Jason Rimbaud

A New and Improved Blog Experience Brought to you by the one and only Jason Rimbaud The other day or maybe it was the other week, life has a habit of going by faster than the speed of light and sometimes I feel like I’m being left behind, I was at work and all I could think about was grubbing on some 4 Alarm Hot Wings from my favorite place in the world, SmokeEaters, in downtown San Jose. For those of you that watch the Food Network Channel, and more importantly, Man Vs Food Nation, you might have watched the episode where SmokeEaters was featured due to their “world” famous Hot Wing Challenge. If you did watch that episode, then you’ll also know that Man defeated Food in a big way. But that really has nothing to do with this new and improved Blog experience I’m bringing you on this day so I’ll continue on my fairy way. Well, I will say, briefly, that if you live in the San Francisco Bay Area and enjoy a good hot wing experience then I urge you to go to San Jose’s SmokeEaters and try them out. Tell them Jason sent you. Though to be truthful, that won’t really do you any good as I have absolutely no pull whatsoever there but maybe if enough people go there saying my name I’ll get a discount. Or better yet, maybe because I’m doing all this “free” advertising they’ll give me free wings for life or something like that. Two years ago when I first started my new job in San Francisco, the very first person I hired was a twenty-three year old kid fresh out of culinary school. He was from a wealthy family and much to their chagrin; he was dead set on becoming a Chef with a dream of one day having his own restaurant. He was fresh from school and had zero experience but I saw something in him I liked so I took a chance. Now before you say that I hired him based solely on his nerd star looks…I want to set the record straight right now and say that I hired him half on his looks and half on my gut feeling. And over the last two years, my gut proved me right once again and he’s turning into a talented line cook and a future that looks mighty promising. I’ll forgo the fact that a few months ago he quit to take a better job with a greater chance at advancement but that’s how life in the service industry goes, you stay only long enough to learn everything you can before moving on to bigger and better things. Six months into his tenure, he started dating one of my hostesses. I know it’s never a good idea to date someone where you work but I couldn’t tell him or her that and I knew they’d have to figure that out on their own. So I set back and waited for the inevitable clusterfuck that was sure to ensue. For more than a while things between the two of them were proceeding at somewhat of a boring pace and if I were to be truthful, they lasted way longer than I ever thought they would. But once he left our restaurant to pursue his new opportunity with one of his old teachers from culinary school, things started heading south quickly. And much to my dismay, she feels like I’m the one person at work she can trust enough to tell her relationship woes too. I know more about their relationship then I’d care to and some of it is quite disturbing in a dysfunctional kind of way. Oh really, what’s so disturbing about it, you might ask. For an instance, they had a three-some with one of the other line cooks after a hard nights drinking. Apparently one of her turn-ons is to watch two dudes getting it on. Though on the other side of that coin, one of her turn-off’s is coming home from work early and catching her boyfriend and this same line cook in bed without her. I guess it’s only sexy if she’s there to watch and I guess participate in some way. Though I must admit I’d be pretty pissed if I came home and saw my boyfriend on his back with his legs in the air screaming out, ‘fuck me, fuck me harder you son of a bitch’. But then I might join in, it all depends on my frame of mind on that day. So I’m busy at work, busy running around in my new shoes that aren’t quite broken in as of yet and starvin like a marvin. For ten hours straight all I can think or focus on is leaving my restaurant and rushing down to SmokeEaters in San Jose to purchase my favorite flavor 4 Alarm Hot Wings. Of course I pretend to pay attention to the eight hundred guests I saw that day. You bet your ass I pretend to care about my employee’s and their numerous personal problems that always seem to crop throughout any given day at our very busy eating establishment in downtown San Francisco. But it’s all a show, my mind is firmly fixated on that burning sensation that is the only thing that can calm the ache that I harbor deep down my insides. If the above paragraph seems like a cry for help for a very unhealthy addiction…it’s not. I am fully aware that 4 Alarm Hot Wings from SmokeEaters isn’t necessarily the healthiest of choices when it comes to nutrition but none of that matters. I fully realize that I have this addiction and I actually control it through moderation. This practice of moderation is why I am so fixated on 4 Alarm Hot Wings from SmokeEaters on this particular day. At the time of this writing, it had been over two weeks since I had last indulged my addiction and I was starting to get the itch. I’m not quite to the point where I’ll blow some random stranger to get the time to head towards San Jose but I am at the place where I’ll give a Handy J to some random stranger to get the time to go to San Jose. Don’t judge me until you ate a million 4 Alarm Hot Wings in my shoes! I have been working more than a few hours over the last few weeks, though to be truthful; it’s been over a month since I started writing this Blog Entry. And even now I’m sitting at a bar in the beautiful Luxor Casino in Vegas drinking Absinthe and wondering why I’m sitting alone typing on my laptop. It’s 11:00 pm on Thanksgiving Eve and I’m feeling particularly lonely. Maybe it’s because I found one of my ex-friends on FaceBook earlier today and I realized I missed him. Or maybe it’s because I’ve been connecting less and less with real people and withdrawing behind the walls I’ve created over the years. But enough of my pity party, let’s resume the Blog. Let’s go back a few weeks. A day that I had decided the time was right to drive the forty minutes to San Jose for several reasons. Reason One: we had no late reservations so I figured that I’d leave San Francisco around 10:30PM giving me over an hour and half before SmokeEaters closed. And that was more than enough time to get there and back to my apartment at a decant time before going to bed. Reason Two: we have a new Chef and he swears by all that is holy that if I get him some of the 4 Alarm sauce he’ll be able to reproduce it so I can it so I can make it myself alleviating the need to drive to San Jose twice a month. And Reason Three (and probably the most important): I’m a full blown junkie and I needed my fix. And this is where things get fucked…because I only wanted my 4 Alarm Hot Wings but from the very beginning anything that could go wrong started to go wrong. A couple who were on a first blind date just would not take the hint that we were closed and I had to practically pick them up by the scruff of their necks and throw them out into the street much like you would a cat. And my bartender, beautiful but not very bright, somehow entered the wrong amount for one of his transactions that took me almost an hour to find and correct. Small unrelated instances but I didn’t get to leave the restaurant until 11:25PM. By this time I’m frustrated at all straight people and yes, I was judging the whole based on a few, pissed off at my bartender for not taking the time to enter the numbers correctly and seriously thinking that I’d blow Satan himself if there was a way to go back in time so I could go to SmokeEaters in San Jose. I arrive at my car at 11:30PM and start the engine. I am at war with myself as I stare into the mirror. Should I point my car south and drive like a bat out of hell or should I admit defeat and make plans to go to SmokeEaters in San Jose another time? I know the next day’s reservations are such that leaving before midnight is a pipe dream that only a Republican could believe. So the question is; should I wait three more days to head out at a leisurely pace on my next day off and really take the time to enjoy my 4 Alarm Hot Wings from SmokeEaters? I pointed my car south and floored the fucking thing. Over the course of my life, I’ve had numerous liaisons with guys that their first names start with the letter J. I don’t know if there is significance or just un-luck. But remember that guy I hired right out of Culinary School, his name was James. And since his girlfriend, my hostess, caught him getting fucked in the ass he is now newly single. And a few weeks ago (as of right now it’s been six weeks) I met him out for a few drinks after work. It started out harmless enough, he was bitching about losing his girl and yet excited about the new possibilities of exploring his newfound “bisexualism”. Apparently, with the exception of some mutual wanking in his youth, that was his first time with a guy. And newsflash, he loved it. Normally I’m a very defensive driver; I give others the right of way, I use my blinkers, I never tailgate and I always drive the speed limit. So I figured I was due for some more aggressive style of driving than usual. And since I always respect the law of the road, what are the odds of me getting caught driving like some kind of lunatic on a werewolf bender? Anybody care to give me the odds on this thinking? Anyone, anyone, Bueller, Bueller? So a few other days ago, I’m at my local gas station and I see this large red machine with Coke plastered all over the side of it in the place where the usual fountain soda machine normally sits. I walked over and peered at the screen. You read right, I said peered at the screen. In the top portion of this Coke machine was a touch screen menu that gave you the options of what type of drink you’d like to purchase in a cup, Coke, Diet Coke, Cherry Coke, etc etc. It was the coolest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. Well, it was until I watched this twink getting fisted at a sex club in Vegas last night but that’s another story for another Blog. I actually bought a Dr Pepper just so I could play around with this amazing machine. But then it got me thinking, we can’t fix the budget, our homeless rate is growing faster than a Republican’s debt, our banking system is on the verge of collapse but hey everyone, we have a touch screen soda machine. I’m glad to see that we have our fucking priorities well in hand. I mean, really, do we have to have a touch screen soda machine? There is a restaurant in San Francisco that has an I-Pad on every table. The I-Pad is the menu and you scroll through the food, wine, and cocktail options. When you find what you want, you order it and then someone brings it to your table. What’s fucking next? We already have less and less human contact via the internet, now we don’t even have to talk to servers. In ten years, are we even going to remember how to communicate face to face anymore? And while I’m on the subject, doesn’t anyone use a fucking phone anymore? Think about it, when’s the last time you actually made a call on your smart device. We use texting (sexting) emails and FaceBook, Twitter, and all the other social media so we don’t have to actually speak to anyone. Have you ever felt that the world is just out to get you? That’s how I felt that lonely night driving ninety miles an hour down 101 Southbound. I think every stupid driver was on the freeway that night. From the grandma’s doing forty miles an hour in the fast lane, to drivers hitting their breaks and slowing down to a crawl to gaze at the accident on the other side of the freeway, to road construction that didn’t seem to be constructing anything other than traffic problems and didn’t seem to have a purpose except to narrow down four lanes into one. The traffic was so bad I actually contemplated believing in a god just so I could lament that he/she hates me. Even with these crazy road conditions, I was actually making really good time. I’ll admit that I had to drive on the shoulder for a few miles but that’s not really illegal…right? At one point in my hyper-motivated journey, I zoomed down an off ramp only to shoot through the intersection and back onto the entrance ramp to get around a large moving van and three buses who thought it was a good idea to drive so slow I could have sworn in open court that they were moving backwards. At 11:40PM I call SmokeEaters and place my food order. I promised that I would be there in twenty minutes and to please not close until I get arrive. The young girl said she’d do her best but they lock the doors promptly at midnight. My poor little car is purring/growling as I push it to speeds that it was never built to achieve. I’m nearing a hundred miles an hour and it’s starting to shake but I don’t care. Nothing is going to keep me from getting my 4 Alarm Hot Wings from SmokeEaters in San Jose. Nothing. Three days ago, I started a fourteen day in a row stretch. I get to the restaurant at 7AM (to get there that early I have to get up at 5AM) and I’ve been leaving the restaurant around 10:30PM while arriving home after midnight. I’m tired, my shoes are now broken in but I’m getting a little bit grumpy. The good news, we hired a new manager that starts on Monday (but by the time you actually read this Blog Entry it could be tomorrow or it could have been two weeks ago) and I couldn’t be happier. I think he’s going to be a great addition to our team but since he’s brand new, he can’t be left on his own which is way I have to work forever in a row. Now the reason I have to work these crazy hours is our General Manager has taken a much needed vacation for two weeks. And I don’t begrudge him the time off but I am however grumpy as a withdrawing Meth addict that I have to work a hundred hours a day so he can get his freak on with all those Spanish hotties. A few weeks ago, I’m pretty sure someone used one of my own poems to tell me to go fuck myself. And if they did, I think that’s pretty fucking cool. So you all remember “A”, my friend with benefits that wanted to take it to the next level. Notice I didn’t type that sentence as a question because I know that everyone is fascinated with my life and they hang on my every word. Apparently the new and improved Jason is an egomaniac and should be punished for his arrogance. Any takers? Anyway, “A” grew tired of my lack of commitment and my neurotic behavior or maybe it was my lack of making time for him and after the both of us were silent for a couple of days, he sends me a text message something to the affect, ‘your poem un-remembered is my favorite one you wrote’. Then he never texted me again. If my supposes are correct, he told me he would be better off when I become un-remembered. Can you believe that? He used my own words against me. A part of me wants to contact him again just to see if I’m right in my assumptions. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted. Update: “A” and I are fucking again. I have enough shit going on in my life at the moment that doesn’t include my heavy work load or friends with benefits being mad at me due to my stupidity. What do you mean? Are you speaking of trying to get to San Jose? Or are you referring to your ex-employee that just found out the pleasures of being a big ole Mo? James and I are at the bar, doing shots and truly having a blast. I’ve gotten him to stop talking about his ex-girlfriend, not for any reason except that I had to hear about their breakup from her and I didn’t want to hear about it again from him. Plus the more I drank the hornier I was getting. James and his Ex had a common problem, they still lived together even though they broke up because neither one could afford to move out alone. I’m not sure if I could do that but they are pretty young and broke as a joke. Throughout the course of the night, James had made the statement it was hard to hook up with anyone because he didn’t have a place to go. And apparently, he was randy as a goat and looking to open up his experiences with guys. The bar closes, we’re drunk, and James starts complaining that he doesn’t want to go home to face her at this moment. So being the nice guy I am, I offer him my couch. And believe it or not, I typed that sentence without cracking a smile once. My car is whining and groaning but I’m not letting up as I fly off the San Jose Airport exit. My car’s up on two wheels as I careen down the exit ramp passing other vehicles as if they’re standing still. I’ve got Breaking Benjamin blasting in my ear buds and I’m chain smoking cigarettes like they are my lifeline to normalcy and I’m speeding like Charlie Sheen on a two week bender. Off in the distance I can see the St James exit looming ahead like a beacon in the wilderness. I glance at the dashboard clock and see I have about eight minutes to make it to SmokeEaters. I grin wildly and step on the accelerator trying to coax every last ounce of speed from my poor little four cylinder car. I’m so close I can taste the sweet taste of victory. Straight people who wouldn’t leave and stupid beautiful bartenders, zero, and Jason the crazy obsessive addict, one. And then I see it, or rather I see a blur…parked on the side of the road like some vengeful angel out of a Clint Eastwood movie. My dreaded nemesis, a CHP officer better known as a California Highway Patrol fuck face. I blow past him at 91 miles an hour in a 65 mile an hour zone. And for a moment I imagine that I’m driving so fast that he can’t see me. Or maybe he was looking down when I screeched by him driving like a man possessed. Or even better, maybe he was one of those lazy CHP officers and he was sleeping off a donut induced high. I mean, really, my exit is just right there, I think maybe if I can get off the exit before he starts chasing me I can lose him in the streets of downtown San Jose. Then I see the lights on top of his car light up and I imagine I can hear the powerful roar of his engine as he lurches forward after me. I know I’m busted. I’m such an addict there is no way that I’d risk going to jail for trying to evade a police officer…or maybe I’m such an addict that I won’t risk going to jail and not being able to have my 4 Alarm Hot Wings ever again. Even as I start slowing down, I refuse to admit defeat when I am this close to achieving my goal. I am forming a plan in my stupid head as I pull off the road and stare longingly at my exit which is only fifty yards away. Surely there is something I can say or do, to or for; this CHP officer that will get me out of what I am sure is a hefty fine and maybe even a loss of my driving privileges. I can hear some of you right now saying, ‘you’ll get what you deserve, driving like some insane person on the shoulder of the road, darting on and off exit ramps just to pass cars, speeding past police officers’. Don’t you worry, I hear you loud and clear, you think I deserve a ticket. Well, fuck you, I don’t. I’m a good person on the inside. It’s the fucking 4 Alarm Hot Wings I tell you. The CHP fuck face pulls up behind my stopped car and I’m frantically trying to come with something, anything to tell this guy when he asks why I was driving so recklessly. ‘Really officer, I didn’t know how fast I was going’, ‘I’m sorry I was speeding but I have to go to the bathroom so bad I’m afraid I’ll soil myself any moment,’ ‘I heading for the hospital, my uncle was in a bad accident and he wants to see me one last time before he passes,’ ‘I’ll do anything if you let me go…and I mean anything’. These are just a few of the better scenarios that flashed in y feeble head as fuck face slowly approaches the passenger side of my car (who by the way is quite happy that I finally stopped pushing it so hard I imagine I can hear my car breathing heavily). “Good evening sir, where are you headed tonight in such a hurry?” If I ever needed to be quick on my feet, now was that time. I look over at him, squinting because he’s shining a flashlight (that’s not fleshlight you pervs) on what could only be a dumbfounded look on my face. I open my mouth and this is what fell out… “I know I was speeding and believe me I’m really really sorry. I’ve never even had so much as a single speeding ticket in all my years driving but my wife is pregnant and she had this stupid late night craving for hot wings from SmokeEaters. I tried to tell her that they close at midnight and there was no way I could drive from San Francisco in thirty minutes.” Now as I’m blurting this out in short strangled gasping breaths, I am getting my registration and insurance card from my glove box to give to the fuck face. But I’m not done; I continue spewing forth this shit… “But then she started saying that I didn’t love her because I wouldn’t drive to San Jose and how bad of a husband I am because it was really all my fault that she is now fat and that her ankles have swollen up to the size of grapefruits and no one is going to find her attractive again. And that if I really loved her I would do whatever it took to get her hot wings from SmokeEaters. After all it was my sperms fault that she’s pregnant, right? Like I’m the one that forgot to take her birth control pills? Does this look like it’s my idea?” “Um…” “I know I was speeding but I only have four minutes to make it to SmokeEaters before they close and I’m afraid if I go home without these hot wings my wife is going to hate me for the rest of my life. Is there any way possible that you could follow me to SmokeEaters so I can get her hot wings? Afterwards you can take me to jail or give me a ticket? And believe me, right now I’m not sure which one of those options is more attractive at this moment but anything you could do would be amazing and I’m so sorry but she’s driving me fucking crazy.” I finally take a breath and stare at fuck face with what I hope is a broken face. No we all know the internet is no place for truth but I swear this CHP officer stare at me for a good minute before he asks this question, ‘how much of what you just told me is true?’ I grin, “not very much.” James and I ended up back at my apartment watching American Dad on Adult Swim. And me being the good host, I offered him a beverage. We settled on cognac and cigars on the patio. I was regaling him with some of my funnier stories from my past exploits and he was filling me in on growing up with a silver spoon in his mouth. Who would’ve known he was so much more than a pretty face. Don’t get me wrong, his face is more than pretty enough but he was easy to talk too. I’m not sure when we decided to call it a night but I do know sometime before the sun came up we were standing in my living room staring at my couch. Apparently my leather couch would give him a rash if he slept on it, and there was no way in hell I was going to sleep on my couch when I have a comfy bed to sleep on/in. So I made him a deal… “You can sleep in my bed but you have to shower first, you stink like last year’s garbage and tonight’s kitchen grease.” Seriously, I didn’t have an ulterior motive for getting him all wet and naked in my room. There really was no freaking way in hell he was sleeping in my bed before scrubbing away the kitchen smell and ball sweat from his working ten hours in a hot kitchen. So we took turns showering and after we were fresh faced scrubbed I turned off the lights and crawled into bed next to him. I’m not sure why he asked for a pair of shorts to sleep in, the lights weren’t turned off for more than a minute before those shorts flew across the room and we got all sweaty again. But after hearing about the time she caught him in bed with another guy so many times, I thought it was pretty ironic that it wasn’t long before his legs were resting on my shoulders and he was screaming out, ‘fuck me, fuck me harder you son of a bitch’.

I really like this way of telling your life story. I wonder if I can steal this idea and make it my version. Jason (the thief)

Thanks everyone, this little ditty was fun to write. Flash is always hard to write because it makes you tailor your tale to a very specific theme. But I like the challenge. As to Blue and his comments, I actually thought about the whole..."but it's not a gay story" before I posted it but it didn't have the same feel when it was two guys. That being said, and some things said on another site, I think I shall do a part two to this little tale but it will be mostly dialogue. Let's see if I can make it a gay story and still retain the same feel I think if it works I'll give all credit to Blue and his inspired post. Jason

"I haven't seen you here before, have I?" "What?" He stammered out as he turned to look who had spoken. Greg's eyes widened; standing before him was one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen. She was slim yet slightly muscular. She wasn't very tall and had blonde hair that he couldn't tell if it was bleached from the sun or a bottle. Her green eyes were focused intently on him. "I asked if you were new here, I haven't seen you before." Greg blushed and shifted his feet. "I live at the house down the hill and I've heard the fun up here for three days so I decided to crash the party." "You're cute when you blush." She giggled. "I'm Sara." "Ah, I'm Greg." "Are you sure?" "Yeah, I'm pretty sure," Normally he thought girls looked stupid when they batted their eyes but somehow she managed to look sexy as hell when she did it. "If I'm not him, then I'm wearing his underwear." She laughed a musical laugh. "That's kind of kinky, an underwear fetish." "Only when I'm wearing underwear." "I think I like you, wanna buy me a drink?" "Absolutely."

Um, Hi.J

That's all well in good but I wanna know about the "important" things about the new place.Like what's your new favorite room!!!! Have the neighbors complained YET about the noise you make. In the words of my favorite Emu, finish the damn story already.Jason (not an Australian )

Poor little EmuFeel for you I doBut when the home is empty like a tombThen it's time to fuck in every new roomJason

As to whether or not I made my meeting...of course I did! Nothing gets in the way of my job...not even hot little train twinks.But that's not to say I didn't get his details for some after work sexy chit and some dirty chat but that's another story isn't it!J

How’s it going? What, not a good enough opening for you? I concur. Howdy! What, too hickish? Okay. What’s up peeps? What, too street for you? Check. Where’s all my bitches at? I could go on but what’s the point. Fuck it. So the other day I picked up a little train twink from the train. Well, to be more accurate, I got picked up by a little twink boy the other day on the train. My life has been running smooth on all cylinders for the last few weeks. Now that I’m single, I have fallen into a comfortable routine revolving around work and an atom sized social life. I force myself to go out at least once a week with “friends” whether I feel like it or not. This seems to be working as I find myself in a better frame of mind than I have been the last few months. What else? I picked up a friend with benefits that has kept my sex life moving forward. Question: Is sex usually mind-blowing fresh out of the gate? Or do you find that sex at first is awkward only to improve as you become more familiar or open with your partner? Last Friday night on the way home from work, I saw the funniest shit ever and if I wouldn’t have been a direct witness, I would never have believed it. I mean I’ve seen shit like this in a movie but I never thought I’d see it firsthand, live and in Technicolor as they said back in the days. Which is such a stupid phrase, is it not? What does it mean, back in the day? And is there a special day they are referring too or are there numerous “back in the days” reference points? And if there are, who keeps track of all those events? Can anyone answer that for me, please? It was 11:30 at night, I had just finished a thirteen hour day followed by an hour train ride to my car, followed by a twenty-minute drive home. And before you ask, yes, I was very tired. After I exited off 101 Southbound I headed west before making a left turn on a fairly busy street. A street that stays busy even at 11:30 at night. So as I turned left, you can imagine my surprise when I see a 40ish Latino man running down the center of the street. Okay, running might not be the best description; he was shuffling down the center of the street and every few steps one of his feet would stamp down on the pavement. Of course I was curious as to the reason behind this odd behavior so I slowed down as I passed him. And that’s when I saw it… A few weeks ago, I met this guy on Grindr…I have since deleted my account as it was fun for a while but I quickly became bored with all the freaks that populate Grindr land…I’ll call him “A” for now so you have a frame of reference. From the moment “A’s” lips touched…err…came into contact…err…sucked my cock, I knew I found something special. You see, from the very beginning, sex with “A” was amazing. And each encounter since that first time, it seems to get more and more intense. And quite unlike myselves, with “A”, I am usually the bottom. Maybe it’s because he’s older than me…maybe it’s because my expectations were that low when we first met…maybe it’s because it’s just not about the sex with “A”…or maybe it’s because I’m just that good that whomever I decide to fuck gets better just by being with me. I would now like to offer a disclaimer: the above statement is made with my tongue firmly pressed up against my cheek. Even I’m not that arrogant…usually. I had to report for work a bit earlier than usual due to a 9:30 am meeting the owners called for all the managers, front and back of house. So instead of catching the 10:02 train like I usually do every day, I had to catch the 8:02 train. Here’s the part of this tale where I’ll explain I am so frigging happy that I don’t have to do that on a daily basis. If I had to go to work every day crammed inside a metal tube with hundreds of cranky humans sipping on their morning coffee like its crack cocaine, I would probably put a gun to my mouth and get it over with. Though if it weren’t for that early morning meeting, or the fact that train was packed to the brim, then train twink and I might not have ever met. So hurrah and some other stuff. Two months ago, I had the opportunity to partake in a killer writing project hosted by Awesome Dude and put together by the wonderful and talented emu known as Camy. And since I’m not sure if the details of that project are public yet, I’ll not say what it is but it’s going to be freaking sweet. Anyway… Once upon a time I was a fairly prolific writer on line. And over at Author’s Haunt, I have a handful of short stories, thirty or so poems, and who can discount my Blog, which I use to post in four or five times a month. I’m not sure when I lost the time or the drive to write but I’ve been pretty quiet the last two years or so. But all that changed two months ago when I first found out about this writing project. Suddenly the fire was back and I started writing again like a madman. But unlike before, I wasn’t writing poetry or even Blog entries, I was creating original fiction again like I use to back in my youth. Unfortunately I didn’t make the deadline for that Awesome writing project, but I’ve been writing my crusty balls off and have over fifty-thousand words written at present. I’m fucking stoked and I can’t wait to get it finished so I can offer my one loyal reader a new story to dislike. As I slowed down to stare at the 40ish Latino man, and I swear on my bald head this is true, I realized that he was chasing what I can only assume was a twenty dollar bill that the wind kept just out of his reach. And he was laughing his balls off, as if to say that he couldn’t believe this was happening to him. He would shuffle forward a few steps, stamp his foot down in a poor attempt to capture the wayward bill, only to have the wind push it a few more feet away. I damn near crashed my car as I drove past him due to my laughter. It was only after I parked my car that I could’ve kicked myself in the taint for not capturing the whole thing on video to post on YouTube. That would have been the next sensational viral video. But I didn’t capture it on video and there’s still the matter of train twink to convey so I’ll move along. Even though sex with “A” is bordering epic…and even though I know he’d like to take it to the next level…I think I’m going to keep it strictly casual for the moment. I threw everything I had into Mark and I’m so not ready to go down that twisted road again anytime soon. But enough about that shithead. So I’m sitting in my usual seat on the train, the handicapped sideways so I don’t have to ride backwards seat, and I’m reading a new story by Gay Author’s, Jwolf, called Big Haired Bitches. Have you read it? If not than you should go right now as it’s loads more entertaining than this drivel you’re perusing now. It’s so laugh out loud funny you just might poop yourself. Okay, that’s pretty gross, forget I said that. So I’m lost in the story and for two stops I don’t even bother to look around the train at the other passengers. But for some reason, at the third stop, I look up when the doors open and in walked this early twenties Asian twink with multicolored hair, skinny jeans, bright pink T-Shirt, and in his hands was a black hoodie. And glasses, this train riding twink was rocking the nerdstar in a way that made things stand up and pay attention. In gay years I’m almost 80 and he was so young and so fucking epic hot I broke off eye contact because I didn’t want him to think I was perving on him. Which I so was perving on him. So I turned my head and glanced about the already crowded car to try and cover up my staring. At the very next stop, the old smelly lady that was sitting next to me got off the train which left her seat vacant. Even though I’m reading my story I notice out of the corner of my eye a young hip professional looking bitch make a move at the empty seat next to me. But in a move that could’ve been right out of the Matrix, train twink pushed through the crowd that was exiting the train and basically dove into the seat next, lightly crashing into me as he peered at the young hip professional looking bitch with an innocent twinkle in his eye. Now she’s glaring at train twink, so intent is her glare I’m surprised that daggers aren’t shooting out of her cold dead eyes. She shifts her gaze over towards me as if to say I should give up my seat. I fight the urge to stick my tongue out at her so instead I kind of shrug and go back to my story. But now I can’t focus on Jwolf’s story because I am wondering what train twink is thinking about this situation and then I start imagining what’s rambling around inside young hip professional looking bitch’s ugly fat head. And before you ask, yes, these random thoughts cross my mind all the time at the most inopportune times. When “A” and I are fooling around, I blurt out the most random shit. Sometimes it ruins the mood and other times it just makes us lose our rhythm because we’re laughing so hard. I don’t know why these thoughts pop into my head nor do I understand why I can’t stop them from falling out of my mouth. It is what it is. Train twink isn’t sitting next to me for longer than two coke fueled heartbeats before his right leg falls against my left leg. I glance over and he’s slouched down in the seat with his head leaned back against the window, his black hoodie crumpled up in his lap, and it looks like he’s sleeping. Well, at least his eyes are closed. As I look at him, I wonder if he’s asleep, or if he’s so tired that he doesn’t realize his leg is pressed up against a stranger or if he even cares. Either way I move my leg over an inch or so and start reading my story again, though I am now even more distracted because I keep stealing glances at train twink. Two heartbeats later, his leg moves over and again comes to rest against mine. This time there is a bit more pressure in his “resting”, like he wants me to know he’s doing it on purpose. So I relax my leg and let it fall into his. You know I don’t hold anything back here so even though I’m a bit embarrassed to admit this, I’m such a horn dog that this little bit of contact makes me feel all warm and fuzzy bunny slippers. I look over at train twink and though his eyes are still closed, he now has a small knowing smile on his face. “A” is a really nice guy, seems stable, has a bit of money, a cool apartment filled with nice things, incredible in the horizontal games we play a few nights a week, and a blast to hang out with. I think I would have a hard time finding someone better. And it’s shocking to think we met on a hook-up site like Grindr. Which makes me wonder if he’s still trolling Grindr, I only see him a few times a week, and if he’s as randy as I, he had to be finding fun elsewhere like I am. Since I was a little boy, I’ve always been intrigued by the story of Peter Pan. And it’s not that I want to remain a boy forever nor is it because I really believe of Peter Pan is nothing but one long homoerotic tale. I think the main reason Peter Pan holds my fascination is what I feel was left out of the story. The idea behind this story is dark, really dark. We have a pirate that is obsessed with “killing” Peter Pan, we have the lost boys that sleep together in a tree content to “play” with each other for the rest of time, magic, fairies, and treasure. It’s a faggot’s delight. For going on twenty years I have an idea for a story based on the world and characters of Peter Pan, or at least the world as I have imagined it would have been had this story not been written for kids. In some of my more creative moments I wrote down all these ideas and outlined the story and I must say, I have some really good ideas strung together. And if I didn’t think so strongly against writing fan fiction I might sit down one day and write it all out. But that day is far away in the uncertainty of the future. Question: Did you stop reading this Blog entry and go read Jwolf’s story Big Haired Bitches like I told you to a few pages ago? So train twink and I are sitting there on a crowded train, almost cocooned in a bubble due to all the people standing around us. All I can see is crotches and asses as the train jostles us back and forth. So it almost seems we are alone as train twink and I flirt like two boys who just discovered the wonders that dwell between our legs. And the only thing running through my mind as we shyly flirt with one another is I hope the train doesn’t lose power, or the big earthquake everyone is predicting doesn’t happen at this moment, or that the tunnel that goes across the bay doesn’t collapse and the ocean doesn’t come pouring in drowning us all as we press our legs together. Sometimes I damn near hyperventilate when I’m riding the train due to the scenarios that my brain weaves. This is so off topic but the story I’m currently writing was outlined, planned, conceived, and even partially written on my daily train ride. Two hours a day leaves a lot of time for tapping out useless words strung together by periods and what have you. I look over at train twink and find him staring back at me with a playful grin on his face. He rubs his leg against mine and then looks down at his hoodie covered crotch. Of course my eyes follow and I look down as he lifts up his hoodie just high enough so that I could make out his obviously very excited self. My eyes widened with lust and he laughed, low and raspy like he just woke up after a night of smoking too many cigarettes. I’ve lived in the Bay Area for almost six years now and I must say I’ve always had such great luck picking up guys on the train. Maybe it’s the motion of the train as it glides across the tracks. Maybe it’s the train system drugging the passengers in an effort to keep them calm as they pack us in like sardines. Or maybe it’s because I’m dead sexy. Though now that I think about it, it’s probably because I’m a total whore and other whores can sense me coming a mile away. Maybe it’s a pheromone I excrete like yesterdays ball sweat. Either way, I’m not dogging a good thing I’m just making a general observation about the gays in my area. Remember I’m on this earlier train because I have to go to a meeting that my owners have demanded we attend. And I’m a workaholic that puts my job before my own self interest. But I’m also newly single and…well…I’m a whore who is use to early morning delights. What’s a whore to do? Question: What would you do if you were in my position? Would you get train twinks FaceBook info and go to work with the intention of contacting him when you have the time? Or would you blow off the meeting and have some dirty fun under the sheets? What do you think I did? “A” keeps me pretty entertained and for the moment I’m content to keep playing with him right now. If this causes me to lose my slut card, then so be it. After all, I’m almost thirty-seven years old. Maybe it’s time I grow up and stop fucking every little thing that crosses my path. Fuck that…

The Art of Letting Go Written By: Jason Rimbaud ?You don?t have a fucking clue as to what you want much less what you want from me.? Words, words, and more words designed to cause as much damage as possible without resorting to violence. Maybe I regret those words that were blurted out in the middle of a crowded restaurant the other night. You see, I think I might have come to a crossroad in my life and maybe this once, I?m taking the right path. Work?where to start with that mess. After Mark and I broke up I did what I?ve always done when I feel lost?I threw myself into work with a frenzy that borders on obsession. If I would?ve thrown half the energy I?ve been displaying lately into my relationship with Mark, we might still be together. What?s the saying about hindsight? With hindsight we?re all fucking savants. I have baggage, but who among of us doesn?t? Considering my past and the mistakes I?ve made over the last decade of this so called life, I am somewhat amazed that I still maintain a semblance of positive energy. I enjoy my life and still chase my passions with a single-minded determination that breaks down barriers and move mountains; even if it?s only a pebble at a time. ?I survived the hazards of my past and I am proud that I am so much better than my father could have ever hoped to be.? And I?ll admit it, there are times when the darkness that I suppress in myself overwhelms me and I fall into depression so black my friends are hesitant to leave me alone in a room with sharp objects. I?ve been known to go on weeklong binges, drinking myself into oblivion just to stop the noise in my head and steal a few hours of sleep before waking up and doing it all over again. And then there are times where I have such a lack of self-worth I start believing the shit my father said all those years ago. And like all things entailing this journey of life, it?s all a process. And I?m working on it. I can feel my darkness retreating further and further as I work towards the light. ?You are the place I stayed too long, I got trapped in your nightmare and I don?t know how to get out.? I?ve been accused of giving people small tastes, brief glimpses into my heart where I give just enough information to keep them fooled into thinking I?m something like human. My capacity for grand gestures and storybook endings are movie perfect. It?s the next day, when the moment has faded into pleasant memory, is where I have the most trouble. The living day to day in the grind and sameness of life is where I feel the most uncomfortable. I cut people off emotionally; giving just enough of myself to keep them interested before I pull back into whatever state of insecurity that rules my thought process It?s like I get them vested in my wellbeing and then I run away because the look in their eyes is too much for me to handle. I guess it?s always been hard for me to receive acceptance. Especially from those I am interested in or have a relationship with. It seems I thrive on being the odd man out or at least project that I like being the odd man out. Deep down inside myself I want to be different from the rest of the world even as I strive to become just like everyone/anyone else. Without going into a long dissertation about my current mental health, I just wanted to briefly link my thoughts together so I can get a better understanding of my patterns of self-destructive behavior. Love, regret, sadness, joy, anger, contentment, and a host of other emotions seemed to have bypassed my genetic makeup. One of my employees, F, called me the other day, so distraught he couldn?t string sentences together through his sobs. It seemed his mother, who had been battling cancer for years, passed away the day before and he couldn?t make it in to work that day. In my fucked up emotionless head, I?m thinking, ?why the hell can?t you work today if she died yesterday, it?s not like it was a surprise. Besides how long does it take to mourn someone?? Now before you go and get all high moral road on me and write me nasty emails, I didn?t say that aloud. I said all the right things, take as much time as you need, let me know if we can help you in any way, don?t worry about covering your shift, blah blah blah. That is the proper response in that situation but the only reason I said it was because I know I was suppose to say those things. I truly could care less that his mother just died, nor can I fathom why he starts crying at random times three weeks later. This kind of emotional attachment baffles me on every single level. I wonder if I?m alone in these behaviors. Is the apathy most humans display genuine or is it nothing more than doing/saying the right thing to fit into social norms? Is it a practice adopted by the world to comfort with false feelings those who ?need? it? I?ve always been good at doing and saying whatever I need to get my desired effect. In my professional career, I act a part. I?m polite, engaging, charming, witty, and extroverted in my dealings with the hundreds of guests I see on a daily basis. But at the end of the day, I do it because I have to pay my bills and make myself a life. In my personal relationships, I pretend to care. I ask questions of my partner that I don?t care about the answers. I fake sadness when tragedy strikes them or their loved ones. I project happiness with their triumphs, and force tears when I feel it?s needed. Whatever I need to do at that particular time to make them feel better I do it. It doesn?t matter. And for the most part it doesn?t cost me anything. But it?s all a charade. I don?t care on a very basic and honest level. Am I alone in this behavior? This is how after three long years of obsessing over Mark, I can get up in the middle of dinner and tell him to fuck off without skipping a beat. ?You don?t know enough about me to give me what I need.? Words, words, and more words that make up my particular brand of truth that day, words that do more harm than good to both parties in question. I imagined my words having the desired effect and I think I can see tears forming in his green eyes. And I imagine him being dumbfounded, something that has never happened over the last three years. Did I set out on that beautiful southern California night to break Mark?s heart and to end things noisily in a public place? I don?t know. Maybe. Someone once wrote and said my Blog?s are too confusing because I tend to jump around with dates and time. So for you my dear reader, let?s go back a few days before the above incident. Back to Gay Pride 2011. I had just met this awesome guy and we were really hitting it off. Matter of fact we had dirty gay hotel sex and it was hot. This guy, R, was really into me and I could feel the vibe between us growing. But the very next day after dirty gay hotel sex with R, Mark called and wanted to know if I?d hang out with him and a few friends of his that were visiting from Russia in San Francisco. And much like a crack addict, I jumped at the chance to get all close and personal with my former straight boy crush. We had a great time in the city by the bay and we never seemed to have those awkward moments that sometimes creep up with ex-boyfriends. His friends were charming and so straight a little of it rubbed off on me and I actually started thinking about pussy for a quick minute. Mark was a bit worried that his childhood friends might not be so accepting of his newfound sexuality. But I must say, if they were bothered by it, they hid it pretty well. All day long we?d play this game, when a hot chick walked past, Mark or I would point her out. When a hot guy would walk by, they?d point him out, loudly. I was amazed by the type of guys they kept pointing out. They were all twinks, thin feminine type guys who fit every gay stereotype in the book. Of course it did cross my mind that they weren?t as straight as they projected but that?s neither here nor over there. After more than a few drinkie poos, they started asking us questions about our relationship. Like who fucked who, who was more like the girl; you know all the stupid questions clueless straight boys ask. And in a gesture quite out of character for me, I sat back and let Mark field all the questions. I only chimed in when I was asked a direct question. Mark impressed me that night. Listening to him talk about ?us? made me realize just how close our lives had become and how much I allowed the crazy Russian inside my neurotic mind. The more they talked together and the drunker I become, I started questioning our decision to end our relationship. I mean we were good together, and the sex was so epic if we ever allowed others to view it they just might implode and become eunuchs because they?d know they?d never reach that level of intimate violence we perfected. By the end of the night, Mark and I spent more time staring into one another?s eyes than we did listening to his straight friends try to pick up chicks in a gay bar. Seriously, that nights adventures alone is worth it?s very own Blog Entry because by the end of that night we were at an emergency room until two in the morning while one of the chicks got bandaged up after she was clipped by a taxi cab. But that story will have to wait for another day. ?Life is what happens while you stare up into the future looking for that perfect sum of one.? The next afternoon I woke in Mark?s arms, hung-over and covered with last night?s pleasure. For a few moments I lay there, content to listen to the soft snoring that escaped his lips and reveling in the feeling of his heartbeat through my hand. With each brush of my hand across his chest, every kiss I softly planted on his neck, I sighed inwardly like a little girl who just finished reading the Twilight Sage and had decided which team she would champion. ?Contentment is a place where you find yourself after you given up on trying to control every aspect of your life.? It took a moment for me to figure out why I had this overwhelming feeling of contentment as I lay there with my arms wrapped around my little Russian. Connection?plain and simple. We had this connection that a mere one night stand couldn?t hope to ever duplicate. No matter what had transpired between Mark and I, all the hateful things we had said to one another, the way we used sex as a weapon of control, the callous way we approached our relationship with selfish intentions, none of that mattered because we had this undeniable connection from the moment we met that couldn?t be severed no matter the circumstances. I?ve always thought connections were the single most important thing in a relationship. After the lust fades and the love becomes easy and predictable, the only thing that keeps two people walking in the same direction is their emotional connection. How intertwined have they become during their journey? Love is what happens when lust goes horribly wrong. And being connected is what happens when everything falls into place and you forget about love and lust and focus solely on making a life together. Let?s face it, you will lose your looks, your hair will turn gray or fall out, and the little things that you find so cute once upon a time will slowly drive you crazy after years of repetition. What do you have left after that?connection. That?s why a few days later Mark and I went on a little trip to Southern California. Maybe we forgot about the hurt we caused one another, maybe it was just easier to work on us that it was to find another ?us?, or maybe because deep down inside neither one of us could admit that we failed at something. Mark and I were good at sex, we were good at planning the future, but we weren?t so good existing in the moment. Mark is stubborn and will never relent once he gets something in his head. And it would drive me crazy. He?d ask my opinion about something, and for hours and sometimes over days we?d discuss it, look at it from every angle and then he?d go out and do exactly what he originally decided to do even before we even spoke. It didn?t matter what my reaction would be, he?d stumble on seemingly without a clue. He hates to be wrong and never admits when he is. I?m emotionally distant on my good days, during my bad days, I?m downright icy. I don?t like to chat about my day, I?m not that good at sharing my feelings other than anger, and it would drive him crazy. He?d badger me about what happened that day, he?d pry into my relationship with my brother, and when I?d get angry he accuse me of not loving him and not letting him inside. I hate to be wrong and never admit when I am. ?You can?t go on pretending that I don?t matter to you, I know I do. You?re just too fucking stupid to admit it.? After all the words that were said a few days ago, after the dust settled down and we returned back to our homes and lives, I now realize that just having a connection isn?t enough. Mark was right. I am too fucking stupid to admit that he matters to me. Emotionally I?m still tender and raw around the edges and maybe my progress isn?t as far along as I thought?or hoped. But I was also right when I likened him to a place I stayed too long. Love shouldn?t/isn?t that difficult, and if it is, then it?s not right. So what we were connected. Do we stay together when we are drowning and dragging each other down? Or do we severe the connection so that we both have a fighting chance at happiness? ?I?ve kind of been seeing someone.? Mark is staring at me in his own unique way that made/makes me feel like I was the only human on this fucking planet. I looked at him, as if to say, really. More words, more platitudes, more selfish impulses designed to force the issue we always seem to avoid. He met this guy at school and for the last month they?ve been seeing a lot of each other. He also tells me he really likes this guy. And as usual Mark babblings, he tells me more information about this guy than I ever wanted to know. I don?t know what to say, what to do, or even how to act. It was his idea to take this trip together; he?s the one that needed to spend some time with me without any distractions. This was day three of a three day trip and we had been like newlyweds the entire time. I was fucking pissed. Mark was the one person that really got me. He made me feel like I could have a shot at having a normal relationship. And right in the middle of my delusion, he?s ?kind of? seeing someone. Why the hell did he even invite me to the city with him and his friends? Why did he spend the night with me? Why did he always pop back into my life right when I was beginning to heal? ?I love you and I want you to be happy and you?re not. I see it in your eyes; I can?t make you happy no matter what I do. And it?s killing me.? And that?s the kicker, isn?t? I wasn?t happy and he knew it. No matter that every time I thought about him a goofy smile broke out on my face. Or that I thought about him more than I thought about myself. I thought back to all the times we shared over the years and I saw us happy and laughing, enjoying the togetherness. Was I angry? Hurt? Confused? Yes and probably more emotions that would be pointless to list. Because in the end, words, words, words, don?t mount up to a possum?s ass. ?I don?t know how to end this? In my head I?m screaming that we shouldn?t be looking for a way to end ?us?, we should be striving to save our future. And then like some bizarre movie montage, images of our life began floating in my head. Scenes of Mark and I in bed, at dinner, sitting next to each other watching TV, endless combinations of our relationship and on the surface we looked peaceful, serene, and happy. But then I looked harder, like someone turned the focus screw and everything changed. I started seeing the fighting, the bickering, and the dirtiness that was under the allure of connection. We hadn?t been happy together in a long time and it was like somebody shined the light on the exit and the path ahead of me became clear for the first time in three years. ?Sometimes if you love something enough, you have to set it free.? I?ve heard that statement many times in my life but it wasn?t until I was sitting across from him that I finally understood it. As long as I kept indulging our madness, I was preventing both of us at moving on. ?I really don?t know what to do to make you happy.? For years I wondered if I was so jaded that I didn?t have emotions towards others. Or that I wasn?t like other humans and that I was somewhat flawed. Over the course of this Blog entry, I think I?ve answered my own questions. I actually never said those words in that restaurant. You see, Mark wasn?t happy. He hadn?t been happy with me for a long time but felt torn between his love for me and his love for a better life. And hearing those words from him tore me apart. ?You don?t have fucking clue as to what you want much less what you want from me.? That night I found out that I am selfless. I never told Mark that he was breaking my heart. And when I told him that we shouldn?t see each other anymore because we?d only end up killing whatever good feelings we had for one another, I think I meant it. I looked him right in the eye and lied but you never know. For the first time in my life, I didn?t tell someone what he wanted to hear to further my own agenda. My motives were honest, even if I was dishonest in my delivery. So maybe I?m not as jaded as I like to think I am. Maybe?

June 25th, 2011 The thing about Mark is?hard to define and I?ve tried to define it, shape it, and understand it going on three years. It could be his looks, he?s a real fucking hottie in a complete nerd star way. His personality? Maybe, he?s playful and caring and loves his friends and family with a passion that is scary for someone with my background. His work ethic? He goes to school full time and works full time. His drug addiction? He has to smoke first thing in the morning and several times throughout the day to feel normal. The thing about Mark is?I haven?t a clue. June 20th, 2011 I know it?s been forever since I last Blog. So much has happened since my descriptive day in the life entry a few months ago I don?t even know where to start. Have you ever thought about how ridiculous that statement is?I don?t know where to start? Sure you know where to start, you just fucking started there. America killed our biggest enemy, Congressman Wiener set pictures of his cock to the entire twitter-verse, Michelle Bachman decided to run for President, and Sarah Palin gave us a history lesson on Paul Revere. Oh yeah, that?s right, and I?m single again. I know you?ve missed reading my boring Blog entries but I have a damn good reason for my silence. It all started about a year ago. July 6th, 2010 ?What are you typing over there?? Mark asked me as he devoured the egg sandwich I made him, two eggs over easy on white bread with a thin layer of mayo, cheddar cheese and extra crispy bacon. I was drinking a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice that I bought at Whole Foods. It?s a mystery to me how anyone can eat first thing in the morning. I need at least two or three hours before I even began thinking about shoving something in my mouth. So he?s eating like a delicate flower, cramming the food in his mouth like it?s his last meal. Little bits of food are flying around the apartment like heat sinking missiles as he smacks and talks his way through breakfast. Okay, most of that last sentence is probably an exaggeration but you get the idea. He?s not the most mannered eater. From the way he eats you?d think he was the smallest kid in a litter of twenty that always had to fight for every scrape his older siblings didn?t consume. He was skinny as a rail and ate thirty-seven times a day but does anyone really have to eat that fast? Fuck, that steak cost $45 at least you could do was take longer than five seconds to eat it the damn thing. ?What are you typing over there?? It?s about six am on a Tuesday, a Tuesday that happened sometime last year around the end of summer. ?I?m updating my blog,? I informed him, dodging a bit of bread as it sailed by my head. I was still in the post-orgasmic bliss that he so often induced in the early morning. I?ve been having sex for more years that I care to share at this time. And in all that time I have never met another boy as horny as he was in the morning. It didn?t matter how many times we did it the night before or what was going on that morning, he was always ready to drop everything to satisfy his early morning cravings. He begins to read over my shoulder. ?Who?s Mark? And why are you writing about him?? An hour later, and after one of our biggest fights, he makes me promise that I would stop writing about our relationship in my Blog. For some reason the idea that I was putting up our arguments, our fights, our sex life, and everything else I?ve shared over the last few years unnerved him to no end. I didn?t understand what his problem was; I wasn?t even using his real name. Side note: He hated the name Mark. He thought it sounded to trailer parkish. Like his name was any better. From what I understand, his name is fairly common in Russia and isn?t like an aristocratic name anyway. June 25th, 2011 This was just one mistake in a series of mistakes that I made over the last year. The very first mistake, after that fight, was to give him the address of my Blog at Awesome Dude. And for that one person who reads it, you can imagine how upset he became after reading some of the stuff I?ve shared over the last three or so years. But that?s a whole other Blog post and would only make this one a bit more boring if I made you suffer through it. So I would like to apologize in advance at the length of the entry. I haven?t written in a long time and I have some shit to get off my chest. So it?s probably going to be a bit on the boring side, but fuck it, no one?s reading my shit anyway so this is mainly for me?and to piss off Mark since I?m sure he?s going to read it eventually. Though I stopped posting my thoughts on our life together online, I didn?t stop writing them down. So I?m going to cut and paste some of my thoughts in the attempt to cut down on the length of this entry to stifle your boredom. August 23rd, 2010 This thing between us started so long ago; so long in fact that I can?t remember when it started. Well, that?s not really true; I do know when it started between us, I just can?t for the life of me figure out why or even how it happened. It?s all about timing I guess. Mark was there at a fucked up time in my life. At times he was the anchor that held me secure in an ocean of madness. And at times, he was the madness. It?s like the moment Mark came into my life, he?s been nothing but trouble for me. Oh what a perfect and fragile mess we are together. And I was so over him; at least I thought I was over him. I had moved on with my life and left him and all his fucking baggage far behind me. At least that?s what I told myself these last two years without him in my life. August 17th, 2010 ?Have you ever been completely and perfectly blown away? Have you ever experienced a feeling so intense it rips you in half and draws you away like a rushing river, helpless, totally out of control?? Mark said these words to me what feels like a lifetime ago. Back when we were still an us?when we were still in love?I mean?when we were in love the first time around. I often wondered if he meant like falling in love because he then added? ?It?s like an ache deep inside your chest so haunting that when that one person isn?t around, you feel so empty and nothing can fill it?no drugs, no sex, nothing.? And I often wondered; even after Mark and I split up that first time, if I had in fact ever been completely and perfectly blown away. I?ve been in lust, gut wrenching lust that is so powerful it threatens to rip apart your soul. And yet that lust always seems to fade with release. I?ve been indifferent numerous times, just going through the motions, insert penis, thrust, repeat, make an ?O? face, fall asleep. I?ve felt infatuation, pheromone driven urges that seemed so epic for weeks at a time only to fade as the smell dissipates from my sheets. But have I ever been in love? I don?t know. ?Do you know the true thrill of life? Not the simplistic feeling of riding a coaster or driving too fast on the wrong side of the road late at night without the headlights turned on or even that moment of epic, perfect release. It?s not something one can explain; it?s something one has to experience for one?s self.? June 20th, 2011 Mark is/was/will always be a pot head, so during the quiet times, normally late at night, he would often wax poetically about deep subjects that have no clear definition. Never quite grasping concepts, he seemed to only dance around the edges. If you?re head is hurting, you can only imagine how my head felt after he told me that one night while we lay next to one another after a particular emotionally charged round of sex. What the hell are you going on about, Jason? I can hear you asking this question. Though I suppose if you aren?t asking this question or one similar, you should hit the back button on your browser because that?s the whole point of this entry; I don?t fucking know what I?m going on about. But me being me, I?m going to try and figure it out as I write these thoughts down. And since you?ve decided to come along for the ride, I?m assuming you?re still reading this drivel, so be prepared for a few digressions, a tangent or two, and my usual way of meandering my way through random thoughts until I get to a point. July 29th, 2010 We started two years ago, the first time. And I?m sure you all remember that first time so I shan?t go on about it again. And if you?re like the majority of people in the world and you don?t know what I?m talking about, then do a little research in my past Blog entries (especially on Awesome Dude) and discover the boring words that made up my life with Mark. Because it really started six months ago for the second, first time. A time you haven?t been privy to as of yet because Mark is being a little bitch and doesn?t want me sharing with my one reader anymore. So perhaps I?ll start there. Some of you out there that partake in the ?harmless? addiction of smoking cannabis will know what the term 4/20 means. And for those of you that aren?t hopelessly addicted, I shall briefly (and that?s quite a feat considering I can?t do anything briefly) explain. 4/20 is a slang term used by pot heads to identify April 20th, as weed day. Many demonstrations are held on this day worldwide to try and get pot legalized. I know it?s fucking stupid, but pot has never been one of my addictions, but whatever makes you hard and spurting. Side note: Most pot heads I know, and I?m talking about the everyday, three or four times a day smoker, seem to have a lowered sex drive, and I hear Dr. Drew, from Loveline, talk about it all the time as he fields callers questions. And the number one complaint from the partners of pot heads is their partner seems to have no desire to have a healthy sex life. Why would I ever want to smoke a drug that makes me lose interest in sex? Questioned answered! So this past April 20th, I was out with some of my ?friends? and we were having a few drinkie-poos and I did something very fucking stupid. And before you go all thinking dirty thoughts, I?ve been sober for a long time now so it wasn?t drugs I did on that lonely April day. It was something worse, far worse. I drunk texted, Mark, and that is just as bad as relapsing. Was I addicted to Mark? Fuck you for asking. Mark, my one time straight boy crush that finally admitted he more than liked me after a year and half and some six months of ?fooling around? above and below the covers. He was also narced out by some rat bitch cum dumpster that he once dated to his mom after she found out Mark and I had been making out at a party in front of the world, or at least the entire campus, to see. And after all that, a few months later I ended up firing him from my hip upscale restaurant in Palo Alto for stealing. Yeah, you know that crazy Russian. This is the text I sent Mark on that drunken night: ?Hope you?re having a high time on this 4/20.? I know it?s pathetic; you don?t have to inform me. The time I sent the text was 8:30PM on that lonely Tuesday night. Here?s the text he sent back at exactly 11:35PM that same night: ?who is this? You felt that, right? It wasn?t just me that was filled with rejection. You can only imagine how I felt about that, especially because I had been drinking and lost deep in relationship depression. Not only had he seemingly moved on with his life but had deleted me from his life as well?and by that I mean he deleted me from his phone. We all know it?s really over when you get deleted from the phone, because let?s face it, who the fuck remembers telephone numbers anymore. There is only one thing worse than getting deleted from a phone and that is getting deleted from FaceBook. He had already done that the day after I fired him but I won?t get into a digression about that. Who the hell has so much time on their hands that they go searching other people?s friends on FaceBook and then has the time to send me an instant message asking why Mark deleted me as a friend? Who has that kind of time? My nosey fucking friends, that?s who. I was furious of course. Had I thought about deleting him from my life/phone? Hell yeah I did but I never had the courage to actually go through with it. And, Mark, the one that had dominated my life for so long and had affected me in so many ways actually did what I couldn?t do. You better your furry ass I was pissed. And hurt. I stared at the phone for a few seconds/minutes/hours, however long it took my drunken mind to process the words on my phone, before I texted back: ?sorry, wrong number? And almost immediately he sent this text back: ?liar? And that?s when I ordered another shot. That?s also the last thing I can clearly remember for the rest of that blurry night. The next day was one of those kinds of days where you hope the things you remember from the previous night really never happened and you hoped you only hallucinated the events. But I have no such luck. While I?m on the subject, maybe all you computer programmers out there can help me. I need someone to invent an I-Phone application that somehow checks the user?s blood alcohol content. I don?t know, maybe you blow into the speaker jack and a few seconds later your phone registers your B.A.C. and if you have reached that pathetic point of drunkenness, the phone shuts down for five hours giving you enough to sober up. Do you know how much money I would pay to have an application like this? Mr. Gates, are you reading this? I looked at my phone and saw that not only did I text Mark but he had in fact moved on and deleted me from his phone. I was crushed. But then throughout the day I started obsessing over it like I tend to do in my hyper selfish way. I kept reading his last text over and over again. And then I saw a tiny thread of hope, so small an atom would look over and say, ?boy that?s fucking tiny?. I started thinking he knew exactly who had texted him. I wasn?t sure what his game was but I knew that he knew who that text had been from. Why else would he wait three hours to ask who it was? Why else would he call me a liar when in fact I did lie and said it was a wrong number? And for some reason, just knowing that I wasn?t deleted from his phone helped me move on just a bit more. June 26th, 2010 Some of the gayer readers from San Francisco might recognize that date. For those of you that aren?t quite so gay or don?t not live in the Bay Area, its Gay Pride week. I never really was that keen on attending Gay Pride Parades. Don?t get me wrong, I?ve gone to them and did all the drugs, fucked all the boys, and basically lived out the life from Queer as Folk for years. But in reality, I?ve always had a love/hate relationship with Pride Events and mostly think it?s pretty ridiculous. Why do you ask? I think it gives normal everyday queers like me a bad name with playing to the worst possible stereotypes and lewd in your face behavior that just goes to strengthen the bigotry of the religious right and homophobes that breed like jack-rabbits and brainwash their little heathens into hating for the sole purpose of hating. But that is not what this Blog Entry is about either. I apologize for those of you that read this last paragraph. But not enough to actually delete it, my way of punishing you I guess. Where was I? A few of my ?friends? convinced me to go this year. I must have been asleep when I agreed to this but whatever. Up to this point, I must admit that I wasn?t hitting the dating scene much beside a few random hook-ups via gay bars, gym bunnies, or trolling about the Castro. I didn?t want to admit it to anyone, but Mark really broke my heart and I wasn?t in any way ready to jump back onto that horse anytime soon. Besides, I had been clean for a while and felt like I needed sometime to work on sober Jason without any distractions. I didn?t tell my ?friends? that I knew the real reason they invited me to watch the parade, and it wasn?t because they were dying for my company. They had someone in mind that they believed would fill the void Mark left inside me and they wanted me to hook up with him. They looked so smug as we drove to San Francisco I didn?t have the heart to tell them it wasn?t ever going to happen. Instead I just decided to let the cards play out to the bitter end. I?m devious like that; sometimes. We met up with their friends at 10am on that beautiful sunny day and I pretended to be surprised that everyone seemed to have a boyfriend except me and this very attractive blonde boy that looked to be around 25. I was 35 at the time, why the hell they thought I would go for a younger man is beyond me. Except that Mark was younger than me and I guess they thought that was my bag. Just so you could fully appreciate my day, and before you get a bad taste in your mouth about blonde boy, let me digress for a moment. He was hot, seemed well-read, and didn?t seem to smell bad for being half a hippie. He was a typical little twink that didn?t eat meat because he couldn?t bear the thought of those poor animals dying so that he might live. Though he did seem to be fine about eating eggs and diary; a practice I find to be a bit strange considering those same animals that he didn?t want to eat were still living in horrible conditions to be milked as so forth but whatever makes him bend over and take it. And as the day progressed, and as the alcohol started flowing, he started complaining about everything. He didn?t like the way the sun fell on him there, he didn?t like the cigarette smell here, the queens standing next to him kept leering at him; this behavior started to grate on my already fragile nerves. I was truly ready to throw him over my shoulder and toss him into the bay or just take him to a hotel and fuck the whininess out of him. Either one would have been acceptable and more enjoyable than listening to a hot blonde boy bitching about everything that came into his field of vision. My ?friends? of course were dressed somewhat scandalous. Two of them were dressed in black leather chaps, leather harness, and various studded bracelets etc etc. And a another one was only wearing a skimpy white pair of boxer briefs that were so tight you not only saw the side he dressed on but if he was circumcised or not. And for the record, he is cut and hates it. I always teased him about it, I prefer cut dicks, always have. He thinks his parents mutilated him at birth. But I?ve always looked at it this way; at the end of the day, if it gets hard, what does it matter, I?ll suck it either way. So blonde boy was dressed pretty Emo-ish. He wore tight black skinny jeans, with bright red boxers. I must admit he did have a real cute ass that filled out those jeans nice and wow. He wore a studded silver belt, and had a lip ring which he always played with?click?click?his little pink tongue would flick it back and forth against his teeth. His nails were painted black and his hair did one of those flippy things. I looked hot as usual. We found a place to squat while we waited for the floats of gayness to reach us. Everyone except for me had been pre-gaming for hours so by this time they were all feeling a bit loose and crazy. There was a lot of kissing, groping, and in one case a hastily completed hand-job from the couple on my right. I didn?t get the handy-J, I just watched one do the other. I was sober and more than a bit bored and annoyed at the world around me. Bored Jason is never a good combination, never. It reminded me of a time back in my younger days when I was hitting on this guy but not having much luck. This other guy, a fucking hottie, was getting close to sealing the deal. So to avert the attention from the hottie and onto me where it rightfully belonged, I did something so outrageous just so I would get noticed. I jumped up on the bar and started doing a striptease to Britney Spears Hit me Baby One More Time. I never did get the guy I was going for, but the old queens at the end of the bar shoved money in my undies so I guess I made out in the end. I had almost reached that point where I could feel myself gearing up for some inappropriate attention. Blonde boy was becoming more of an annoyance the drunker he became. He was hitting on me like I was his last chance at finding sex, groping me, and he kept trying to shove his pierced tongue down my throat. I already am not a fan of kissing, maybe after I?m with someone and the kiss means more than a prelude to sex, then kissing is fun. But for just hooking up, or even the first few weeks, you want to do something for me, suck on my junk. Blonde boy was driving me so crazy I knew it wouldn?t be long before I either shoved my cock in his mouth just to shut him up or beat him within an inch of his life and then rush him to the hospital and nurse him gently back to health just so I could beat him again. The only satisfaction I got was by chain smoking cigarettes. Because each time I lit up, he?d make a funny face and back away until I was finished. I smoked so much that day I thought my lungs were going to turn black and crawl out of my chest and walk away down the street. My clothes stunk, my fingers were turning yellow and I didn?t give a shit because for five minutes at a time, blonde boy left me alone. ?Can I have a light?? I hear this, behind me, it?s a familiar voice. A voice I never would have expected to hear in the middle of San Francisco?s Gay Pride Parade. I noticed the looks on my friends face and reached in my pocket for my lighter and turned around and stared right into the eyes of a very timid looking Mark. Fuck me. ?Can I have a light?? I must tell you, he looked good; like a proper nerd star. He wore blue jeans, just a little sagged, enough to just make out the tops of his boxers, they were greenish that day, a simple black T-shirt that said, ?My Dick Tastes Like Your Chap Stick?. He wore a black hat with a single pink triangle on the front. Since I last saw him he had added an eyebrow ring over his right eye, he was absolutely orgasmic. Fuck me. All this I took in a single glance. What I studied just a bit longer was the look on his face. His usual confident mask was there, lurking in the background but he looked hesitant and just a bit expectant; like he wasn?t sure how I?d received his inquiry for a light. ?Hi.? He smiled and looked down at his feet briefly. I brought the lighter to the end of his cigarette. ?Thanks.? That?s when I noticed he wasn?t alone. Standing just behind him was a very attractive looking guy. If I were to guess his age I would have bet quite a bit of money that he was only a few days past his eighteenth birthday. And the way he was staring at Mark?s back spoke volumes of what he felt about my nerd star. I hated him immediately. ?I thought you hated these things,? Mark stated as pointedly ignored my ?friends? who I?m sure were giving him dirty looks. Looking over to my left I could see blonde boy?s eyes darting back and forth between us, a pained look on his face. I shrugged. ?You know me; I?m always down for anything.? ?I remember.? Mark smirked, a knowing look danced around his eyes. ?You remember everyone, everyone this is Mark.? We all made small talk for a few moments. My ?friends? are great, they did everything right after Mark and I broke-up. They talked shit about him, swore on future unborn children that they wouldn?t rest until my honor was revenged. But here we were standing face to face, and they weren?t sure how they should react. Should they be rude to him as propriety dictates? Should they act like nothing?s wrong as social behavior dictates? Or should they pointedly ignore him? They went with the latter. ?I didn?t really want to come but, Bryan, just came out and wanted to experience the whole ?pride? thing first hand.? Mark explained without anyone prompting him. I thought it was cute the way Mark made air quotes when he said pride. I had just met Bryan and I could already tell he was completely in love with Mark. And knowing Mark as well as I did, I could tell he was oblivious about it. My hatred for Bryan slipped away like so much water from my back. I immediately switched my attention from unattainable Mark to safe target Bryan. ?So Bryan, what do you think of pride so far?? Bryan?s eyes, when not fixed on Mark, were darting around the crowd growing larger and larger with everything he saw. Over there were two bears dressed in work boots and daisy duke shorts basically raping each other, while back over that way two fem twinks were arguing loudly. Apparently one of the twinks kissed another guy for a drink and the other twink, I?m assuming they were boyfriends, thought he had cheated on him. Down the street a ways, two older gay guys were standing there quietly holding hands and I swear they had tears of joy in their eyes. You know the usual suspects at Gay Pride. ?It?s amazing, seeing so many people come together. It?s like I can forget all about the last four years of high school.? From that statement alone I immediately fell in love with Bryan, as a little brother. Something about the way he still looked at the world with fresh eyes gave him an innocence that drew me in and felt like I should protect him. Or get him laid and get some of that freshness rubbed off. So I went with the latter and got him drunk and then blonde boy busted his Gay Pride cherry in an alley off Market Street. But that?s not really what this Blog entry is about either so I?ll continue onwards. I could tell that Mark and Bryan were at Pride alone and we sort of adopted them into our little group of wacko?s. Mark knew most of them and after a few awkward moments they fell right back into their pattern of playfulness. My ?friends? pretty much decided that Bryan was our mascot and life was good that day. It wasn?t long until the chemistry that is always between us came to the forefront and we started ignoring the rest of the group as we got lost inside our own little world filled with inside jokes and knowing looks that always drives my ?friends? crazy. All those months of being apart did little to curb our connection and the past hurts melted away like the new spring. At first it was little jokes accompanied by casual touches, an arm there, a shoulder pat here. We had some clean chit and some dirty chat like we always seem to do. And by the time we were ready to leave, it was quite obvious that we were going to hook up again. Just being that close to him was driving me crazy and I didn?t care about anything but waking up in his arms again. I had offered to drive everyone so after collecting Bryan from blonde boy, he was pretty much passed out by this time, I drove the three of us back to my house where we deposited Bryan on the couch. The rest of the night is/was for us and I won?t go into the details because it?s too personal and I don?t want to lose the magic that we created. It?s enough to know that we spent most of that night talking and in the morning light, we were an ?us? again. February 16th, 2011 Mark and I have been together since that Gay Pride Parade where fate stepped in and pushed us to confront the past and agree upon a future. And I?m not sure when it happened but the other day I couldn?t help but notice that we?ve spent almost every night together in the last four months. And I think he pretty much lives with me now; he has a drawer in my room, space in my closet, and my bathroom is littered with his shit. I?m a clean freak, pretty much O.C.D. and Mark is what I call a fucking slob. He leaves dirty dishes everywhere; I once found a fork and plate in the bathroom. Not sure if he was eating while?well taking a shit?but really. Who leaves dirty dishes in the bathroom? He leaves his dirty clothes everywhere, boxers in the kitchen, why? I think one of the reasons he ?moved? in was so that I would do his laundry and clean up after him. I?m not really complaining, after all he so pays for it in spades?and blowjobs?and he lets me fuck him whenever I want?so it?s cool. Now I?m not saying it?s all been fuzzy bunny slippers for us all the time. He works fulltime and goes to school full time, so his schedule is already pretty full. And I?m a full blown workaholic so I don?t have much in the way of free time either. We?ve both had to make some adjustments and sacrifices to keep this thing alive this time around. You want an example. How about Thanksgiving? All he could talk about was how excited he was that I would be spending the holiday with his mother and sister. Apparently it?s the one day his mother lets him cook and he lives for that day. And he wanted to spend it with those that he loved. I thought it was weird that his mother actually agreed to these plans as she had never been overjoyed that I was the one that made her little baby boy into a queer. Yet I must admit that this time around she had really tried to be a supportive and understanding mother. I know Mark was floating around cloud twenty-three by her actions. I?m in the restaurant industry and being manager number three in a three manager restaurant means I get all the shit shifts. I don?t have a wife, kids, and blah blah blah. That?s right boys and boys, I had to work. True we closed early on that day so I did make it over to his house for a late dinner (which his mother kept warm for me) and dessert with the family (they waited for me). But I could see it in his eyes that he really wanted me to be there all day to help with the cooking and socializing. How was I to know that I was the only and first guy he ever brought over to the house to meet and hang out with his family? Let me tell you, it made me feel like shit not to spend the entire day with him but it made me feel all fuzzy bunny slippers to know I was someone special enough to invite over for family time. The next big disappointment, I don?t consider Christmas a big tragedy because he?s Jewish and doesn?t really celebrate that stupid holiday, was New Year?s Eve. It seems quite a few of his friends were going to some private party in San Francisco and he wanted me to escort him for the evening and to do the traditional midnight kiss. Needless to say we didn?t get that kiss until almost three am. Yet again, I had to work as the fireworks display brings in thousands of people to the wharf area and we were crazy busy. Needless to say we didn?t get that magical kiss until almost three am as I got stuck on the B.A.R.T. train for two hours with all the riders leaving the firework display. He was a bit upset but understood that business is business. Plus I promised we?d spend Valentine?s Day together. I had begged, pleaded, offered free blowjobs to the other managers, anything I could think of to make sure that I had off on that so overrated day of ?romance?. And fate, that mother fucker, decides to fuck me again; this time with no lube or a reach around. Three days before February 14th, the general manager calls me into the office and informs me that the owners wanted me personally to work that night and there was no way I could have the day off. I avoided Mark?s texts all day and only told him about the change of plans after I fucked him into delirium. That conversation was one of the hardest talks I ever had to do and I saw it in his eyes, he was crushed, upset, pissed off, and pretty hurt on top of all the other emotions probably running through his mind. I had made plans to decorate the apartment, cook him a romantic dinner, wine and dine him until his pants came off and then he would get dessert. He knew how much effort I had put into the whole ordeal so at least he understood that I was just as bummed. The only good news about that day was at least I didn?t have to close so I would be arriving home around 9 pm. So we adjusted the timetable and he seemed to be pretty understanding after I fucked him into submission. I wish I could erase the first half of that Valentine?s Day from my brain. Just like Murphy?s Law states, everything that could have possibly gone wrong did that Monday. Two of my line cooks didn?t show up, the fish company delivered the wrong fish and we had to change our special ?lovers dinner? that took four weeks to design. While I?m on the subject of restaurants, I want all of you that have never worked in the service industry, to listen up and really pay attention. You need to have some fucking understanding when things don?t go as smoothly as you expect them to with your dining experience. You have no idea how one tiny little detail can fuck your world six ways from Tuesday. We juggle all the balls in the air and one slip up can snowball into a cluster fuck of errors that we have no control over. You 9-5er?s need to understand this as well. When you don?t feel good you call in to your boss and you get the day with pay. Maybe someone has to cover a few of your projects but usually your work waits for you until you?re better. If you have a family emergency, you call up your boss and you get paid time off to handle your affairs. When a server gets sick, they show up to work because if they don?t work they don?t get paid. When their life falls apart they show up for work because if they don?t then they don?t pay rent that month. Most of you when you?re feeling a bit under the weather or just pissed off at the world can hide out in your office or cubicle and no one?s the wiser. Not us, no matter what?s happening in our lives we have to kiss your fucking ass and treat you like a king because you are so fucking stupid you think the whole world is going to end if you didn?t get that one last Happy Hour cocktail before Happy Hour is over. Just because your food took twenty-five minutes is no reason to yell at me and call me all sorts of names. Oh yeah, fuck YELP.com. So I was talking about Valentine?s Day and what a cluster fuck it turned out to be. Our expediter (the person in charge of calling out the food orders and making sure all the food is delivered to the right table) had to leave in the middle of service because he?s a breeder and didn?t aim for the chin and his wife decided that day was the perfect day to have a stinky pooping machine. Strike one against us. Redesigning our menu because our vendor sent us the wrong fish was strike two against us. Strike three came from left field and left us with lost food tickets, badly timed food courses and a feeling of disappointment to almost every single diner in the restaurant. In all my years of restaurants I had never been as embarrassed as I was on that day. To go up to table after table and apologize for screwing up their special day was draining on every level because I knew we dropped the ball. It was horrible. It was close to ten thirty before I managed to drag myself from the restaurant and all the problems that developed that day. Of course as a good boyfriend, I kept Mark updated on the stasis of my departure, explaining the delays. And he was unusually calm and understanding about the whole ordeal. All he kept replying to my texts were to make sure I text him when I sat down on the train. I am a creature of habit. I always sit in the same train car and if I can in the exact same seat on each car. This favorite seat of mine happens to be the handicap seat. I like sitting sideways on the train as opposed to riding backwards or forwards. So I sit in the handicap sideways seat and I always sit in the second to the last car on any train. Why? If I sit in the handicap seat in the second to last car when my train arrives at my destination it stops right in front of the up escalator. The moment the train stops I can run off the train and be the first up the stairs putting me ahead of the slower moving masses. Brilliant huh? I caught the 10:52PM train and sat in my usual spot and texted Mark that I was on the train. He sent me back a smiley face and I took a deep breath knowing this horrible day was about to get much better. My train ride is usually 42 minutes or so and then I get into my car and drive another twenty minutes to my apartment. So I knew I had some time to kill. I opened my laptop and lost myself in my latest story. But that oblivion didn?t last long. At the very next stop I was shocked when the doors opened and I saw a very handsome looking Mark walk on the train and sit down in the seat across from me. He was dressed in black slacks and a dark gray button down shirt. He looked amazing. He sits down across from me and after giving me a shy smile he opens a book and pointedly ignores me. Though he was ?intently? peering into his book, I couldn?t help but notice the smirk on his face as he sat there ?oblivious? to my presence. So I do the same, I stare at my screen while stealing glances at him. We do this for two more stops, making eye contact every few moments and pretending to be embarrassed when caught looking. I must tell you, it was hot. Finally I couldn?t take it anymore and I shut my laptop and asked, ?Excuse me, what are you reading over there?? He sits there in silence. After a few moments, he turns the page and then shut the book, marking the page with his finger. He looks up and flashes the cover towards me. ?Just some light reading.? I started laughing. He was reading my copy of Dorm Porn. ?Light reading huh?? He shrugged. ?My boyfriend always seems to be at work, I?ve got to get my kicks somehow.? ?Your boyfriend would rather work than come home to you?? ?He has a stressful job, and he does take care of me. I just get lonely sometimes.? ?What does he do?? Without missing a beat Mark looks at me and says deadpanned. ?He sells couch insurance.? Mark is the master at role playing. He loves creating wild scenarios to spice things up as he puts it; it really turns him on to live out his fantasies. Well, two can play at that game. ?He sounds like a real tool. If you were my boyfriend I?d never leave you alone.? He smiles at me, I can see the lust building and for a moment I wonder what is to come. ?He has his moments. What are you doing tonight?? ?I don?t know, but I?d love to get a drink with you.? So there we were, me dressed in my stinky restaurant clothes, walking through the Castro pretending we didn?t know one another, talking about lives we didn?t lead and dreams we?d never realize. We ended up at the Look Out, a well-know bar in the Castro that allows smoking on the patio, talking small talk and flirting through the night. We awkwardly had a ?first? kiss standing on the balcony overlooking the street. And when he breathlessly asked if I?d like to go back to his hotel and spend the night with him, I about lost it. His hotel happened to be my favorite one in San Francisco, a little Kempton property with a Jacuzzi tub and glass shower. Beside the bed was a chilled bottle of Champagne and caramel dipped strawberries. We toasted our ?meeting? and fed one another strawberries before we undressed one another and went for a nice long soak. We ended up talking most of the night, connecting in ways I didn?t know were possible and closing the gaps that had widened with our hectic work schedules. It was probably the single most romantic night of my life. It was also the night I really knew without a doubt that I had been completely and perfectly blown away. The next morning he would tell me that he had been planning this whole ?seduction? for weeks and had booked the hotel room back in December. That little fucker let me make all those plans knowing full well it was nothing but a waste of time. These grand gestures were one of the reasons I fell in love with him. June 27th, 2011 But in reality, times like these were few and far between for us. Even though Mark worked full time and went to school, in his heart he?s a pot head. And being a pot head means he spends a majority of his free time zoning out in front of the TV; disconnected with the world for large chunks of time. I?m a full blown workaholic that tends to put my job above my personal life and sometimes happiness. I focus so much on work that I am often disconnected in my personal relationships because I can?t live in the moment without worrying about the next day. You see, the thing with Mark is we are actually perfect for each other. We?re both passionate humans with the capacity for grand gestures and picture perfect moments that we painstakingly conceive and execute flawlessly. Both of us spent more time creating moments than actually taking the time to enjoy the moment. You see, the thing with Mark is we?re horrible for one another. We are both demanding and so often unwilling to bend or compromise for anything much less for each other. Our fights were epic struggles, shouting matches that came just short of violence. Have I ever been completely and perfectly blown away? I can now answer that question, though I think it?s too late for that to make a difference. Self-realization always comes too late and with too high a price. I haven?t been completely and perfectly blown away. But I?ve come close enough. I?ve always thought of heaven as a metaphor for perfection. And if that?s the case, then I?ve only ever reached the edges. Mark and I started drifting apart all too soon after that ?perfect? Valentine?s Day. A part of our divergence was due to his grades slipping. I understand he?s so close to achieving his dream and worked and sacrificed way too much to screw his future up now. He started spending more time at his house focusing on his schoolwork. It was closer to school and spending every night with me was a distraction. I?ll forget the part that I worked until midnight most nights and he had plenty of time to do his homework. After months of sleeping with someone, it was a bit lonely at first but as time moved on, I started to embrace the emptiness of the apartment. Mark and I as a couple was hard, only seeing one another for late-night hookups and dirty weekend sex was easy. After a week of not seeing each other for five days, we were so both horned up that we spent most of our time in bed rutting like two teenagers and for awhile that worked for us. But a relationship is a living, breathing entity and if you starve it, it will die slowly but surely over time. I?ve come to realize that being with Mark was much like getting fucked by a jackhammer. I know the orgasm is going to be epic but it?ll also tear up my insides. Mark and I stopped being an ?us? on April 1st, 2011. It?s an appropriate day and sums up our relationship perfectly. The decision to end it was mutual and we parted this time around as friends. I still love him and for most of the day I miss him terribly. His sense of humor is so like my own it?s almost like he?s inside my head. No other human on this fucking planet gets me like he does and he?ll always have a large space in my heart that is uniquely his and no one else. I often find myself comparing other guys I meet to Mark and I say to myself that they have large shoes to fill. When I first started writing this Blog Entry a few days ago, I had no idea what I was trying to convey. I was trying to wrap my head around the emotions that have been causing me so much grief and the only way I know how to work things out is to put words to paper so to speak. I had some anger lurking there, lots of heartache, a touch of longing, and even fondness of a time when I had a partner that was a close to perfect as I could ever hope to find. For reasons I won?t go into, I needed to get my thoughts about him down on paper so I could find a way to let this shit go. Okay, I?ll go into it even though I just realized that this Blog Entry is already sixteen pages long. That?s pretty fucking wordy even for my usual long boring entries. On June 17th, I was a bit drunk and very horny so I thought I?d go on Grindr and find a cum dumpster to vent my frustrations and release all the animosity I had pent up from Mark into. And what happened? I actually met an amazing guy and instead of hooking up we spent most of the night texting back and forth. And the more we spent chatting, the more I was intrigued. After having a great night chatting, we actually met the next night and had such a great time talking that it was only two days later we spent most of the night together connecting in so many ways. He wasn?t Mark, but that was okay. He was a writer, smart and uniquely sexy with a mind and humor that was refreshing in my fake world of hookups and one night stands. I was more than interested on that Monday night a week ago but as fate would have it the very next day at nine-thirty in the morning Mark texted me out of the blue. He wanted to know if I would want to hang out with him for the day with a few visiting friends in San Francisco. You see, the thing with Mark is I?m scared we?ve only reached the end of the second act.

5:00AM...M wakes me up by straddling my back and whispering in my ear that he wants me to go running with him 5:15AM...M and I walk out the front door to freezing wet air and head off toward the upcoming sunrise 6:15AM...We walk back inside the house and head toward the shower, we don't make it 6:17AM...M rewards me for running with him 7:04AM...We get in the shower and I thank him for rewarding me 7:43AM...We sit down for breakfast. M gets 2 eggs over easy with coffee and I get a bagel with OJ 7:55AM...M heads off to class and I do the dishes 8:20AM...I get in my car and drive to Millbrae to catch B.A.R.T. train to San Francisco 8:45AM...Get on B.A.R.T. and start checking and replying to work related emails 9:00AM...M sends text and says he's misses me 9:25AM...Get to the restaurant and begin checking the overnight voicemail 9:46AM...Recieve call finalizing cocktail party plans for 6 PM that night for 50 guests 10:00AM...Recieve phone call from a busser who claims he can't come to work 10:01AM...Tell busser to come or else...he claims he tried calling me all morning but I didn't pick up 10:02AM...I call bullshit on his claim as I had been awake since five AM 10:17AM...Send M a text that says...Grrr 10:30AM...Greet and Brief the lunch staff about the days events and specials 11:00AM...Open for lunch and deal with a server "suddenly" becoming ill 11:01AM...Sent server home and I'm not happy as we are booked quite heavily for lunch 11:17AM...Busser shows up to work late we are 17 minutes behind schedule 12:00PM...Order a Chicken Cobb Salad for lunch, can't wait 12:15PM...Homeless crack-head tries to steal food off a table sitting on the patio 12:16PM...Feel a bit better after yelling at the crack-head 1:30PM...Finally get a chance to eat...Chicken Cobb Salad is wilted but tasty 2:00PM...Receive email about last minute changes regarding cocktail party 2:01PM...Push time up to 5PM and change the menu with Chef for cocktail party 2:13PM...M texts he'll be staying at his apartment tonight but he loves me 2:30PM...Was told that "sick" server left to meet one of our chefs for some afternoon delight 2:31PM...Not happy with server or the chef, can't wait until tomorrow's meeting 3:00PM...Sit down with a wine rep and have a tasting for new Pinot Noirs 3:30PM...Surpervise the setting up for the cocktail party and decorate the room 4:00PM...Greet and meet the night shift and brief them on the cocktail party and the night's business 5:00PM...Guests arrive for the cocktail party and the fun begins 5:30PM...Restaurant is full and I jump behind the bar to help bartender make drinks 6:45PM...Finally get a chance to leave the bar and smoke a much needed cigarette 6:45PM...Text M just to say hi 7:30PM...I yell at a server because she forgot to ring the entr?es for a table of five...for twenty minutes 8:00PM...To console the table I buy them a round of drinks and dessert, I think it worked as they left happy 8:07PM...M texts that he's going to bed and that he loves me 8:15PM...D and I begin doing physical end of month inventory on wine, beer, booze 10:00PM...I do all the book keeping for the day's business and send the servers home after a job well done 10:30PM...D and I finish physical inventory and I turn off the lights and lock the doors and head toward B.A.R.T. 10:52PM...Get on train and text M that I love him and goodnight, he doesn't respond 11:29PM...Arrive in Millbrae and walk to my car 11:35PM...After waiting for my car to warm up I start driving home to San Mateo 11:55PM...I walk in my door and see a note on the counter from M 11:55PM...M figured I wouldn't get to eat dinner so he left me a slice of pizza in the fridge 11:56PM...Forgo the pizza and head up the stairs stripping out of my clothes as I head to the shower 12:05AM...Walk into my bedroom and realize that M is curled up with my pillow snoring softly 12:06AM...Stare at M asleep and realize that I can't imagine life without him 12:07AM...I pounce on M and life is perfect 1:00AM...M says he couldn't sleep alone and figured he'd surprise me 1:02AM...M whispers goodnight and moments later he starts snoring softly 1:04AM...I shift to a more comfortable position and set my alarm for 5 AM 1:05AM...I grab my laptop and start typing what will become this Blog Entry 1:31AM...I post this Blog Entry and snuggle up to M's back and drift off to sleep...happy and content

Never been good at that...maybe I could employ a ghost writer...J

What? J

Written between September and October 2010

I guess you could say that, maybe it's time to write another Blog.

So I guess I was quick on the draw when I said I hate the letter "M"...because I no longer hate the letter "M". Let the usual craziness resume... J

I hate the letter "M" and all that entails. J

It's no longer illegal in America Cole, so if you wanted, you could enjoy the marvelous affects of wormwood. And I wouldn't believe all the horror stories about people going crazy and or nuts. I'm sure if you were to drink a whole bottle or so maybe zaniness would occur.That being said, I remember writing this piece but I don't remember posting it online. And I know I woke up on the wrong end of my bed with all my clothes off but one sock and one shoe (not on the same foot) That being said, at least I had taken the time to clean up the supper dishes so the house was clean this morning.So I wouldn't recommend drinking half a bottle of that stuff unless you like waking up naked with your feet resting comfortably on the pillow.J

The other day I was walking to the B.A.R.T. (Bay Area Rapid Transit), which is another name for the local Subway system, it was late, sometime around 11:PM, when I was approached by three youths, they couldn't have been older than twenty. Even though I was listening to my I-Pod, I am aware of my surrounding, and when they stopped in front of me, barring my way to walk, I took out one of the ear buds, and looked at them blankly. The tallest one, which still didn't come up to my shoulder, told me in his broken accent, "This is my block, if you want to continue then we have to do a pocket check." Now I'm not completely hip with all the new lingo that is floating around the world, but being as I have spent some time on the streets in my youth, I immediately knew that this young youth was basically saying that since I was on his block, then he was going to take everything that was in my pockets. On Saturday, I was witnessed to another crime. This time it was a crack-head looking dude that was hanging around my restaurant's patio. Being that I am rather cynical, the moment I laid eyes on this dirty man, I knew that he was up to no good. I watched him for a few minutes, I first thought that he was going to try and steal something off our patio, maybe drinks from a table, or cash after someone paid for their check. I guess if you've been in the restaurant business as long as I have, then over time you start to develop a keen instinct when something isn't quite right. I'm not sure what it is, but just from the body language, I can usually tell when a guest is going to try and skip out on his check, or when a skittish looking crack-head is going to try something shady. This time, instead of the crack-head fucking me over, he walked over to the bike-rack that is located right in front of my restaurant, and after producing a pair of chain-cutters, he cuts the bike lock and then quickly jumps on the bike and pedals away. Two moments later, the dude who's bicycles the crack-head just stolen, walked outside of my restaurant. Now I don't know why those people who have a love of bicycling insist on wearing spandex. It's like something inside them drives them to wear the tightest garments known to humans, a way to showcase the goods so to speak. I like nothing better than to see a guy's goods. But should I really be able to tell what religion a particular human adheres too? Because no one looks good in spandex...not even Lance Armstrong. There comes a time when the garments you wear outshine the sport you have taken up to pursue. Cycling is one of those sports. And while I'm speaking on the subject of spandex, why is it those of us humans that are weight challenged are most of the ones that abuse spandex. Not even when I was at my best, spandex was never an option. Fuck all, I love riding my bike, but I have never once in all my life, thought I would be a better cyclist by wearing those stupid outfits. Do I really need to see if a cyclist has hemorrhoids or not? I don't think so. So the dude that just had his bicycle stolen, who was abusing spandex by the way, took off running after the crack-head who was pedaling his stolen transportation as fast as his half-failed lungs could propel him. I would probably make a considerable wager that by the time that very hour had elapse, crack-head had sold that bike and was already high from the profits. But try explaining that concept to spandex wearing wacko, especially after getting the privilege of watching him run down Embarcadero. In a way, it was very entertaining. He was circumcised by the way...so maybe spandex might be good for something. At least I knew I shouldn't be shouting out Jewish slurs toward him. Not sure if any of you are familiar with Absinthe or the sordid history of this wonderful green liqueur. But my hero, Arthur Rimbaud, and his older French lover, drank this almost exclusively. And a few months ago, I found out that this once outlawed drink was now available in America. Apparently, the powers that be have decided that the terror campaign that was once waged against this wonderful drink was a boatload of shit, they have now agreed that it's a harmless spirit that is no worse than a bottle of Vodka. As I type this, I am now drinking this particular beverage, and I must say, I am quite addicted already. It's more than a homage to my favorite poet and mentor, though I must admit I was first intrigued by this drink because of my love of Arthur Rimbaud, but as I sampled this intoxicating adult beverage, I am now completely encapsulated under it's spell. It's 68% alcohol, and a wonderful green color. Which is why Arthur Rimbaud and his contemporaries called this magical drink, the green fairy. They even went as far as to name this drink the poet's third eye. Now I haven't written poetry in quite a while but I understand why it's nickname is the third eye. As I am now drinking this wonderful beverage, and have been for a few hours, I feel so inspired. Is this inspiration due to Absinthe, is it due to my connection to Arthur Rimbaud, or is it due to my own misgivings and a desperate need to have a connection with a poet that completely saved my life in my teens? It really doesn't matter, I have given up writing poetry in any way. Matter of fact, I haven't written a new poetry piece in quite some time. I have two pieces that I have written and re-written a dozen times trying to get it right, that one day I will post online and will be the last two pieces of poetry that I will ever write. Even two years ago when I first started these pieces, I knew that they would be the last two pieces of poetry I would ever write. Maybe I am scared, maybe that's why I haven't been "able" to complete these pieces even after two years. Or maybe the reason I started writing poetry is obsolete now and I can't let go of the past. Either way, I am two pieces away of being Jason Rimbaud, the poet. Not that Absinthe has any bearing on this decision. I am simply following this train of thought to it's bitter end. I am so close to never writing poetry again and in a way it scares the living shit out of me. For so many years, Jason Rimbaud had been mainly known for his poetry. Yeah I've written a Blog that a few people have found amusing over the years, but I can pretty much assure that when asked who the hell is Jason Rimbaud, most people, if they even heard of me, would say he's that poet that has written a lot of pieces a few years ago. What have I written lately? So I was in the middle of a block and three thugs were demanding that I give them a pocket check. Being that I am not a silly little fag and that I am pretty much a fag that is accused of being straight by even those that know me truly well, I did what was completely in my nature. I took out my ear-bud, looked them over one by one, and said in my most centered voice, "It's going to take more than the three of you." I then put the ear-bud back inside my ear and promptly ignored the three fuck-heads that were standing in front of me. After a few moments, they retreated to either bother someone else or make their way back to their home. It really doesn't matter what they did, because in the end, bullies are nothing more than beings that feed off of fear, if you show them no fear, then they have no power. Make of this what you will...I have already made of this situation what I will...the rest is up to you. Jason

Maybe I should fill you all in on the other three days of vacation...hmm...for now it's off to the bar. Wish me luck.J

I've been on vacation for the last five days and I must say, I haven't done anything of importance. Okay, that's not really true, I have done things. Yet none of these things were things I had been needing to do. On Sunday, while on the train going home to start my five day vacation, I wrote this in my notes section of my handy dandy I-Phone...'Starting tomorrow, I'll be having five days off work, not really sure what I'll be doing or where I'll be going but it's time to find a warm hole and stick my dick inside it.' Lofty ideals huh...don't judge me, it's not my fault. I blame television. On Monday, I had a plan to go to San Jose to get Hot Wings from my favorite place, Smoke Eaters. I would like to take this time to admit to a problem...nay an addiction that I have been struggling with for ten years. The taste of a really spicy Hot Wing sauce is like nectar of the gods to me. This is a straight up addiction no fly by night flirtation. So much so am I addicted to this sauce, I could probably mainline the sauce on a daily basis. I even go as far as to dip my finger in the sauce and lick it off while I drink beer. I guess I love the way it burns my mouth and lips. Though I must admit, the next day, while doing certain daily activities it burns like I'm stuck inside the seventh level of hell. So I had this idea to go to San Jose and get Hot Wings from Smoke Eaters and then go back home with a case of beer and maybe a new video game and veg out in front of my big screen high definition TV. So on the way, I stop off at the local GameStop to see if there is a new game that might stir my interest. And boy, did I find more than I bargained for... Splinter Cell, the latest one, I was very interested in purchasing so I sauntered up to the counter to this delicious geek that was standing there in all his nerdy glory and asked if this game was satisfying. Apparently, he loved the game because he started talking a mile and minute, his hands wavering in weird motions and he was practically bouncing off the walls. He was a typical looking geek, long hair, scruffy beard that couldn't grow in all the way, dressed like a fashion reject from a bad eighties movie with a Spiderman T-Shirt that was two sizes too small for his lanky frame. I'll say it, sex on wheels. It's four o-clock in the afternoon, I'm on vacation, and I'm randy as goat. While he's going on and on about this game, I couldn't help but to laugh. I say, "You seem pretty excited about this game." "I am." "I usually don't get this excited outside of sex, how about you?" I say/asked, flashing him my most seductive smile. For a moment, he looks at me, then he smiles shyly and looks around before saying, "I get even more excited about sex." "What time do you get off?" "Five o-clock." "Fancy an after work blow job?" I ask bluntly. After all, I only have five days and I don't have time to beat around the bush. Plus I really wanted to eat my Hot Wings from my favorite place in San Jose and drink some beer. It was so cute, he looked down at his feet and turned his head, not bothering to look me in the eye. He mumbles, "I'm not gay." "It's okay, my mouth is gay enough for the both of us." Geek always taste better when it's straight geek. On Tuesday, I had to do laundry and wanted to give the apartment a good cleaning over. Wolfie had been on my ass lately about the streaks and dust on the TV so for a few hours, I lost myself in the mundane chores of keeping house. About seven o-clock, I worked up a mighty thirst so I showered quickly and headed off to the bar to find myself a dumpster. Figuring I would make this vacation's theme, Straight Week, I decided to only try and seduce straight boys. For the last few weeks, there is this little hottie straightie that hangs out at my local neighborhood straight bar, and we have been giving each other the eye. Or to be truthful, I have been giving him the eye and he's been giving me the eye when he thinks I'm not looking. That night I decide that I'm not just going to look from afar, I decide that he's going to be my dumpster for the night. Turns out his name is Brad and he wasn't completely straight. He goes to some college, he's getting his undergrad in some subject. I know, when he was talking I really was paying attention. As he sat on the stool beside me, I couldn't help but notice his bulge, it was so enticing and mysterious. He's okay looking, probably about a "5" with no visible spots. I buy him a drink, make some dirty chit and some flirtatious chat before I say let's go back to my place. "I don't need anything else to drink." "Me neither." I say, rubbing my hand across his prominent bulge. Undergrad students who try to be straight tastes better than your average gay undergrad. Must be something about their pheromones. Sometime last week, I was riding on the train on my way to work when I noticed this young couple sitting a few seats away from me. I would guess they were around sixteen or seventeen and they were making out pretty heavily like only kids can do in public. The girl was cute, curvy and had red hair. The boy was your typical EMO, dressed in black and wearing skinny jeans that couldn't be any tighter unless he just painted them on. But what stood out about this couple, after fifteen minutes of heavy petting, the boy was in a very aroused state. You have to love skinny jeans. The boy looked to be embarrassed about his predicament, trying to place his arm in his lap, his hands, anything so as his erection wouldn't be seen by either the passengers or even his make out partner. I believe the girl was oblivious as to his state and as I watched this for a few minutes, I couldn't help but to laugh. Here was this boy trying hard to hide his cock and yet he still wanted to make out with his girlfriend who's hands had started to roam about his body. As my stop was approaching, I folded up the paper I had been reading and as I walked past them to exit the train, I dropped the paper in his lap and smiled at him. He quickly placed it in the proper place and gave me a look that said he was more than grateful for my act of generosity. I walked off the train feeling like I had done my good deed for the month. On the way home, the very same day, I watched two people fucking on the train. It was surreal, I was on one end of the train car and they were on the other end. They saw me but they didn't care that I was watching. She was sitting on his lap and from the moans they were making, they were having a ball. So I did what any person would do in my situation, I took a picture. So much for my belief in Karma. Whatever good I did with the boy by giving him a paper, it didn't come back to me in the least. The topper to this little tale, she suddenly jumped off his lap and then her head disappeared and the guy almost screamed out in ecstasy. So I started clapping. They didn't even have the shame to look embarrassed. I guess I lost my Bay Area Rapid Transit cherry.

You might not have dug the grand canyon, but maybe you were there when it was only a ditch.... Higher priorities than an I-Phone...sacreligious DesHigher grade of twink than a two...bless you sirJ

The beginning?well that isn?t really the right place to start this particular tale. No not there, that would take more time then I could ask any sane person to suffer through. So instead of the beginning, I think I?ll start in the middle. I?ve never had much luck with relationships. For all my slutty ways, I?ve only ever been in three long term relationships. And for those of you that might not know, I?ll define the phrase ?long term relationship?. For me, long term relationship is defined, anything that last more than a week. What? I tell the truth, even if it?s ugly. It just so happens that most of my truths are a bit dirty. Last go back for a bit and I?ll tell you another dirty truth. My first long term relationship was with a boy named, Jason. You might remember this almost straight boy that held my heart in his hand so tightly. After all, I did agree to be his best man a few years later when he got married to this chick he met in a bar. Jason was also the same boy that showed up at my apartment the night before his wedding for a final taste of the love that dare not speak its name. (For those of you that are/might be interested in knowing more about this boy, check out my Blog at Awesome Dude for an entry called, I?ll Never Wear Boxers Again.) I guess it was his way of thanking me for not telling his soon to be wife about our ?special bond? and the four years we spent together. And if I am to be speaking truths right now, I must be honest. That sacrifice of silence nearly destroyed me. Jason never knew just how much I loved him. I know this as fact, because each time we slept together, I made sure to say what we were doing, was nothing more than fun. Two close friends helping each other out. I was so worried, petrified actually, about scaring him away, never daring to show my true feelings out of fear that he would run to the hills. That fear was founded on too many fucking conversations we had over the years. Often, usually the morning after our sex was particularly passionate, he would tell me that he wasn?t gay, and that his one wish in this journey we call life was to find a wife and have a family. At first I thought, scratch that, I hoped, it was nothing but bravado mixed with self denial. So I would downplay my feelings, hoping to give him room and the time to sort out his emotions. I remember there was a time about a year into whatever we were doing, that he was dating this chick from two towns over. Every single Friday night, after he got off work, he would drive forty-five minutes to her and be gone all weekend only to return to me Sunday night. What a fucked up pair we made back then, Monday thru Thursday, we lived together, ate together, laughed together, got drunk together, and slept together. And then Friday night he would leave. And every fucking time, I would swear that when he returned, I would tell him exactly how I felt. Sadly, I never really seemed to muster the courage. This went on for about four months. And trust me; they were the longest four months of my life. It was horrible, on the surface I had everything I ever wanted, never mind the small fact that I had to keep it all a secret and ignore that in front of our friends, I got to hear about this chick and how happy he was spending each weekend with her. It was taking a toll, I started drinking heavily again and that turned into treating him like shit, basically behaving like a jealous school girl who can?t understand that her English teacher is already happily married and has no intention of leaving his wife for a spoiled little girl. For a time, I really believed that our friendship was heading towards destruction. But then it happened. It was a Friday night, and just like always, he was packing his bag, preparing for his weekend of straightness, when I walked into his bedroom and sat on the bed. After a few moments of me watching him pack, he asked if I needed something. ?I love you, you know.? That was the first time I ever said those words to someone other than my fucked up family. He closed his bag, his back towards me and replied, ?I know.? I got up and walked out of the apartment. A few hours later, after many drinks and a sloppy blowjob from some random guy from the club, I return home to an empty apartment. It was the first time I ever fucked someone for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive. No matter how much I drank or how many blowjobs I got, I couldn?t fill the emptiness that consumed me. Sometimes, even when completely hammered, our minds can suddenly have a single lucid thought that shifts everything into place and the world becomes shockingly clear. Sitting on my empty bed, clutching his pillow to my chest, and through the self-loathing and Vodka haze, I knew that I could no longer go on fooling myself. Jason and I would never be truly together and I would be better off moving on. I didn?t even care that one of us would have to move out of our apartment, all I knew is I couldn?t do it anymore. Sometime around 3 am I passed out, fully intending to end it with Jason the moment he returned Sunday night. Around 3:45, I was rudely awoken by someone shaking me. And much to my surprise, it was Jason. He crawled into bed and pulled me close. He kissed my cheek and when I tried to talk, he put his finger against my lips and told me to go back to sleep. And in the morning, we woke wrapped in each others arms. And in that moment, I was truly happy. Sadly that moment didn?t last long because Jason started whispering in my ear as he held me tight. He told me that he loved me but wasn?t in love with me. He also apologized for leading me on. He said he knew that I wanted more from him but since I never came out and said it, he chose to ignore it because being with me filled a void and he hated to be lonely. He had decided for the sake of our friendship, that we had to stop sleeping together. And it worked, for a time, but whatever it was between us, was to powerful and a few months later we started the whole thing again and it lasted another two years before I moved to a different city in a different state on the opposite end of the country to get away from him. I guess Jason knew me better than any other human on this planet and I think that night in my bed was the only time he was completely honest with me and to this fucking day, I still believe it was a load of shit. Sad, I know, but how I wish for those confusing times again. Anything would be better than the last three weeks.

I guess I'm in love with my I-Phone. There I've said it...publically and everything. With all the applications you can download, I'm surprised it's not listed as one of the worlds greatest something or other. Let's face it, it beats the shit out of the Grand Canyon. (Sorry Des) Though now that I think about it, the I-Phone should come with an ugly people spotting application for those of us that take a drink from time to time. It would've came in handy for me last night. I'm not saying the little twink that shared my bed was a two but he was definitely a two. *shudders* I was accused of not making sense the other day at work...to which I replied, "When I'm this dead sexy, I don't have to make fucking sense." There is a server at the restaurant I now call home, let's call him "D", who isn't really that good of a server. But the guests love him and he has a good heart so I keep him around. But after screwing up for the thousandth time the other night, I look over at the bartender and say, "Good thing "D" is attractive, because his smarts isn't going to take him anywhere." Why isn't Florida called, 'God's Waiting Room'? Since I got clean and sober, I'm finding it harder and harder to remain slim, I know, the drugs were killing me and my behavior was erratic at best. But at least I was thin. So what if I was bald, at least I was thin. Now, I'm still bald and at what my friends call a healthy weight...which is code for fat ass. And to make matters worse, the hair that I'm losing on top of my head is now showing up in the craziest places. Why would your ears ever need hair? For that matter, why would your back, blissfully free of hair for thirty-three years suddenly sprout what I can only describe as fur. And before you all freak out, I do a bit of manscaping to keep the Sasquatch on my back under control. But it's all a bother really. And yet instead of going to the gym, I'm sitting here typing this drivel while drinking a beer after I just ate half a pizza. Maybe I deserve this fat ass staring back at me from the mirror. I guess I really don't want to be perfect anymore. Damn-it all, I am quite happy. Maybe that's all I really need. Jason