the only reason I was depressed all the time was because of my high intake of cocaine and the blow was making me look like shit.
    He was right, I had lost a lot of weight and the dark circles around my eyes gave me an eerie look that resembled a walking cadaver. I wonder if he ever knew how close I was to the edge that night. I wonder if anyone will ever know.
    In September he waltzed into work and told everyone that he finally found a girlfriend. That?s not true, he never told me. I found it strange, both then and now, that he never told me about this girl. It didn?t matter one way or the other, I was dealing with my own shit at the time.
    I do know that the addition of this new girlfriend did nothing to stop the flirting between the two of us. All it did was confuse the shit out of me, especially after the events of last Monday.
    Two weeks, another after work session smoking, Mark looked at me and then asked, ?Have you been gaining weight??
    I know I?ve said it before but let me state it again. I HATE SOBRIETY. Always have, and probably always will. Why? Because now that I?m off the coke, I?ve gained a shit ton of weight and don?t really give a shit when everyone else says I look healthy now. I don?t, I just look fat.
    I nodded my head and shrugged. He then said, ?You look good too, happy even. Have you finally found a boyfriend??
    I?ve always been the guy that keeps his personal life very private and with the exception of Mark, no one at work knew a damn thing about my personal life. So why I decided at that time to explain in great detail the events that had happened to me in the last few months I?ll never know. But I did. I told him all about Susan, My Resurrection, my giving up Cocaine and my new outlook on life.
    When I was finished, he wrapped his arms around me and whispered into my ear that it was about time I grew the fuck up. That was when it happened, that was the exact moment the crush I have for Mark was born. The crush I have for him isn?t huge, just a tiny harmless crush for someone who shown me kindness.
    I swear, because at that time, it was more important that I found a friend. I know my feelings for Mark aren?t real, just a by-product of me desperately needing a true friend in my life.
    By the way, Trab, you once told me that above all else, I needed a true friend in my life. You were right.
    So for the last few weeks, I?ve been spending a lot of time with Mark outside of work. Not too much time, he?s busy with school, with work, and his girlfriend, but enough time that I feel safe enough with the amount of trust I placed in him. And I like it, spending time with him. It gives me something else to do than spend hours alone in my apartment, cleaning the floor. And though I had a bit of a crush I pushed those feelings down and embraced the friendship I felt instead. But then it all changed, last Monday night?
    I know, after how many pages of long winded trips back in time, we finally made it to the reason I started writing this in the first place. And for those of you that are still with me, here?s the payoff, just something for the torture I?ve put you through today.
    Last Monday night, Dale threw a small party at his house. Mark and I were the only ones invited from the restaurant; everyone else was friends of Dale and his girlfriend. After a few hours, once everyone else had left except Mark and me when Dale produced his bong and the two of them smoked a bowl. After they finished smoking, Dale popped the movie Transformers into the DVD player and we all settled down in front of the TV.
    I don?t really care for weed but seeing as we were in a closed room, I?m sure I had a contact high going on. Mixed with the several beers I had finished already, I was feeling pretty mellow by the time the credits started rolling.
    Dale flopped down on the easy chair and quickly passed out. That left the large leather sofa for us, I sat down on one end and he took the other. About half-way through the movie, Mark and I began playing our little game of ?would we do her/him?. This gave us lots of material for jokes and goofing around like two idiots.
    At some point in the movie, Mark left to relieve himself. But upon his return, instead of reclaiming his seat on the other end, he choose to flop down in the middle, his upper body inches away from me with his legs kicked out on the coffee table.
    Somewhere between us making fun of the movie and playing our little game of who would do who, I suddenly realized that he was leaning against me, his head dangerously close to resting on my shoulder. When I noticed this, I immediately stood up and went to the bathroom.
    I stood there in the bathroom for a few moments, staring at my reflection. In my head I kept asking what the fuck was going on. I know I?m a bit slow, and have a hard time judging when someone is serious about the touching or just joking around. This is true especially when it comes to someone actually liking me.
    I stood in the bathroom and kept telling myself that it didn?t mean anything. I rationalized it by blaming his behavior on the weed and the beer, and that leaning against me was more of an accident than a design. So by the time I left the bathroom, I had convinced myself that he probably hadn?t realized he was leaning against me at all and that I should stop worrying about stuff that was perfectly harmless.
    Yeah, that lasted only until I sat back down. Because not only did he immediately lean back into me but this time he moved even closer to me and put his head on my shoulder.
    Just who is the gay boy here?
    My heart started pounding faster, and I felt suddenly very uncomfortable. When I snuck I look at him, he looked totally at peace, like it was an everyday occurrence that he snuggled up with another guy while watching a movie. And just about the time I settled down, he sat up. I figured he just realized who he was snuggling up with and wanted to move as far away as possible. Wow, boy was I wrong.
    Because once he sat up, he grabbed my arm and lifted it up high enough so he could snuggle even closer to me. And once he found a comfortable position, he pulled my arm down around his body and sighed. Oh yeah, he sighed.
    So there we were one happy content straight boy and one very nervous confused gay boy. What a pair we made.
    And I?ll admit it was nice sharing this very intimate moment with someone I really liked. And even now, to be honest I don?t know if there was anything sexual about his actions that night. I could be trying to rationalize this experience and hide from the truth, but I have trouble believing anyone would be interested in me for more than just a sexual purpose. And, he professes to be extremely happy with his girlfriend.
    Either way, shortly after that, Mark fell asleep, my arm draped over his body and snuggled into my chest. Long after the movie was over I sat there, just watching his chest rise and fall as he took shallow breaths. Trying desperately to figure out what the fuck was going on, if anything was going on, and what the fuck I was going to do about this new development.
    Let?s face it, so many thing are wrong with this whole situation. Not only is he younger than me, but to my knowledge has never even been with another guy, and he has a very real girlfriend. Plus I swore I would never get involved with another straight boy confused about his sexuality again. Not after Jason and that whole mess.
    So I carefully untangled myself and quietly left, figuring I would take my cue on how to behave from Mark the next time I saw him.
    Which was today and from what I could tell, I was the only one that was uncomfortable.
    Because when I walked into work, Mark greeted me with his usual hug, even laughing when I rolled my eyes. We joked and made small talk all through the night as usual. So I figured he either didn?t remember what happened the night before or had chose to ignore it all together. Either way, I was totally fine with this strategy.
    Denial isn?t just a river in Egypt.
    But towards the end of the night when all the servers were standing around waiting for the last of the guests to finish up eating and leave, Dale asked me when I left the night before. I told him I left after the movie was over. Then Dale asked Mark when he had left. Which Mark replied, ?I woke up and left after I realized I lost my pillow.? Then Mark looked right at me and added, ?For a while it was quite comfortable sleeping on your couch.?
    So I left work and rushed home to start writing this blog. On though it?s now Thursday night, almost Friday morning, I?ve had several days to think things over and still can?t figure out if Mark is interested in me or if he?s playing around with the gay boy. Who knows, maybe he treats all his friends like this, you know, like a pillow.
    My head is telling me that he?s a bit interested, at the very least curious. But if that?s the case, then that leaves me in a bad place. I don?t want to be the one that fills his curiosity nor do I want to be his first boyfriend either.
    So I think, the best course of action for me to take, is to keep my distance and maintain our relationship on a professional basis. But that damn crush came crashing back and I find myself more attracted to him now than ever before. And I thought my life would be easier once I lost the drugs. At least when I was fucked-up, I didn?t care about things like this.
    I guess it could be worse.
    Jason R.
  3. Jason Rimbaud

    Sands of Iwo Jima

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    I'm sick, I think I'm dying.
    My head hurts and I've got this light-headed feeling. My nose is running, there is no way I can have so much snot inside my little head. I'm cold, for the first time in years I'm wearing lounge pants in bed, I have a sweatshirt and I'm wrapped up in a comforter. I'm watching the Sands of Iwo Jima starring John Wayne. God, why can't I just die.
    Jason R.
  4. Jason Rimbaud
    Mark and I have reached the point in our relationship where the newness has finally faded and we've moved into the realm of comfortable bliss. Our days slip by with the quickness of one that is quickly approaching the end. Not to say that we aren't stupidly happy, nor do I mean that the sex has lost it's allure, because let's face the truth, we hump like mad men who have finally been released from prison...a all female prison.
    You could say that everything is perfect...
    Yet I can't help but think that the other shoe is about to drop...from the top of the Empire State Building right on my pretty little balding head.
    I know myself, I do, after all I've lived with this crazy freak for thirty-three years and I am painfully aware of my track record. One of the reasons I've had bad luck in past relationships is I find it difficult to keep my...err...manhood in my pants when faced with temptation. In other words, I have a wandering eye for the pretty men I meet in my life.
    What If I stumble
    At work, at my hip up-scale restaurant in Palo Alto, I've had my difficulties as well. Mainly from the other servers, servers who for the last two years were my co-workers, my partners in crime, and my equals. And now, because of my recent promotion, I am no longer their equal, now I have to tell them what to do. And I'm finding it a bit hard to balance past friendships with the tedious nature of being responsible for the restaurant. All while trying to maintain a new relationship with Mark, another server who at one time was my equal.
    And it's not that he expects special treatment, he does, and it's not that he tries to push the boundaries to find the line, he does, and I'm at my wits end trying to juggle all these things while still doing my job to the best of my abilities. And when I have to put my foot down and say enough is enough, after all, it doesn't take thirty minutes to take a piss, not even with a Urinary Track Infection or some other horrible sexually transmitted disease I am hoping beyond sanity that he doesn't have. And though no one knows about us at the restaurant, he knows, and for some stupid reason can't understand that I won't let him do whatever he wishes.
    What If I stumble...
    The other day, a server called me aside and asked that I speak to this table that was sitting on the patio. I inquired why, and the server said the guest was quite unhappy that she had found a leaf in her entr?e and was demanding that I take the steak off the final bill.
    I know...
    This stupid bitch demanded to be seated outside, it wasn't like we forced her to sit underneath a fucking tree on a windy day in Palo Alto. Nor did we purposely sit her at a table that attracted some kind of flying insect like bears to honey. She picked the fucking table.
    I mean seriously, how fucking stupid can this bitch possibly be? Can you believe she demanded that we comp her check.
    What If I stumble...
    And to make matters worse, we hired this completely sexy, out and proud gay boy that is the spitting image of my friend Daniel in his younger days, so basically he's a nerd, with glasses to boot, and a narrow ass that begs me to squeeze it with my face.
    He doesn't have the hang-ups that Mark clings to like a virgin clings to it's pillow. He's proud to be gay, comfortable even, even in public. And he smart, witty, charming, and dare I say, dead fucking sexy.
    What If I Stumble...
    And to make matters worse, he has made his intentions quite known to the staff. Remember, no one at work knows about Mark and I, so in the broader sense, he's doing nothing wrong. But this leaves me in quite the pickle, as far as everyone is concerned I'm single and if you ask the staff, in desperate need of some loving.
    Then you have Mark, trying in vain to control his jealousy as the nerd chases me with determination that is quite commendable, if I wasn't balancing a jealous boyfriend, friends who won't mind their own fucking business, and a boss that sits back and laughs at the whole damn mess, I'd probably shit myself with laughter.
    What If I stumble...
    All this and I'm a bit frazzled. I really like Mark...like...fuck that, I told him I loved him this morning before I crawled out of bed to head off to work. And I do, love him that is, and I know I won't jeopardize this for some sexy nerd with glasses or a hot, sweaty, semi-violent one night stand.
    But I know how I sabotage my happiness, and I am fearful of this past behavior.
    And then, this morning, way before Mark opened his beautiful brown eyes, I lay there, his pale body entwined with mine, the soft snoring that escaped his lips, and the occasional sleep noises he made, brought such comfort that all these fears slipped away and I couldn't help the ravaging of his sleeping body.
    While I was in the shower, I couldn't help but laugh at myself. I was so worried about the thousand what-ifs that I had completely forgotten about the things that mattered most. Worrying about stumbling is no way to live a life, because let's face it, everyone stumbles. It doesn't matter that we stumble, all that matters is how we get back up and try it again.
    What If I stumble...who fucking cares.
  5. Jason Rimbaud
    Stupid Jason, Doing Stupid Things
    I said I was never going to do this again. And after the last time, this is the last thing I wanted to happen, again. But I have to face the facts, it did happen. And now I can?t stop these thoughts, I can?t control these feelings, and I don?t know how I?ll look at myself in the morning. Or even if I?ll try.
    Stupid Jason, doing stupid things, again.
    And I don?t even know how it started.
    Wait, that?s a lie. I know how it started. I just don?t know how I let it get this far.
    It?s Sunday night, I don?t know what time it is, but then time doesn?t matter anymore, it?s already too late.
    It?s Sunday, a great day of football since the Colts lost and next week I?ll be watching the Chargers play the undefeated Patriots. It would?ve been a great Sunday if the night would have ended at that moment. But it didn?t, and I was drunk.
    It?s Sunday, the day my manager closed the hip up-scale restaurant where I work so the employees can enjoy a late staff Christmas party. A good idea normally, but I knew Mark would be there with his GIRLfriend in tow. Definitely not a sight I wanted to see on my day off. I have to see her enough as it is when she visits her boyfriend at work.
    Because of that, I had declared that I wasn?t going to attend. But a few nights ago, while drinking at a bar, I was somehow manipulated into promising I would at least make an appearance.
    Stupid Jason, doing stupid things, while drinking.
    It?s Sunday, and it started off okay, I arrived around seven-thirty, an hour and half after it started. And I wasn?t late because I wanted to make an ?entrance?; I was still celebrating the Chargers win at the Sports Bar. And because I knew I would need a lot of insulation before facing Mark and his bitch. So I spent most of that time doing Vodka shots in between ordering double Screwdrivers. So by the time I arrived, I was quite hammered.
    Stupid Jason, doing stupid things, because of fear.
    And while I was drinking myself into stupidity, I came up with a plan. My plan was simple; I would ignore Mark and his cum-dumpster. I would focus all my attention on everyone else. Good plan, right?
    I wish, but I was drunk. And we all know that a drunk Jason is a very dangerous thing. I should?ve gone home, but I didn?t.
    For an hour or so, my plan seemed to be working. Whenever Mark would walk towards me, I?d leave and start talking to the first person I saw. When I would sneak a look, he would be staring at me with an inquisitive look on his face. I could tell he knew what I was doing but there was nothing he could do about it. Not with his arm candy hanging on to him like she was scared he?d blow away in the cross-breeze from the ceiling fans.
    Like I said, this worked for an hour or so, but even with me ignoring Mark, it was still hard to see him dancing with his little blow-up doll. It didn?t matter that a few days ago; I could?ve had sex with him but refused because of past situations. It was still hard, so while he was dancing, I went outside to have a cigarette.
    Stupid Jason, doing stupid things, while hoping he could handle it.
    And guess what? I couldn?t handle it, it was driving me crazy. How pathetic is that? I turned him down and I?m the one with all the regrets.
    So I go outside and sit down on the curb with a cigarette. I?m about half-way done when I smell him. I hang my head, it was going so well. I look up and see him standing next to me.
    He says, ?Always the loner.?
    I reply, ?Yep, did you think tonight would be any different??
    ?Not really. But I was hoping.?
    I focus my attention on my cigarette, like I?ve never seen one before. I see the end, glowing red in the semi-darkness, and realize that I?m slowly killing myself. But at that moment, dying would be welcomed, anything so I didn?t have to face him.
    I finished my smoke in silence; he stands there, staring at me patiently. I flick the butt away and stand up to go back inside. I never knew that silence could be so deafening.
    Until that moment, my plan of ignoring Mark was working perfectly. I had been there for over an hour and hadn?t even greeted him or his stupid walking blow-job machine. But if I know anything about Mark, I know he is quite determined. Mark is the type of guy that confronts things head on with a stubborn attitude that could wear down mountains if given enough time.
    As I go to pass him, he steps in front of me and peers into my eyes.
    I stop, I know it?s over. But I?m not going down without a fight.
    ?WHAT?? I hope hears the edge in my voice.
    ?So you think ignoring me is going to make all this go away.?
    I shrug, ?That was the plan.?
    He shakes his head and grins. ?You?re so stupid.?
    I have to agree with him, I am stupid. I should?ve punched him in the face. But I didn?t, instead I try again to walk around him. He blocks me again.
    Stupid Jason, doing stupid things, because of a straight-boy crush.
    He takes my silence for approval, because he asks, ?Don?t you even want to hear about it??
    I shake my head no, and it?s the truth. I know what ?it? he was referring to and the last thing I wanted to hear was his adventures in gay sex from some boy I didn?t even know.
    So I did what I always do, I changed the subject. ?How?s your girlfriend?? I?m sure he caught the sarcasm; it was almost dripping from my mouth.
    He looks at the door of the restaurant and says, ?She?s fine.?
    I crossed my arms, if he wanted to talk about ?it?, then I wasn?t going to make it easy for either one of us.
    I ask, ?Did you tell her about it??
    He smiled and asked for a cigarette. I should?ve punched him, but I didn?t. I gave him one. I should?ve walked away while he was lighting the smoke, but I didn?t. Instead I offered my lighter and lit it for him.
    Stupid Jason, doing stupid things, still.
    He took a deep drag and after he blew out his nose, he said, ?It was horrible, I hated it.?
    ?And I don?t care.? But I was lying, I did care. Because hearing him say that, it only served to drive home the fact that I was crushing on another unavailable straight boy. My anger started spiking.
    ?Liar.? This he said while staring into my eyes. He took a step forward and I took a step back.
    ?Why should I care??
    I know it was weak, it even sounded weak as I said it. I was just hoping he didn?t know how weak it really was.
    Again he laughed, ?That should be obvious, even for someone as drunk as you.?
    I crossed my arms and gave him an ?Oh Really? look. ?Pretend I?m stupid.?
    ?Nothing happened.? This he said very softly.
    I couldn?t help myself, I said, ?Now who?s lying.?
    He took a step towards me and said, ?He played with me for a bit and put it in his mouth, but I stopped him.?
    I stand there, not moving a muscle. ?That would explain why you were walking funny the next day??
    Again, he takes a step closer; we are now only a few inches apart. He whispers, ?I hurt my back, I fell off his bed when he tried to kiss me.?
    We were so close that I could smell the alcohol on his breath; I had to fight the urge to take a deep breath. Instead, I say, ?You couldn?t kiss him??
    He shook his head; his eyes seemed to be dancing, daring me to reply.
    So I asked the question that I never should have. I knew it the moment it left my lips. ?Why not??
    Stupid Jason, doing stupid things, while caught up in his dancing eyes.
    ?Because it wasn?t him I wanted to kiss.?
    And that?s when it happened, I don?t know why, I couldn?t help myself. I leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips. And for a moment, he didn?t do anything. He didn?t kiss me back, he didn?t push me away. It was like we were frozen. And just when I started to think I had just made the biggest mistake of my life, he kissed me back.
    Someone moaned, I don?t know who, but I felt his hands on my hips and felt him pull me closer, tight against his body. I wrapped my arms around his waist and began kissing in earnest.
    I?ve had lots of first kisses, some were horrible, some blew my mind, and some were just okay. But this kiss was unbelievable. It was urgent, filled with passion that caused my knees to shake. It was like all the longing I locked inside over the last year suddenly came pouring out in a torrent of lust and wild abandonment.
    I don?t know how long it lasted, it couldn?t have been more than a few minutes, but I suddenly realized what we were doing and where we were doing it. I pulled back and pushed him away. He was confused by my actions; I could see it on his face like someone had drawn it with crayons. He shook his head and leaned in again.
    I put my hand on his chest and said, ?Stop.?
    ?Why?? He asked, still breathing a bit heavy.
    I looked at him; I saw that he was so wrapped up in the moment everything else had faded away. It was like he had finally given in to the feelings racing through his body and decided that rational thought was overrated. I know because while we were kissing I could feel it against mine.
    ?This isn?t right. Your girlfriend is right there on the other side of that door. And any moment she could walk out here looking for you.?
    That was enough to wipe that dazed look off his face. The reality of it all smashed into him. He was standing in the parking lot kissing a boy while anyone driving/walking by could see him.
    He looks at the door and reaches into his pocket while saying, ?You?re right, this isn?t a good place.? He takes a few steps away from me and puts his phone up to his ear. I hear him say, ?Hey babe, Jason and I are going to my car to smoke a bowl; we?ll be back in a few minutes.?
    He puts the phone back in his pocket and realizes I?m staring at him. He grins and asks, ?Where did you park??
    Stupid Jason, doing stupid things, because he?s horny.
    I should?ve been angry or at least a bit bothered that he had just lied to his girlfriend so we could go to my car and continue whatever it is we were doing. But I wasn?t, because instead of running away, I say, ?This way.?
    It?s Sunday, I?m drunk, and I allowing my stupid straight-boy crush to come back with me to my car. To say my thoughts are a bit jumbled wouldn?t be accurate. I wanted this to happen, hell, I?ve wanted this for a year. But I can?t help but think back to the last time I got involved with a straight boy.
    And what if we get caught? What if my little crush turns into something more? Something I can?t handle. What if afterwards he hates what we?ve done and it ruins what ever is left of our relationship? What if he doesn?t live up to my fantasy? Oh my god, what if he likes it?
    I get to my car and pause, asking, ?What are we doing??
    He gets this look; I can only describe it as passionate lust, and smiles. ?Something we should?ve done months ago.?
    Stupid Jason, doing stupid things, like unlocking his car.
    I hadn?t even shut my door and he was all over me. I did the only thing I could; I gave in and went for the ride.
    There was groping, mutual and animalistic without being violent and kisses that were so powerful they drove away all thought and for a time, we were one and the same. We had lost all sense of time during our exploration because thirty minutes later he phone started ringing.
    His girlfriend, who had given up waiting, had walked to his car only to find out we weren?t there. And though I found the situation to be wrong on so many levels, I was a bit amused by how pissed she sounded on the phone.
    It was surreal, Mark had one hand up to his ear and his other hand was lost inside my pants. As he lied to her, saying I ran out of cigarettes and we walked to the store to buy more, his hand never stopped exploring. After promising we?d be back in five minutes, he rolled his eyes, the corners of his mouth bending up into a grin. He leaned in again.
    But I stopped him, the phone call reminding me that I was being very stupid. ?This isn?t right.?
    I couldn?t believe I said it either.
    ?It?s not fair to her.?
    What the fuck was wrong with me? After all this time, I had finally gotten what I wanted.
    Stupid Jason, doing stupid things, fucking morals.
    He removes his hand from my pants and sits back and stares thoughtfully at the restaurant. ?I know.?
    I grab my cigarettes and light up as he says, ?What do we do now??
    I look at him, I don?t speak. I can?t. I don?t know what we should do now. I know that for thirty minutes I was happy, but the cost of those thirty minutes were beginning to frighten the shit out of me.
    ?You should go,? I finally say, looking out the window, anywhere except the passenger seat. ?She?s pissed enough already.?
    ?She can wait.? He declares, crossing his arms. ?I?m not done yet.?
    It was getting to me. This little game of cat and mouse that Mark and I had been playing all these months had finally reached the crossroads. Now was the time to decide. We couldn?t ignore it anymore, not after groping each other, and he was right, we weren?t done yet.
    I looked at him, his face flushed and his eyes shining, an expectant look on his face as he waited for me to say something, anything. And when I didn?t, he said, ?I know what you?re thinking.?
    ?Really?? I said, keeping my voice steady and neutral. I didn?t want it to show, the racing heart, the longing to lean over and resume exploring his mouth, and I didn?t want him to know just how much I wanted him.
    ?It?s her, isn?t?? He asks, though I believe he knew the answer.
    I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what I was about to say. I felt sorry that I had that moment and he was going to be blindsided. But without asking, I knew he wouldn?t leave her for me. Not with the pressure from his family, and not with his fear of being gay. Not when it was just a few kisses in the front seat of car. I did the only thing I could do, I lied.
    I forced my face to a blank stare and said softly, ?This won?t happen again.?
    ?What?? I surprised him; he wasn?t expecting to hear those words. ?Why??
    I punched him lightly on the shoulder and said through a forced smile, ?We were just having some fun.? I almost stopped, his eyes stopped dancing and his smile faded. I saw the hurt in his eyes and forced myself to continue.
    ?I won?t tell anyone, we?ll just blame it on the shots.? Again I smiled, but then I had to look away. I wasn?t sure which one of us was about to cry. I think it was both, if only on the inside.
    But I forced myself to add the last nail to his coffin, I said, ?She?s waiting, go back inside before you get into trouble.?
    Now he looks away, and opens the car door. He pauses for a moment, so I say, ?See you Tuesday.?
    He shuts the door and quickly walks across the parking lot. I couldn?t help myself; I actually felt tears slip down my cheek.
    I start the car and drive away. My head knows I did the right thing, but damn if I hate it for that.
    Stupid Jason, doing stupid things, and now he?s alone.
  6. Jason Rimbaud
    Yesterday, Mark and I met for coffee an hour before work. I guess he knew I was still pissed and in his usual stubborn refusal to ignore things like normal males, he confronted me.
    How is it that this little boy can have so much power over me? He's not that hot, more of a nerd really, just your average type "Joe". His haircut is nonexistent, I think his mother puts a bowl on his head and snips away. His taste in clothes is typical of every stoner in the world, jeans and t-shirts with skater hoodies.
    And...he's a drug addict. Though I must admit that pot is pretty harmless. But fuck, I don't think I ever saw him completely sober. But "just" pot or not, he still is an addict. And I don't think I need an addict in my life, one is enough thank you.
    Can you believe it's been five months without cocaine? I think out of everything I've ever accomplished, I am most proud of that. Five months completely off cocaine and pills. And I can't remember that last time I was drunk. God I'm getting boring.
    Forget about the drugs, let's focus instead on Mark's girlfriend.
    Did you know that after four months, they still haven't had sex yet? Apparently, and boy did I wish he would've kept this bit of information private, there's been a handful of blowjobs and some finger work, that's it.
    Should I be happy about this? Because as he told me this earlier today, he was fully expecting me to jump up and down with joy at this admission.
    Yeah, you haven't fucked her yet, you don't know if you will fuck her in the future, you come scratching at my door every day to shag like bunnies, but in the end, you still have her. Answer me that fucking question. You wanted to talk, let's discuss this topic.
    There's something about his eyes, it's hard to keep my thoughts in order when I stare into his eyes. And the one thing I really like is his constant eye contact. I find myself forgetting my argument while peering into his chocolate eyes.
    And a few weeks ago I found out I was allergic to chocolate. Why can't I learn my lesson?
    Fuck Mark.
    Unfortunately he never answered my questions at the coffee shop. Our co-worker saw Mark's car and came inside to join us for a cup of coffee. Boy was that awkward, here we were in the middle of a fight about our....whatever it is...and suddenly we have to act all nice and status quo. And I hate that. I've been through to much shit in my life because of my sexuality...I'm not up for hiding, or keeping secrets about something I am not ashamed to be.
    We worked, estranged and uncomfortable. So out of sorts, a few of the other servers commented on our lack of "affection". How do you answer that? Oh sorry, can't be all fluffy giggles with Mark, I'm mad because though he's fucking me and not her, she gets the prime time with him. You know the time slot that involves public appearances mixed with family time.
    Something I really like about Mark, he is extremely family orientated. Something I believe keeps him silent about me and firmly with "HER", his family might not be accepting. Which is something I doubt considering the closeness they share. I'm sure his mother would love him the same. I think all the problems reside inside Mark's fear of being labeled a "gay".
    Later that night, I finish first. I get my tip money and bolt out the back door without saying goodbye. Mainly because throughout the shift, I had convinced myself that, though fun, continuing with Mark was self-destructive and maybe a threat to my sobriety. I had decided to cut my losses.
    I wasn't a block away from my hip upscale restaurant when my phone started ringing. Without looking, I knew who it was. We hadn't finished our "fight" at the coffee shop and Mark couldn't let it go. I threw my phone in the back seat and turned the radio up.
    By the time I got home, he had called four times. I left the phone in the car.
    Once inside my apartment, I headed to the fridge and grabbed the Orange Vodka and OJ and made myself a cocktail. When my doorbell rang two hours later, I had three cocktails. Not enough to be drunk, but just happy enough to answer the door. On my way to the door, I told myself that I would fuck him one more time, and send him on his way like a worn out trick. I was going to treat him like I would any other one nighter. I wasn't even going to kiss him.
    I opened the door, shirtless and smiling with a drink in my hand. He didn't say a word, he grabbed my head and kissed me. It was like nothing else...I can't describe it...I won't...this is for me, something I won't share.
    A few minutes later, we had somehow made it the couch, and somewhere in between he has lost his shirt. It was so intense, I didn't even tell him to take off his shoes. He was right there, next to me, staring into my eyes.
    "Why didn't you answer the phone?"
    I didn't want to talk to you, I'm still mad.
    He smiles...fucker...I look into his eyes...he speaks, "I was wondering if you'd like to come to my house for dinner."
    Did I tell you, since he's still in college, he lives at home? Um, did I tell you that I haven't been to his house...yet?
    Why? I know, but it hasn't sunk in yet.
    "I want you to meet my mom and my sister."
    I met them, remember they came into the restaurant.
    He shakes his head, and playfully smacks mine. "I really like you."
    Remember, I'm a bit happy(read drunk).
    Okay, I'll tell the truth, it wasn't three cocktails, more like six. I was a bit drunk by this point.
    "I really like you."
    Prove it.
    That was me, my challenge to him. I was still pissed. He's fucking me and playing with her. Nobody wins...nobody.
    For the first time, he looks away, takes a deep breath, and almost whispers, "It's over."
    I'm crushed, because though I don't want him to know it, I really, really, really like him. And since I don't want to know how much he hurt me, I say, It's for the best.
    He looks at me, sees my face and for a moment he looks confused. This his face lights up and he starts to giggle. He grabs my face and kisses me again. ( it's none of your business) "No, silly fag. I broke up with her tonight."
    We didn't talk much after that. We messed up the covers on my bed and had one fantastic shower a bit later on. Much of the evening is a bit blurry. He's still not ready to admit/come out, he doesn't want anyone to know about us.
    But god damn, she's gone, out of the picture, flushed away.
    I don't know what the future will hold. There is a lot of obstacles and a hesitation on my part to try this. He's so much younger than me, so much he hasn't experienced yet. But fuck, the world is such a better place when he's lying next to me. He brings a calm, a willingness to try. To be something like human.
    Jason
    PS: I'm sorry about the errors and spelling issues with this piece. When I first started writing it, I was a bit pissed, slightly drunk and by the time I finished writing it, now it's after five am, I'm happy and quite exhausted. And I won't go back and re write it like I would normally.
  7. Jason Rimbaud
    Apparently Cole and Trab feel like I've failed to deliver a pay-off that has been hinted at concerning my interest/relationship with Mark, a straight co-worker, and the story behind my little trip to the hospital a few days ago where a cute nurse asked me to remove my shirt so he could take a peak at my insides.
    As I read that paragraph back, I wonder why they need a further explanation. It seems pretty straight forward to me. My co-worker is straight. So any interest I might have/had toward the fucker is/was a waste of time. Unfortunately, Cole and Trab, my name isn't Paul Harvey and there is no rest of the story. And after everything that transpired that night and the obsessive analyzing I've done ever since, I don't have the strength to write it all down here in my Blog. Sorry, that's all you're going to get about that subject.
    On a related note but not really, Mark is no longer curious about gay sex. And much to my chagrin, he now knows, without a doubt in his pretty little head, that he is in fact very straight and happy with his stupid GIRLfriend. Whatever...fuck him right. He wasn't circumcised anyway. And for those of you that have been reading my Blog from the beginning, you'd know about my fear of foreskin. If not, then go back in my Archive and check out the first entry.
    So Cole, Trab, I hope this explanation helps in some small way. I hope you're happy about making me go through it all again. Closure, you have it now? You happy?
    Jason R.
    Oh yeah, POST SCRIP, since I refused to "help" sort out his curiosity, he no longer talks to me. Though I must admit to laughing at the way he walked the next day. Apparently the kid who introduced him to fucking wasn't that gentle in the end. Serves him right I guess, I'm better off anyway.
    *rolls eyes*
    And just so Cole and Trab won't have a reason to bitch. I'll quickly explain about the hospital visit.
    So I quit smoking a few weeks ago. And to help fill that void, I started eating sweets. So the other day, I bought an extra large chocolate bar before I went to work. I ate half the bar but it did nothing for me so I bummed a smoke from a friend and smoked it down right away. It wasn't long before I had trouble breathing and my heart started racing, like I snorted about an eight-ball of cocaine all at once. I freaked out, and rushed myself to the hospital. After telling my story to the doctor and several different nurses, I was told that since it had been a while since I smoked, I had a reaction to the cigarette. This seemed like a probable reason, so I went home and straight to bed.
    The next morning, I ate the rest of the chocolate bar and twenty minutes later, I had the same reaction. I went back to the hospital and the only thing that made since was the chocolate. So after a simple test, I found out I couldn't eat chocolate anymore. Which is fine with me, I don't really like chocolate anyway. So it's Monday, I bought a fresh pack of cigarettes and threw away all the candy. And I was told that smoking was going to end my life. Go figure.
    Are you two happy now? Did I answer all your questions? Did I?
    Cole and Trab: You guys are awesome!
  8. Jason Rimbaud
    I can't believe it's been so long since I last wrote something here....
    But then I don't care...I've grown to hate the sound of my voice/words...whatever...
    I've got nothing to say/write at the moment....
    Not to say that nothing interesting has happened to me lately...because let's face it...I attract drama like lightening to metal
    and Sunday night was pretty fucking huge...I mean here it is two days later...and I'm still at a loss of words.
    On top of that, it's around 9 am on Tuesday morning. I haven't been to sleep yet and I think I might be dreaming this Blog entry instead of typing it. Who knows...if no one replies then it was all a dream...and since it's all a dream...I might as well tell you all about Sunday night...but then I'm not sure if I'm ready to share this particular bit of information to my loyal READER...this might be something I want to keep to myself for a bit longer.
    Fuck that...I'm embarrassed to tell you...
    You'll make fun of me...I can hear you now...shaking your head as you softly say, "I knew it, that dumb boy couldn't keep from making a dumb decision like this...it was just a matter of time."
    Yeah, you say that behind my back, but do you have the courage to say it to my face!
    Then I'd get mad...we'd get in a fight...then I'd feel bad that I hurt your feelings...and then I would bake cookies...
    Well, I'm out of eggs and the flour isn't that self rising kind...so you can take that attitude of yours and beat it...cause I don't need no one making fun of me...I feel bad enough as it is...god I want to sleep!
    Jason
    PS: Mark is beautiful when he's asleep.
  9. Jason Rimbaud
    My Fiftieth Blog Entry
    So I realized a few days ago, that this would be my fiftieth blog entry here on Awesome Dude. Of course this was after I wrote one of my typical blog entries. And much to my surprise, I was petrified to post this average run-of-the-mill post. Let's face it, my fiftieth blog entry warranted something special.
    So for days I struggled with finding the right topic. I thought I'd come up with something witty, maybe a bit smart, and really funny. But as I stared at the blank screen, I discovered I didn't feel very witty, smart, or funny. So then I thought I might offer up some advice, something so deep that it would change the life of anyone who might read it. But I don't have any advice other than to advise to never wear pink out in public, and that's really not that life-changing for everyone. So I called my friends, polling them for any glimmer of insight they might have to offer. But sadly, I found out they are pretty much as pointless as my left over toenail clippings. Then I danced around with the idea of relaying some past emotional trauma for you but I don't feel like being all deep and vulnerable right now.
    So here I am, my fiftieth blog entry and I've got nothing to say.
    But...I can offer this one admission, an admission so terrifying and so embarrassing just the thought of it causes me to run and hide in the closet and never come out again unless I first change my identity.
    I am really looking forward to the new Harry Potter movie.
    You average Awesome Dude readers might not think this is a very scary admission at all. Truly not scary enough to warrant posting it as my fiftieth. But let me explain this first, so it becomes crystal clear why this admission frightens me so.
    First off, let me say that I've never read a single Harry Potter book. Mostly because I'm not a fan of books starring children, for some reason I can't seem to identify with twelve-year-olds, no matter if I act the part most of the time.
    Nor have I watched a single Harry Potter movie. When asked about Harry Potter, I would roll my eyes and say something along the lines, "How good can it be, it's a childrens book." To be honest, I've been known to vehemently say I would never read, watch, or pursue any avenue that would lead me to Harry Potter or that freaky witch that writes the stories. In my opinion, J.K. Rowling is one step below Satan. I don't care how much money the whore has made.
    So how could I go from hating all these Harry Potter to looking forward to this new Harry Potter movie?
    Let's go back to last week. I had the good fortune of having Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday off, Wednesday being the fourth of July. And while Monday and Tuesday were quite eventful and I'm pretty sure I'll be posting those events in blog entries very soon, Wednesday I had absolutely nothing to do.
    Hanging out with Daniel's family is okay, most of the time, but there are times when I just want to hang out alone and veg. Unfortantly, sometimes Jason alone is not a good thing. Idle hands and such, so when I begin feeling a bit bored, I do what I normally do...I clean my apartment. But that only killed about four hours and two bottles of wine. So I decided to order food from my favorite Chinese Restaurant, in reality I ordered enough food for three people. Once the food was delivered, I settled in front of the TV to eat WAY TO MUCH food and watch some mind-numbing programs on my 60 inch screen.
    Okay, I know the fourth of July is a holiday about the celebration of the independence for our nation. I love America, I really do, but fuck me running backwards, why the hell do they have to play those crappy war movies all day long. I've seen them all, a billion times and I wasn't in the mood for blind patriotism. I wanted a different flavor, so channel surfing became my way of doing something different. And since I have every channel available, going through them is a chore in and of itself.
    Two hundred channels and nothing on right. It's how it always goes. The only movie I was even considering watching was on TCM at two o-clock, Mel Gibson's The Patriot. Looking at my watch, I had about twenty minutes to kill. In my channel surfing, I saw that Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone had just started a few minutes earlier. So on a whim, I switched over, after all, I was all alone in my apartment and I would allow my balls to be ripped from my body by a herd of wild baby elephants before I would ever admit to what I had just done. I had planned on watching it for a few minutes before The Patriot started, no harm, no foul. Right? Okay, yeah, I'll tell myself that.
    Holy Shit! Before I knew it the ending credits were rolling and I was in shock. Not only was it a good movie, but I really, really, really, liked it. So much so, that I got dressed and raced to the local Blockbuster to rent the other three movies. I won't mention that I made a big show of saying to the pimply faced nerd behind the counter that I was renting these stupid movies for my little cousin, so loudly that everyone in line heard me.
    I watched all three movies back to back. And I was sitting on the edge of my seat the whole time. I couldn't believe it, the story drew me and kept me waiting to see how this all played out.
    So my friend, Ann, is a Harry Potter junkie. I mean junkie, she has all the books, signed probably from E-Bay, she owns all the movies and has watched them over and over again. And for years, I gave her a ton of shit about this unhealthy addiction. But once the fourth film finished, I was so excited, I called her up.
    Did you know that Pennsylvania is three hours ahead of California? I did, but for some reason in my excitment I forgot that important piece of information. It was a few minutes after midnight in California, for me, yet for her, it was just after three AM. After she yelled at me for about five minutes, something about waking her up in the middle of the night on a work day, I finally got the chance to tell her about the Harry Potter marathon I had in my apartment.
    Three hours later, we finally hung up. She had twenty minutes to shower and get dressed for work. We talked about the story development, the movie version as opposed to the books, it was a fucking amazing conversation. In those three hours, I learned so much about the world of Harry Potter. I hung up the phone in a daze, and a bit confused why I had for so many years dismissed Harry Potter as mere children's drivel. And I realized that I was a fan.
    At least when it comes to the movies. I still won't buy a single J.K. Rowling book, mostly because of the things I've heard her say in the press and the way she goes after those who writes fanfics about her characters. Fanfics are the truest form of flattery, why the hell she gives a flying nun's fuck is beyond my understanding. Anyway, J.K. Rowling sucks, no matter if they can make good movies from her crappy books. About enough about that crazy whore.
    So now I'm waiting for the new movie. I'll even go see it with all the other wacko's and won't be embarrassed to be seen in the theatre. Mainly because I know I won't be the only fag in the theater who is watching because of Daniel Radcliff. My oh my how he's grown up. And I've been fortunate in that regard, I've watched him grow up in a single afternoon instead of waiting for each new movie like the rest of you.
    So I'll admit it, I'm a fan of Harry Potter. And I should never have said never. Oh well, life goes on.
    Jason R.
    Now if I could only persuade Ann to keep her big fat mouth shut, and not tell all our friends. Like that's going to happen, she probably already sent out a mass email to everyone. Tragic I say, fucking tragic.
  10. Jason Rimbaud
    So I had a single GAY man and his mother come in to the restaurant today. When I saw him walk in the door, I actually paused in mid-step. He was gorgeous. One of the female servers was near me and she made the remark that he was dreamy. I smiled at her and replied, "Don't bother, he plays for my team."
    She asked, "How do you know?"
    I smiled mysteriously at her and said, "Trust me."
    As luck would have it, the man and his mother sat in my section and I ended up serving them. Throughout the dinner, the man and I would do some chit and some chat. Nothing really bad, just some harmless flirting, much to the amusement of the man's mother.
    Once dinner was over, they ordered a dessert and declared that they would share it.
    What I wanted to say was, "Aw, that's sweet."
    But what actually came out of my mouth was, "Aw, that's qweet."
    The man looked at me and flashed a smile, saying, "Did you just say that's qweet?"
    I blushed and nodded my head.
    His mother spoke up, "Qweet, that's sounds like a mix of queer and sweet. What exactly are you accusing my son of being, a sweet queer?"
    Needless to say, I blushed even more and they had a good laugh at my expense.
    I walked away and got the check ready. I placed it on the table after they paid and wished them a good night. I just happened to be standing at the door talking to my manager as they were leaving. My manager, as he inquires of every guest, asked, "How was everything this evening?"
    The mother looked at me and with a big grin, said, "The dinner was wonderful. And the service was lovely."
    My manager, completely unaware of the earlier conversation, looked at me and said, "Jason's one of our best servers."
    The mother replied without missing a beat, "He deserves a raise, not only did he take care of us but he invented a new word for my son."
    They walked out the door as my manager looked at me, a confused look on his face. I shook my head and just walked away.
    So today, I invented a new word. What did you do?
    Jason R.
  13. Jason Rimbaud

    Camera Phones Suck

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    It's around two thirty in the morning, Tuesday morning, and I am at a loss of words.
    I was sleeping, all cozy wrapped up in my favorite comforter dreaming of blonde haired boys with dancing eyes, and right when it was getting to the good part, my phone woke me up. Or rather the noise my phone makes when I get a new text message.
    For a moment, I glance at the table next to the bed and debate whether or not to look at the phone or to try to fall back asleep so i could find out how that nice dream ended.
    But since I rarely get text messages at two thirty in the morning, I decided to reach over and check out the asshole who chased away that sexy blonde from my dreams.
    To make a long story short, or just to try and cope with what just happened, I'll blurt it out and forgo the long winded digressions and rants.
    It was a text message from Mark, remember him, my straight boy crush. Yeah, the message was only four words long, it said, wish you were here.
    Why am I experiencing this loss of words? Because it wasn't what he typed that sent my head spinning, it was what picture he sent that sent me flying out of bed and rushing out to the balcony in my boxers to have a cigarette.
    I won't lie, it was a nice picture. But damn it, I thought this was settled. I'm going insane. I'll never be able to control myself now. Even with the cold night air, I had enough excitement to send him a picture back with this message
    Yeah, so do I.
    Damnit, I fucking hate him.
    I'm going back to bed. Maybe that blonde will return and finish what the bastard started. I can only hope.
    Jason R
  14. Jason Rimbaud

    Weird Night

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    So it's been a weird week. And by weird...I mean down-right fucking insane with a dash of stupidity thrown in to complete the mix.
    So why was it so weird, down-right fucking insane with a dash of stupidity you ask?
    *waits for you to ask*
    All right, don't get pushy, I'll explain.
    First, with my new promotion at work...
    Wait, did I tell you I got promoted at work?
    Well, I did. Three weeks ago, I got promoted to Assistant Manager at my hip up-scale restaurant in Palo Alto, California. Before that promotion, I was promoted to Catering Manager as well.
    So with this new promotion, I've been working about seventy hours a week. I'm in charge of catering sales, so I spend most of my mornings on the phone, or exchanging emails with potential clients. I drive to their house, we discuss the details and the logistics of how they wish to threw the event and then I coordinate with the rental company for any tables, chairs, cutlery, etc etc. After which, I spend a few hours with the Chef discussing the menu, and after we hammer out the details, I call the client back and get their final approval. This takes up the bulk of my day, nine AM to three PM.
    After which, I change from my suit and into my serving clothes, if I'm working in the restaurant that night, and head in to work at PM. Then I work till about eleven or twelve, maybe go out for a drinkie poo before heading home. Once home, I check my mail, reply to all work related messages, perhaps chat for a few online, then hit the sheets to get up around 7am and start the whole damn thing all over again.
    Oh yeah, I love it.
    I know, you're saying that's not that insane at all, but try doing that for a few months, six days a week and the pressure starts to build. Believe me...I know.
    Where was I? That's right, Mark.
    Mark and I have the most ridiculous relationship in the history of ridiculous relationships. I know this for a fact because I did research on the Internet and I'm way out in front of even the most bizarre celebrity relationship.
    We aren't dating, but we spend so much time together we might as well be. He stays over a few nights a week, we have dinner together, we watch movies together, I spend time with his little sister and mother...but we're not dating.
    *rolls eyes*
    It's getting a bit more insane but still not there to qualify my opening sentence. I know, be patient, I'm getting there.
    Am I the only one that has this most treasured trait?
    So last weekend was Pride Weekend here in San Francisco and after weeks of working six days a week and who knows how many hours, factoring in the stress of dealing with my non-relationship with Mark, I was more than ready to blow off a bit of steam. And what better way to "blow" off steam than hanging out in SF with thousands of fellow queers celebrating my culture?
    When I was in my early twenties, I was quite the party animal/monster/slut/insane person and if there was one thing I knew how to do back then, it was to have fun. I did all the drugs, I fucked all the boys, and did so many stupid things I sometimes wonder how I survived it all with nothing but a few scars. I might add all those scars are internal, as I'm still beautiful on the outside.
    This one time, at band camp...guess that movie reference?
    So when I was twenty-two, I lived in Pennsylvania, and spent most of my time in straight bars with straight friends. There were several gay bars there but as none of my friends were gay, I found it was just easier to hang out with them and hit the gay bars after they called it a night. After all, they usually went home around twelve and everyone knows gay boys don't hit the bars till a bit later. It worked out for me.
    Anyway, one night in this bar called, Kokomo's a really cool sports bar, I noticed this hot boy sitting across the bar. It didn't take me long to figure out he was gay, so I did what any gay boy would do, I struck up a conversation with him. It was easy, I already had a few drinkie poos and was feeling pretty invincible. I'm sure you've been there before.
    Now I've been accused of acting pretty straight most of the time so it was no surprise when the boy, Greg, said something to the effect that I was pretty cool for a straight boy. Knowing most gay boys have a fantasy of seducing straight boys, I decided to act out the part. I know, I'm pretty cool like that.
    So I let him believe I was straight, a bit curious but definitely straight. So I pretended to think about it for a long time when he asked if I wanted to go back to his house for one more drinkie poo before shyly agreeing. I remember him being pretty smug as we left the bar and started the ten block trek back to his house.
    After leaving Kokomo's, we had to pass by the block that housed the three local gay bars, a block that was nicknamed the Queer Circle, as the gay boys would visit first one bar, then the other, then the other, before heading back to the first one, making a giant circle of prancing gay boys.
    Anyway, as we approached Queer Circle, I noticed a car drive by with two older guys, and when they passed us, they slowed down and stared before speeding off. We had made it about half way down the block when that same car passed again, slowing down first. Needless to say, they were very appreciative of the two of us.
    I looked at Greg and pointed it out. He laughed and said they thought we were a couple. So I said, "I'm tired of walking, if they come 'round again, let's ask them for a ride."
    He looked a bit dubious, but as they came up again, I flagged them down and walked over to the car before he could say anything.
    The must of been in their late forties, kind of chubby and completely perverts. They asked what we were doing and I said we were going back to Greg's house to get a drink. They asked where it was, and I pointed up the block and asked if they'd give us ride. They discussed it for a moment, and said sure. Greg and I climbed in the back seat.
    The passenger turned around and asked, "How long have you been a couple?"
    Greg laughed and said we weren't a couple and that I was straight. The passenger looked disappointed and turned back around. So being the little devil that I am, I grabbed Greg and pulled him into a kiss, pulling him on top of me in the process. As we sat there making out, the passenger turned back around and started watching, I'm pretty sure his hand was in his pants. The driver had moved the mirror and was looking at us more than the road ahead.
    The passenger groaned when I opened Greg's pants and started touching him. Greg was shocked but definitely happy and went with the flow, I think he got off on the fact that we were doing this in front of two total strangers, I know I was.
    Arriving at Greg's house, the two old men almost begged us to let them come inside and watch. I think Greg might have said yes, but fucking in front of two old pervs wasn't something I wanted to do, so I told them no but thanked them for the ride by burying my face in Greg's crotch.
    I'd call this night a weird, down-right fucking insane with a dash of stupidity night. I jumped in a car with two strangers without ever thinking of what could have happened, I was lucky that nothing happened. And I have more stories just like that, but I was living life and never thought of consequences that might happened.
    And after all these years, I had thought I put all this stupidity behind me.
    But guess what, I had at least one more weird, down-right fucking insane with a dash of stupidity night left in me.
    And that happened to be last Friday night.
    To Mark's credit, when I informed him of my plans to go to SF to partake in the Pride festivities, he voiced his concerns that in that type of environment, I might slip up and "party" with a bunch of strangers. And to translate the term "party", it means to use cocaine.
    I admit it felt nice to have someone care about me, I couldn't help but feel all warm and fuzzy bunny slippers.
    I told him I needed to go out and have some fun, I couldn't handle staying home one more night.
    So he countered by inviting me to this house party a friend of his from school was having to celebrate the end of the semester.
    Believe me, it was difficult to decide between attending Pride with a boatload of queers or hanging out with a bunch of straight frat boys in their early twenties. The deciding factor was that I would be spending time with Mark, even if I had to pretend we weren't having sex three times a week for the last three months and I probably wouldn't have any fun.
    So after work on Friday, after changing at Mark's house, we headed over to this party. Before we walked in the house, Mark said that if I wasn't having any fun, to let him know and we could leave. I thought that was pretty cool, and he didn't even asked me to pretend to be straight.
    Who would've thought that at my age I would have a blast at a party loaded with drunk twenty-year-olds? Not me...that's for sure but that's also exactly what happened.
    And for being an old man with balding hair, I must admit that more than a few of those college chicks were quite taken with me and one even asked if I wanted to go back to her house for some "fun". I declined of course but it did help my self esteem.
    Most of the night, I watched poor Mark dodge this cute little blonde that apparently has been chasing him all year all over campus. If I hadn't a stake in Mark, I would've told him to let the poor girl catch him, she was really cool and completely hysterically funny. But as I do have a stake in Mark, I wanted to kill her or at least push her off the second floor balcony while she was smoking.
    I was a bit surprised how awkward and shy Mark was around these girls. When he was chasing me, he didn't seem shy at all, matter of fact, he was pretty blatant about his intentions. But around these girls, he was clumsy and couldn't seem to find his tongue and when he did, something stupid came out of his mouth.
    It was rather amusing and for most of the night, it kept me quite entertained. That was before Mark decided to have a bit too much to drink. That's when the real fun started.
    Most of you know Mark is a pothead...and he can smoke all day and still function somewhat normally. But give him three or four drinks, and he's all over the place like an idiot. And when Mark gets a bit drunk, he starts to get a bit...touchy to put it mildly.
    And around midnight...I was outside on the balcony having a smoke and Mark stumbled out with this stupid grin on his face. I'm not sure if he saw the other people outside or if he just didn't care, but he walks right up to me and puts his hand on my cheek and says, "Hi you."
    I smiled and said, "Hi."
    "I like you." And then he kisses me, right there in front of everyone.
    What was a boy to do? I kissed him back, pulling him in closer to me.
    After a few moments, he wraps his arms around my waist and looks at everyone with this stupid grin on his face and says, "I'm gay."
    Everyone looked kind of shocked, so I said, "Don't worry, I'm gay too, it's all right."
    And just like that, Mark was mine.
    We left the party a while later, but not before finding out that no one there really cared, except the blonde chick, she was definitely a bit jealous but who cares, I knew if it came down to it I could take her in a fair fight.
    Mark was drunk so I drove home, he didn't want to go back to his house, and I guess I could understand why, so around two or so we ended up back at my apartment.
    You might say, that doesn't seem weird, down-right fucking insane with a dash of stupidity kind of night that would warrant my above comment.
    But that wasn't the end of the night, oh no, not by a long shot.
    The weird part didn't start until we were smack dab in the middle of...err...having some fun in my bed. Mark grabbed my face with both hands, pulled me close and whispered into my lips, "I love you."
    And without thinking, I replied, "I love you too."
    Jason
  15. 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. 
  16. 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
  17. Jason Rimbaud
    Questions We Don?t Ask but Should
    Question One: Ever wonder about those people who spend $6.00 apiece on those tiny bottles of Evian water? Try spelling Evian backwards.
    Question Two: If 4 out of 5 people suffer from diarrhea?does that mean that one actually enjoys it?
    Question Three: If people from Poland are called Poles, then why aren?t people from Holland called Holes?
    Question Four: Do infants enjoy infancy as much as adults enjoy adultery?
    Question Five: If a pig loses its voice, is it disgruntled?
    Question Six: Why do croutons come in airtight packages, aren?t they just stale bread to begin with?
    Question Seven: Why is a person who plays the piano called a pianist, but a person who drives a racecar is not called a racist?
    Question Eight: Why isn?t the number 11 pronounced onety-one?
    Question Nine: If lawyers are disbarred, clergymen defrocked, then what would an electrician, musician, cowboys, models, tree surgeons, and dry cleaners be if they were thrown out of their profession?
    Question Ten: If Fed Ex and UPS were to merge, what would they call it?
    Question Onety-One: Do Lipton Tea employees take coffee breaks?
    Question Twelve: What hair color do they put on the driver?s licenses of bald men?
    Question Thirteen: People tend to read the Bible more often the older they get, are they cramming for their final?
    Question Fourteen: I thought about how mothers feed their babies with tiny little spoons and forks, so I wonder, do Chinese mothers use toothpicks?
    Question Fifteen: Why do they put pictures of criminals up in the Post Office? What are we supposed to do, write them? Why don?t they just put their pictures on the postage stamps, so that the mailmen can look for them while they are delivering the mail?
    Question Sixteen: If it?s true that we are here to help others, then what exactly are the others here for?
    Question Seventeen: Why is it that you never really learn to swear until you learn to drive?
    Question Eighteen: If lightening wouldn?t zigzag, what would the speed be?
    Question Nineteen: Whatever happened to Preparations A through G?
    Question Twenty: Did you ever notice that when you put the two words ?the? and ?IRS? together, it spells ?theirs??
  18. 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.
  19. Jason Rimbaud

    My Resurrection

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    My Resurrection
    A few weeks ago I headed off to the beach for a few days, probably the best idea I?ve had in recent memory. Anyone reading my blog has seen witness of my bouts of depression, my slow recovery from addiction, and the added stress of continuing my therapy with Susan. To say I needed some time away from the chaos of my life to clear the darkness from my soul would be a severe understatement.
    Basically I?ve been feeling like a caged animal, trapped inside myself and slowly going insane in plain view of those that really didn?t give a shit on ?whether I lived or died?. For a time, it seemed to me that as long as I showed up for work and did my job; the people around me were satisfied. It didn?t really matter that I was depressed and anti-social. I smiled at the appropriate time and made the restaurant guests feel welcomed. All other behavior was overlooked.
    I couldn?t then, nor could I now, put the proper descriptive definition on the feelings roaming around my head. And yet, maybe instinctively, I knew if I couldn?t tame the animal that was lurking under the surface of my sobriety, then I would lose the better parts of myself to addiction and sink back into depression.
    And this scared the shit out of me. Because maybe this time, I wouldn?t be able to escape.
    And the fucked up thing about this is it wasn?t until I got away from the noise of my job, the voices of my co-workers, and the deadening silence of my apartment, that I realized just how close I was to the edge. And how drained I truly became by the events of the last few months.
    I found it to be rather easy to ignore the shambles of my life when I was busy dealing with the hundreds of problems that crop up on a day to day basis of working in a hip, up-scale restaurant.
    I could either focus all my energy on the problems of the restaurant, problems I knew could be solved rather quickly, OR, I could waste what little energy I had left and spend hours self analyzing and attempting to tackle the large problems that persisted in my life. What would you do? Yeah, that?s right my friends. I?d thought you say that.
    BEWARE DIGRESSION ALERT
    I think this is probably the deciding factor on why there are just so many workaholics in the world. Maybe I?m not the only one that has discovered this coping mechanism that seems hardwired into our primitive minds. Survival at any cost.
    And while this is something we should all think about, this is not the where nor is this the when to chew the fat and make left-handed supposes on the growing trend of workaholics the world over. So I?ll return you to your regularly scheduled rant.
    END DIGRESSION
    I didn?t do much that Friday I arrived at the beach; I was so mentally and emotionally frazzled I spent most of the whole afternoon on the front porch watching the rain fall into the ocean and losing myself in my I-Pod.
    And as I sat there, the music playing randomly in my ears, my mind started drifting around to long forgotten memories. Poking around into places that I thought we had previously agreed, my mind and I, to leave forgotten and buried forever.
    And as I sifted through the past, I slowly began to realize that I hadn?t been happy in a very long time. This is not to say that I didn?t experience happy moments, let?s face it, over the years I?ve had lots and lots of happy moments. You can?t be a drug addict with a constant hard-on and not have some happy moments. But I recognized and more importantly, understood the difference between ?happy moments? and a genuine feeling of happiness.
    The longer I pondered this, the further back in time I delved. I knew, sometime when, there had to be a period in my life where I was truly happy. I wasn?t always an addict; I had lived for sixteen years before finding solace in the numbness of drugs. And I was determined to find that source of that happiness again.
    But the further back I went, the more I remembered, and the angrier I became.
    Before the age of sixteen I was pretty happy. I had loving parents, and even though they were religious bigots who brainwashed me into a life of fear and self-loathing, they were quite affectionate towards me and I loved them very much despite their beliefs.
    No matter what anyone might say, the ties between families are extremely powerful. Especially between a child and its mother. Think about it, for nine months, you are an extension of your mother. You experience all her emotions, happiness, sadness, the uncertainty of the future, and I bet in some respects you feel the pain and the ecstasy of birth itself. That kind of closeness creates a bond that nothing else you ever experience could ever compare.
    This bond begins as an unconditional love. It?s engrained into the human DNA; a mother?s instinct to protect its offspring. And even though my parents were strict and sometimes quite harsh, I knew/know that they loved me and only wanted the best for me. And as long as I followed the path they laid out for me, their love was unconditional.
    But much to my chagrin, one night I found out that their love had more than a few conditions attached too it. It seemed that the love they gave me hinged on the belief that I was a heterosexual. Because the night my father caught me in the living room giving an older boy a blowjob was the night I lost my home and my world. After that night, unconditional love took on a whole new meaning. Matter of fact, to be completely honest, from that moment on I have always put conditions on love. So you have to excuse me if the notion of unconditional love is a bit tough to swallow.
    Is it any wonder why I turned out the way I did? What was I supposed to do? I was sixteen, I had no money, no place to go, and my only possessions were the clothes on my back.
    I ended up sleeping in a bus station that first night, scared out of my mind and filled with an unholy rage. I was tossed aside for some obscure religious belief, and for a god that I had began to doubt even existed. Because if god did exist, and he really hated me because I liked other boys, than my unholy attraction to other boys was a gift I received from him.
    Read the fucking book, we were created in his image. And if you believe what my parents believe, then it is impossible for god to make mistakes. So?what the fuck was up with me? If it was truly wrong for me to be attracted to other boys, then god must?ve somehow fucked up when he made me in his image.
    BEWARE WORLD?S LONGEST SENTENCE BELOW
    Because, even before I became aware that there was a difference between girls and boys, and that other boys should only like girls, and that girls should only like boys, I was full-on, no denial, looking away wouldn?t change the fact no matter how often you arranged some ?alone time so the two can get to know each other? with the local girl, and forbid me to spend ?alone time? with my best friend, Sean, would I ever choose to hang out with a girl over the sheer pleasure of spending ?alone time? with a him.
    And it didn?t have to be my best friend, Sean, either, who at the time I was completely in love with but that?s definitely another story for another time. I have been that way since before I can remember. I would rather hang out with a boy than spend a moment with a girl. It was simple, plain and true; I was/am attracted to boys.
    I like the way they look, I love the way they feel, I go absolutely crazy by the way they smell. I was/is completely obsessed by just the physical sight of them. Clothed or not, the figure of a boy/man?s body drives me wild to this day. This is the only reality I ever knew, from my earliest memories all the way to the present day, it?s as natural as taking a breath. Did I make a choice? There has never been a choice for me to make. I?ve always liked boys, its simple genetics.
    ANTI-RELIGION RANT
    So when my parents, to be honest it was more my father than my mother at this time, threw me out of the house because I was gay, I immediately placed the blame on the god of my parents religion. After all, it was god?s bible after all, it was his words, and it was his hatred I felt. He was the root of my problem. He made all of humanity, and apparently he didn?t figure into account that some percentage of his creation might be attracted to a member of the same sex. And if he did take into account this ?phenomenon?, and still decreed that such love was an abomination, then I was the lowest form of scum on the planet. It didn?t matter to my parents that I was the scum that god created, because upon finding out I was gay, they had an instant hatred for me. And since god teaches that he destroys those he despised, my parents opted to destroy me. At that time, it didn?t matter if god created fags or not, because I was fucked. And by a god, that at that time, I loved almost whole heartedly. And people wonder why I?m an agnostic.
    END RANT
    In the morning, after I spend the night in a bas station, some guy told me about this shelter that allowed young runaways to stay there on the condition that they help out around the place and attend chapel services at the church that sponsored the shelter. Not having any other option available to me, I embraced this opportunity.
    Though I must admit it was rather difficult to go to the shelter. I had just been tossed out on my ass by my parents and their religion, the last thing I wanted to happen was to give someone else an excuse to exclude me based on something I couldn?t help or control. So upon arriving at the shelter, I kept my sexuality a secret and told several vague lies to disguise the real reason my parents gave me the boot. Though looking back now, I don?t think for a minute I fooled either the volunteers at the shelter or the minister about the real reason I ended up on their doorstep.
    I can also say, looking back, that they were a group of people who truly tried to help those that they came in contact with at the shelter. But at the time, I treated them like they were the enemy. Like they were a part of some grand conspiracy, plotting to destroy me and take advantage of na?ve fags the world over. I was/am forever bitter about religion and the people that believed in religion.
    There was another boy, around my age, who had been living at the shelter for a few months before I arrived. Though he never told me outright, I ?m pretty sure we had more in common than just needing a place to stay.
    It?s always been easy to spot the gay kids. They have an attitude, the way they carry themselves in a crowd that reminds you of a wounded animal quietly freaking out in a life and death kind of way that makes them easy to identify.
    And for whatever reason, most gay kids on the streets become predators as they get older. They find the weakest species on the block, some kid who might be new to the whole I don?t have a family so I now have to live on the street but I still don?t have a clue what the fuck life is about but I?ll trust you because I think you?re cute boy kind of kid, and take advantage of that innocent frame of mind and completely fuck them up.
    I think it might be Mother Nature?s way of coping with these situations that humans aren?t prepared to deal with. Of course it could be just a product of surroundings and circumstances that most youths find themselves facing after expulsion from their home. Much like the only way they know how to control a situation that is completely out of control. Or it could be a way to gain revenge, to make sure someone else?s life is as fucked up as their own.
    Anyway, most runaways/get the fuck out of my house, type kids becomes predators in one form or another. It?s like they become the embodiment of those that first drove them into exile in the first place. Food for thought, but still not the main reason I?m writing this tonight. If you?re still with me, I move on.
    Back to this other kid I met at the shelter, I?m sorry I don?t remember his name. On the second night after my arrival, after we washed and dried the dishes, and right before we were loaded on the bus to attend chapel services, shown me a little plastic baggie filled with white powder asked me if I wanted some insulation to get me through the mandatory chapel attendance. I didn?t know what he was referring too, because at this time, I really was, for all purposes, a complete innocent.
    Drugs were something that my father had warned me about since I was a young child. And looking back on all the things he filled my head with, the only good advice that mother fucker ever gave me was, don?t do drugs. But again, I digress.
    When he realized I didn?t understand, he started laughing at me.
    Now, I?ve been laughed with a lot over the years and I?ve been laughed at as well. This laughter was definitely one of those times when I was being ridiculed because of my naivet?. This was a feeling that I quickly found out I absolutely despised. And even to this day, I refuse to accept anyone laughing at me. I?ve gone to ridiculous lengths and have done some pretty dumb ass stupid shit to make sure that no one laughs at my expense ever again.
    Once regained control of his laughter, he pulled me into the shelter?s bathroom. This was a space that was accessible to anyone who wished to use it, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. So I?m sure you can imagine the smell of stale piss, fresh vomit, and un-flushed shit that permeated the small enclosure. This was the kind of place that even drug addicts would warn others about avoiding.
    Once inside the cesspool of a bathroom, he dragged me into one of the filthy stalls and locked the door behind us. He then pulled a plastic baggy from his pocket and held it up triumphantly, like I was suppose to know what was inside. To the white kid from suburbia, it looked like he crushed up a stick of white chalk. I know, I was pretty stupid back then.
    So I asked how a piece of chalk would insulate me from the attempted brainwashing we soon would be subjected too. And can you believe it, that bastard laughed at me again.
    Once he informed me of the true nature of the white substance nestled so innocently in that plastic bag, he laid out a choice for me.
    HIJIKED THREAD
    To be honest, the best way to get me to do anything; is to make it appear that I have the final say in the outcome of my actions, that I made the choice. It doesn?t really matter what the two choices are, if you pretend to give me an option of deciding my fate, then I will usually do what you wanted me to do in the first place. Just don?t ever tell me what to do, that?s a sure fire way to get me to dig my heels in and let my stubborn streak rear it?s ugly head. Just something for those to think about that might have ambitions of controlling my actions. I know I should delve deeper into this weakness but this is not the entry for discussing the inner workings of my mind and I?ve rambled on long enough already and still haven?t gotten around to explaining the reason I began writing this blog entry in the first place.
    RETURNING TO NORMAL BLOG ENTRY
    Okay, what was this choice he laid out in front of me?
    I could attend the chapel service and buy into the concept of an all-knowing, all-seeing, judgmental god that will hold me accountable for my every action with an unwavering solidarity to the rules as laid out in the Biblical text, OR, I could snort a few lines of cocaine and put my trust into the hands of fate and let chance decide the cards that would be dealt for me to play in this game called life.
    Fuck it, what can I say? He was cute. He was a dangerous boy that lived by a philosophy that went against every single thing I was ever taught by my parents. And for a moment, as brief as that moment was, I was scared that this cute boy would lead me directly to hell.
    But then I remembered my father, and the way he threw me aside for a god he?s never seen all because a man stood in front of a church and told him to hate people like me. At that moment, joining in something that might send me to hell was pretty damn tempting. If god hated me simply because I was gay, then I didn?t want to go to heaven anyway. That was the day, the very moment, I walked away from the religion I was raised to believe.
    And the more I thought about that first time doing drugs, the more bitterness I began to feel. The more anger that slowly started consuming me. I was a product of my past, I had lived a life that I never choose. It all began when my father turned his back on me.
    And there, sitting on the front porch of that beach house, I felt like no matter what I did, I could never escape the demons that haunted me. I?ve tried again and again to remain sober. I?ve spent countless hours and countless dollars trying to erase the depression that stalks me. And I?ve failed each and every time.
    There was no way a faggot like me could ever have a chance at living a normal life.
    I was filled with rage, bitterness, and an overwhelming desire to get as high as I could possibly get. I almost ran into the house, with the full intention of grabbing my shit and driving back to Redwood City where I knew I could score some pure coke. If I was going to be trapped in this shit, then I was going to be as numb as possible.
    But something happened as I stalked into the house. Up to that point, the music blasting in my ears was background noise. I had been sitting on that porch for three hours and I couldn?t tell you a single song that had played. Until that moment, then my mind focused on the song and I understood the words I heard.
    I had listened to that particular song probably fifty times over the course of this year. I liked the song, but I don?t think I really heard what the lyrics were really saying until that moment. The clarity that washed over me was staggering. And all the anger and bitterness that was so consuming a moment before melted away, slipping from me like a bad dream, fading into that part of my mind where all nightmares are banished.
    I spent the next hour walking along the beach, the rain pouring down on me, just letting the cleansing flood wash me clean. And as the sun set, as I peered into the fading light, I couldn?t help but think I was watching my past slip into oblivion.
    Because that?s all the past is, a string of events that happened. My past certainly shaped the man I am today, but it doesn?t dictate my future. The future is wide open, a new page that only I could write, but still a fresh parchment. I couldn?t control my past but I can control my future by changing my present.
    For the first time in my life, my past is just that, the past. To have a future I can?t dwell on those memories anymore. And so my present is looking pretty fucking bright.
    The last time I thought about using cocaine was that time at the beach. It?s almost like I put my addictions to rest that night. This might change in the future, but somehow I think my present doesn?t allow for those feelings to exist here. Either way, I feel like I have a real chance to become the man I see in my dreams. Cheers.
    Jason R.

  20. Jason Rimbaud
    Wonder Boy, Edward Forty-Hands, and a Perfect Penis
    By: Jason R.
    So let?s start at the beginning, mainly because I really don?t know the ending as of yet. Plus, the beginning is way more interesting to write about. Though I guess I could start at the end and work my way backwards, then all the drama would be pointless and I?d seem like a winey bitch. And honestly, who likes winey little bitches?
    Des, put your hand down. I wasn?t speaking to you as of yet. Now if your better half raises his hand, then that?s a different story all together.
    Now would be the time for all you to say, STOP DIGRESSING. Then I would deny it and move on. Shall we, I know you have to be a bit curious on where I?m going with this post, wonder who with how many hands and a perfect penis, what?
    Wonder Boy
    Okay, it started last Friday night when I stopped in at Applebee?s for a beer after work. Applebee?s is not a place I would normally frequent but it?s one of the only bars still open in Redwood City after I leave my wonderful hip up-scale restaurant in Palo Alto. And I know they have Fosters Beer on tap. Fosters is a beer that I would gladly punch a baby, several babies in a row, just for the possibility of maybe getting one to drink from a toothless hag with saggy tits and acne. And they serve them in a 23 ounce glass. Heaven on earth, I think so.
    So as I walk into Applebee?s I mentally check myself, how?s my hair, how?s my breath, how?s my ass look in these work pants, you know all the important questions.
    I?d been working all day so I know I must smell of food, alcohol, cigarettes, and sweat. I put some cologne on once in my car but not even my expensive designer cologne can truly hide the nasty smell I know I ooze from every pore. But that doesn?t stop me from sitting down next to one of the prettiest girls I?ve seen in?well?a long time.
    I derive great pleasure from hitting on girls, I can?t truly explain it, but there it is. I flirt, buy them drinks, dance my ass off with them, and then once I know they?re interested, I smile and say, ?Sorry, I?m gay.? Reading that back, I?m kind of a dick. Where was I?
    I sit down next to this chick, and look around the bar area of Applebee?s. At the moment, I don?t see the bartender, so I immediately strike up a conversation with the girl. After a few minutes, out of the corner of my eye, I see the bartender walking towards me. When he?s in front of me, I say without really looking, ?Can I have a Foster?s, tall please??
    The answer caught my attention, well not the answer as much as the voice I heard that gave the very generic answer. Truthfully, I don?t know what he said, but I can still hear his voice.
    I know for a fact that I could never find the words in my limited vocabulary to accurately describe the tone, the richness of his voice, or the way it was so infectious I couldn?t help but smile. So I won?t, why embarrass myself anyway?
    He was slim, his build much like a swimmer?s tone body, pale skin that had hints of natural darkness, his hair was streaked with blonde highlights, shoulder length and pulled back into a loose ponytail. He had high cheekbones, classical features that spoke of Asian heritage with dark chocolate eyes that mirrored his every emotion plainly for the world to see. He was beautiful, and I don?t use that term lightly or frivolously.
    Later on that night I would come to understand his rather bizarre attire which comprised of skin tight black linen pants, a plain black T-shirt that hugged his lithe form in all the right places. What?s so bizarre about that? To top off the ensemble and to make it bizarre, he wore a bright red belt and matching suspenders. And on the right side of his chest he wore a nametag that read in plain white letters, Wonder Boy.
    I saw all this in a single glance because the moment our eyes met my heart started beating faster and for a long minute we stood there, gazing into one another?s eyes.
    Finally I spoke, ?Are you really a wonder boy??
    He laughed and replied immediately with a mischievous grin, ?That?s what they say.? He turns around to walk over to the beer tap system. But over his shoulder he calls out, ?If you?re lucky you might found out someday.?
    After that I pretty much forgot about the hot chick sitting next to me. All my attention was focused on Wonder Boy. I ordered some food, had a few more beers, turned on the charm and tried anything I could think of to keep that seductive smile on his face.
    Wonder Boy and I chatted as much as we could in between the constant interruption the other patrons caused. I mean, what a bunch of assholes. If I saw one of them hitting it off with a chick I wouldn?t interrupt them, they should?ve had the same courtesy. And seriously, the way they were talking to the hot chick next to me, the last thing they needed was another drink.
    It seemed my time with Wonder Boy was destined to end all too soon, because a few minutes before twelve, he asked me if I wanted anything for last call. I?m not sure if he saw the disappointment on my face, or if he was as sad as I at the thought of the nights end, but once the rest of the patrons had left and the other employees were busy doing the closing jobs, he leans over and asks in a breathless voice, ?What are you doing later??
    I shrug, trying my best to play it cool, and say, ?Going home to my empty apartment.? Just my way of letting Wonder Boy know I am single and that I also live alone.
    What, like you don?t do that?
    He smiles at my answer, and asks really fast, his words jumbled together in what I hoped was a mixture of excitement and desire, ?Do you want to go to a party with me??
    I made sure my face remained neutral, though I was screaming the word yes inside. I asked, ?Where??
    His face lights up with a smile, he replied in that voice that first caught my attention, my pulse quickened as he said, ?Here in Redwood City, a friend of mine is having a birthday party. She just turned twenty-one.?
    I immediately say, ?Sure. But??
    ?What?? he asks, the smile slipping from his face.
    I grab the front of my work shirt, and say, ?I?m not dressed for a party.?
    ?You look fine to me.?
    I don?t know where it came from but I blushed, I guess hearing him say I looked fine did funny things to me. I shook off that feeling and said, ?Thanks, but I really stink from work. I need to change.?
    He asked, ?Where do you live??
    I told him, and the smile returned to his face. He exclaimed, ?I know where that is, that?s like right down the street. I have a few things to do here still, why don?t you go and change and I can meet you at your apartment building in like twenty minutes.?
    That was the smartest thing I ever heard. I reach for my wallet and say, ?Brilliant.?
    You might not believe me, but I really did say brilliant. And no I?m not British, it?s just sometimes when I get excited I tend to lapse into this horrible English accent. I can?t explain it, it just happens okay. Get off my ass.
    I say, ?Brilliant.? And reach for my wallet. I add, ?Can I get the check??
    Wonder Boy looks around, I guess to make sure his manager is no where to be found and says, ?Don?t worry about it.?
    I ask, frowning, ?Are you sure??
    He laughs, raspy and low, and winks at me. I smile and hand him a twenty, ?Here?s the tip then.?
    He grabs my phone from the bar and dials a number, a few seconds later his phone starts ringing. ?When I?m out front of your building I?ll call you.?
    Before I can stop myself, I say, ?You better.?
    ?Promise.?
    I leave the restaurant with a big smile on my face and lyrics from the song by Tenacious D called Wonder Boy ringing in my head.
    ?Wonder Boy, what is the secret to your power?
    Wonder Boy won?t you take me far away from the mucky muck man?
    Yeah, I know a bit cheesy but what can I say, it?s the truth.
    Once I got home, I rushed into the elevator, unbuttoning my shirt and untying my shoes as the small box takes me to the third floor. Once inside my apartment, I quickly shed my clothes and jump in the shower. Not having much time, I hit all the important places quickly and wash my hair.
    With my hair still dripping wet, I throw on a pair of boxers followed by black jeans and a tight green shirt that has a single word printed on the front in white letters, GEEK. I slipped on a pair of trainers and was in the middle of taming my hair when my phone rang.
    I answered; somewhat breathlessly if you must know, and Wonder Boy?s euphoric voice once again filled my head.
    He says, ?Are you ready??
    I look in the mirror and shake my head, ?No yet. Almost.?
    For a moment, there is silence, then he says, ?Why don?t you buzz me up??
    Again, I?m amazed by the good ideas that seem to flow out of this boy; truly he might be a wonder after all. Jesus Christ, that sentence is beyond stupid, sorry.
    So I hit the number 9 on my cell phone, which sends a signal to the front door that unlocks it, and say, ?312, once out of the elevator, take a right.?
    ?See you soon.?
    Suddenly I panic, my bathroom floor is littered with my discarded clothing, dirty undies not withstanding, not a good first impression I would want to make. With my hands covered in product, I grab the clothes and rush into my bedroom closet and shove them inside the hamper. I was in such a great haste, I never bothered to separate the clothes, nor did I open the closet door all the way, so when I bent to put the clothes in the hamper, I smacked my head against the closet door.
    I don?t think you got the full impact of this action, so I will repeat it. I smacked my head against the closet door. Oh and incidentally, my closet door is one of those sliding mirrored doors, which I like, it opens up my bedroom while at the same time gives me a panoramic view during sex. At least I admit it, mirrors rock.
    Moving on, so when I say I smacked my head against the closet door, I hit the door so hard it actually broke the mirror. And it made me more than a bit dizzy so I fell down. I was there on the floor when I heard the doorbell ring.
    So I jumped up, and headed down the stairs. But I was still groggy from the blow to the head and lost my balance and fell about half-way down hurting my left ankle in the process. After a few moments, the doorbell rings again.
    ?Shit.? I scream out. I don?t want Wonder Boy to think I gave him the wrong apartment number or that I?m standing him up. So I get up and hobble over to the door as fast as I can. Once I arrive at the door, I take a deep breath and try to compose myself. But my head still hurts and my ankle keeps switching back and forth between fire and ice. I open the door, with what I?m sure is a look of pain on my face.
    Wonder Boy is standing there, that smile on his face, and again my heart starts to race. But as soon as Wonder Boy looks at me, his smile disappears and a look of concern settles on his face. Suddenly I feel something wet drip into my eye. I brush it away with the back of my hand and to my horror I see that its blood.
    End Part One
  21. Jason Rimbaud
    I've been thinking of deleting my Blog.
    I just don't feel like writing entries any more. It's like when you suddenly realize you don't need therapy anymore. It's just a waste of money and time if you continue seeing the therapist.
    Not that writing these little entries are therapeutic for anyone but myself, though I think I've kept a few of you entertained with my little stories, I think it might be time to retire.
    Much like my poetry, I'm just sick of always writing about myself. I want to focus on story telling, write some good fiction, dust off my imagination and follow wherever it goes.
    (I'll just ignore the fact that I'm writing this even while saying I'm sick of writing about myself)
    What is the purpose of a Blog? To give readers insight into other's lives? Is this somehow enabling the voyeur inside of us?
    Hell, my life isn't more interesting than anyone else's, we all have stories to tell. I don't know...I seem to be rambling about nothing.
    I do have a few things on my mind though. A few weeks ago, through my own stupidity, I think I hurt/pissed off someone I've really come to respect as a person and even considered a friend. This happened here, at Awesome Dude, and it's been weighing heavily on my mind ever since. We all make stupid comments at times, and we all look at the world differently. I never wanted to hurt this person, though I know I did and even apologized for my actions. But I don't know if my words were heard.
    This isn't why I'm thinking about deleting my Blog, just something kicking around my thoughts.
    There has been a few incidents over the last few months, here at Awesome Dude, that have left me rather confused. Mainly because I don't understand why people are getting upset because of someone else's opinions, thoughts, or naivet?. I've always believed that the only way I can be offended by someone else's words, is if I allow those words to offend me. If someone says something that I disagree with, I discount those words and move on. If those words are coming from someone a few years younger than myself, than I shrug and forget it, knowing that with time and experience, that person's views will change as he matures and grows.
    I think we have forgotten what it was like to be young and filled with an unshakable sense that we know everything. At least I felt that way when I was young. And with time, I now realize just how stupid I really was back in the day.
    I don't know, something seems to be missing lately. It's not the arguing on the forums, or the difference in opinion, those I find entertaining, this is something else. I feel like I've become disconnected with Awesome Dude. Much like I felt with Gay Authors, though to be truthful, I don't think I ever gave GA a real chance. Maybe it was being a small fish in a large pond, or maybe because GA is a bit clickish. Yet I could say the same thing here at Awesome Dude. But is it really being clickish if only a small group actually participate while the rest sits back and lurks?
    With every group of friends, over time they develop certain jokes, behaviors that a new person might not understand at first. This isn't being clickish, just familiarity. Being clickish is only if a group of people refuse to include others and I don't think Awesome Dude has that problem. Neither does GA in my opinion.
    What does this have to do with anything? I don't know.
    I still feel like deleting my Blog, I'm still a bit confused why I feel disconnected here at Awesome Dude, and I don't know what to do about Mark.
    Mark, the bane of my happiness it seems. How can a reasonably intelligent man, like myself, fail to disassociate himself from a bad relationship? It's not bad as in violent, it's just bad as in he can't figure out what the fuck he wants and i can't figure out why the fuck I allow him to remain in my life. Believe me, it's not just about the sex, it's great, and it's not because I don't want to be alone, I don't, there is something about this man that drives me completely and utterly insane. Is this what love feels like?
    If I do delete this Blog, I'll probably regret it. There are times I love rambling on about nonsense shit. I like the fact that people like to read my nonsense shit. What I don't like about it, it's all about me. Maybe if I could write about someone else, then it wouldn't seem like such a chore. But then I'd probably get jealous that someone else was getting all the attention.
    It's been a while since I had vacation, and I'm started to feel a bit thin. With my new promotion, my faltering relationship, and my several relapses, I feel a bit fragile. If I can't handle the stress now, how can I hope to maintain my sobriety after the new restaurant opens?
    It's Father's Day, and boy do I have a few things to say about that prick. I hope you're burning in hell you piece of shit rat bastard.
    Moving on...
    Mark left a few hours ago, we talked and had a bit of fun in the bed. I don't feel dirty though I do feel a bit used. I wonder how Mark feels right now? Sometimes I forget the twenty years of brainwashing he has to suffer through just being with me. I've forgotten the self loathing that must be battering his mind even as his lust burns in his veins. Maybe we both do deserve each other.
    Jason
  23. Jason Rimbaud

    ?????

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    I wonder, at this moment in my life, if I should care about anything.
    I have this feeling, a feeling that rips me up inside, if I should even bother with trying to be a human.
    The only thing I can say, at this present moment, is I don't care about anything. Anyone?
    Life is too hard sometimes. Too the point where I wonder why I bother trying to make it fluffy white bunny clouds. Life sucks, existing sucks. I don't want to end it, but why should I bother to give a fuck? Pretending that it's okay is pointless. At the end of the day, there is only one being in bed with me. And right now, "ME" thinks life sucks. Fuck it, it's almost been a year, maybe it should all go away.
    Jason R. should go the way of the dodo. Maybe I should end it with a whimper? Or maybe I should grow a pair of balls and let everyone know my name. Admit the truth, let the world know the one behind it all.
    I hate feeling this way, I hate being ashamed. I hate everything.
    Fuck it. It's been a year, the charade should stop.
  24. Jason Rimbaud
    The One Where I Throw Up on the Screen
    I feel sick, diseased and lifeless. I saw the darkest parts of myself today, struggled long after the hope of changing had faded. I'm dirty and need a shower. Have you fucked someone for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive?
    I washed the sheets today, they were stained and filled with memories I'd rather forget. His name was Alex. I met him at Nola's last night after work. He was a tall skinny brunet with a lopsided grin. In a bar filled with two-baggers, he was the only one I'd fuck with the lights on. It was pathetic, awkward, and un-fulfilling. A coupling where you really want to cum as fast as possible just so it would be over. Have you ever fucked someone for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive?
    His breath smelled of un-washed ass, even after I made him rinse out with Mouthwash. A putrid smell I swear I can still smell on my dick, hours after I bid him adieu. But I needed a dumpster, a stranger, someone I would never have to see again. Release is primal, and jerking off only takes you so far. Have you ever fucked someone for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive?
    I saw stains on my carpet, I wonder if Resolve will truly resolve them? Alex was cute, tall and gangly but with way to much body hair. I've seen less hair in 70's porno movies. What kind of homo lets his situation roam free and out of control? It's 2007 for christ sakes, trim up that bush people. Alex couldn't have weighed more than 140 pounds, and stood at least six foot three. I had fears of breaking him in half, though they faded as primal urge took over. When he stripped off his clothes, I admit I was a bit surprised. A monster cock fell out of his boxers, and though I know cocks look bigger on skinny guys, his dick was HUGE. I must admit I found his monster cock quite amusing, as he was a total bottom. This makes me kind of believe in god. Only the twisted god of the christians would have the sense of humor to give a total bottom like Alex such a monster cock. Have you ever fucked someone for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive?
    Fucking Alex was like fucking a box of ice, cold and slightly numbing. The noises he made were all wrong, and in the wrong places and time. I thought at first he was going through the motions, but his cock was hard the entire time. I don't think he came, though sex was never about him in the first place. Have you ever fucked someone for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive?
    I washed my sheets today, three times. I think they might still be dirty, or maybe it's just the grime I sense in my self. His name was Alex, and he told me he was just out of two month long relationship with his straight best friend. Why is it gay boys always crush on their straight best friends? Again my belief in god doubles. At Nola's, he told me he was tired of jerking off and sleeping alone. All he wanted was some human contact. Have you ever fucked someone for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive?
    I scrubbed my carpets this morning, early, right after I told him to leave my apartment. I can still see the look on his face, a sad look of quiet acceptance. It was heartbreaking, to see someone so broken, hints of tears in his blue eyes as he quickly got dressed. He is still young, young enough to have delusions about true love and lasting commitments. In his time spent in my bed, I think I might have jaded him, tarnished his golden armour. Set him on the path to be another jaded fag, just like me. Have you ever fucked someone for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive?
    His name was Alex and he was beautiful. His hair smelled of honey and mixed berries, I can still smell his Tommy cologne. And his breath didn't smell like un-washed ass, more of beer and cigarettes. A mixture that usually drives me wild. Young and filled with life, Alex was a tiger in the bed. The sex was primal and filled with passion and sweat. Innocence smells sweeter before you fuck, afterwards it smells of guilt and self-loathing. Have you ever fucked someone for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive?
    I washed myself four times today, I still feel dirty though. Scrubbing the stains away in my carpet was something I could control. Elbow grease works, my carpet is now again spotless. Just like my shower, the fourth time I showered I spent most of the time cleaning it. My skin smells of 409 Bathroom and Tile Cleaner. My toes and hands are wrinkled, I don't think I'll ever get clean again.
    Have you ever fucked someone for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive?
    Have you ever just fucked someone over?
    Have you...
  25. Jason Rimbaud
    If there's anything I hate today, I would have to say girls, text messaging, and close-minded bigots that hold on to the Bible like a drowning man holds on to a life preserver in a storm-swept ocean.
    How the fuck does that affect what happened between Mark and I last week, my reader might ask?
    It's good that you ask, because I'm about to explain it to you in my usual round-about meandering way.
    So last we peeked into my life, I was having trouble with a certain nerdy gay boy that wished to seduce me in the worst kind of way. We also found out that Mark and I had decided to keep our relationship on the down-low for a few different reasons.
    Since that time, so many things has transpired I've been playing catch-up all week just to comprehend the life changing events of a single incident.
    I've always found it simply amazing how one tiny event can snowball into a gigantic cluster-fuck of situations, sweeping up all those connected into swirling mess of shit.
    It's not fair, not to me, not to Mark, and not to you, my faithful reader.
    Since I don't have a lot of time to explain, I must go to work in an hour, and my usual taking three or four hour's to construct entries just won't work today. So I'll move fast.
    Remember that little party Mark and I attended a few weeks ago, the one where he decided to kiss me in front of a few people?
    You do, that's good, this will make things all the more easier. (For those of you that have no clue what I'm referring too, just go back a few entries and you'll have the chance to catch up. It's Okay, I'll wait.)
    After that party, our relationship solidified and we existed, more or less, in a state of bliss, domestic, sexual, and any other kind of bliss you might imagine.
    It seems, one of the attendee's of that party, is a casual acquaintance of Mark's ex-girlfriend, you remember her don't you, the cum-dumster, blow-up doll, arm-candy chick? Well, this casual acquaintance wanted to improve his status by becoming a bit closer than just casual acquaintance, so he told her about the events that night, I'm sure with no other motive than trying to get into her pants.
    Needless to say, she did not take that news well. Matter of fact, she took it as a personal affront to her femininity and decided to call Mark's mother and spill the news that her only son was a faggot. And since she knew what Mark's mother thought of me, she probably danced around her apartment in glee knowing the mess of shit she was starting by relaying this information to a woman who wants nothing more than to have as many grandchildren as Mark's poor balls could produce.
    Earlier that day, at work, Mark and I had discussed that party, somewhat ironically now that I think about it, and how it felt good to show his affection in front of people he considered friends.
    Oh, one of his closet friends was a bit upset, not because Mark was gay, matter of fact this friend's mother is gay, no he was more upset that Mark hadn't trusted him enough to tell him sooner. This small bump was smoothed over rather quickly, and Mark was flying high, so to speak.
    Apparently, after Mark arrived home from work, his mother was waiting for him, crying of course. Mark hasn't really given me all the details, and even if he did, I don't think I would share them here, but to make this long story short, Mark ended up at my house, drunk and high off his ass, crying like a baby, and pretty much destroyed.
    Discovering one's son is gay must be a difficult thing to accept for a Mother, a Christian mother, even though I believe she's had her suspicions, making those supposes into reality must be hard.
    She was pissed, heartbroken, angry, concerned for his well-being, loving, accepting in her way, and generally confused and falling apart.
    So Mark had been staying with me since last week, they talk on the phone every day, and I believe they love each other way to much for this to drive them apart, but I did agree that the best thing for everyone involved was to give them a bit of space to adjust to this new bit of information. And quite happily, they have managed to restructure their relationship, and last night, Mark went home for the first time in a week.
    This made me quite happy, I'm used to living alone, and though I believe I love Mark, neither one of us are ready to move in together just yet. Plus, being such a mommas boy, this rift was slowly destroying him. I'm sure they have a long road to walk down but they both are trying and I have high hopes.
    A few days after his mother found out, Mark and I were at work when one of the servers suddenly asked why Mark was wearing one of my necklace's. This was a piece that he saw in my jewelry box and basically claimed it for his own. He said he wanted it to feel closer to me when I wasnt around. He hasn't take it off since, and it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy bunny slippers.
    Before I could say anything, Mark put his arm around my shoulders, and said, and I quote, "Because we're fucking." And he kissed my cheek.
    Somewhat surprising for me, everyone was completely shocked, I didn't realize how good we had become at hiding our feelings. Congrats were thrown around like they were free, and almost everyone told me how happy they were that I finally found a great guy to have. This made Mark's day, he was beaming like a kid at Christmas who just got his new shiny bike.
    So the nerdy gay server was a bit un-happy but he'll get over it, after all, he didn't even know me, though he glares at Mark's back when he thinks no one is looking. He'll come around, everyone loves Mark, he's too likable for the nerdy gay to remain jealous.
    So for once, my life seems to be ending on a good note. I can finally let the world know that I'm dating a guy that I really like, Mark says the stress he felt seems to be slipping away, I guess he didn't realize how much energy it took to have a secret life. He still smokes pot, but not everyday, which I'm thinking will slowly disappear the more comfortable he becomes in his new skin.
    My boss was a bit worried at first, but when I told him that Mark and I have been dancing around this relationship for almost a year and assured him that it wouldn't affect my job performance as Mark's boss, he gave me his blessing.
    It seems my boss was the only one that figured out Mark and I had been playing around. I guess it's true what they that you can't fool all the people all the time.
    Jason
    PS: My comment about text-messaging and close-minded bigots was just to throw you off the scent. But I meant what I said about girls, who fucking needs them.

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