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Jason Rimbaud

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Blog Entries posted by Jason Rimbaud

  1. Jason Rimbaud
    If there's anything I hate today, I would have to say girls, text messaging, and close-minded bigots that hold on to the Bible like a drowning man holds on to a life preserver in a storm-swept ocean.
    How the fuck does that affect what happened between Mark and I last week, my reader might ask?
    It's good that you ask, because I'm about to explain it to you in my usual round-about meandering way.
    So last we peeked into my life, I was having trouble with a certain nerdy gay boy that wished to seduce me in the worst kind of way. We also found out that Mark and I had decided to keep our relationship on the down-low for a few different reasons.
    Since that time, so many things has transpired I've been playing catch-up all week just to comprehend the life changing events of a single incident.
    I've always found it simply amazing how one tiny event can snowball into a gigantic cluster-fuck of situations, sweeping up all those connected into swirling mess of shit.
    It's not fair, not to me, not to Mark, and not to you, my faithful reader.
    Since I don't have a lot of time to explain, I must go to work in an hour, and my usual taking three or four hour's to construct entries just won't work today. So I'll move fast.
    Remember that little party Mark and I attended a few weeks ago, the one where he decided to kiss me in front of a few people?
    You do, that's good, this will make things all the more easier. (For those of you that have no clue what I'm referring too, just go back a few entries and you'll have the chance to catch up. It's Okay, I'll wait.)
    After that party, our relationship solidified and we existed, more or less, in a state of bliss, domestic, sexual, and any other kind of bliss you might imagine.
    It seems, one of the attendee's of that party, is a casual acquaintance of Mark's ex-girlfriend, you remember her don't you, the cum-dumster, blow-up doll, arm-candy chick? Well, this casual acquaintance wanted to improve his status by becoming a bit closer than just casual acquaintance, so he told her about the events that night, I'm sure with no other motive than trying to get into her pants.
    Needless to say, she did not take that news well. Matter of fact, she took it as a personal affront to her femininity and decided to call Mark's mother and spill the news that her only son was a faggot. And since she knew what Mark's mother thought of me, she probably danced around her apartment in glee knowing the mess of shit she was starting by relaying this information to a woman who wants nothing more than to have as many grandchildren as Mark's poor balls could produce.
    Earlier that day, at work, Mark and I had discussed that party, somewhat ironically now that I think about it, and how it felt good to show his affection in front of people he considered friends.
    Oh, one of his closet friends was a bit upset, not because Mark was gay, matter of fact this friend's mother is gay, no he was more upset that Mark hadn't trusted him enough to tell him sooner. This small bump was smoothed over rather quickly, and Mark was flying high, so to speak.
    Apparently, after Mark arrived home from work, his mother was waiting for him, crying of course. Mark hasn't really given me all the details, and even if he did, I don't think I would share them here, but to make this long story short, Mark ended up at my house, drunk and high off his ass, crying like a baby, and pretty much destroyed.
    Discovering one's son is gay must be a difficult thing to accept for a Mother, a Christian mother, even though I believe she's had her suspicions, making those supposes into reality must be hard.
    She was pissed, heartbroken, angry, concerned for his well-being, loving, accepting in her way, and generally confused and falling apart.
    So Mark had been staying with me since last week, they talk on the phone every day, and I believe they love each other way to much for this to drive them apart, but I did agree that the best thing for everyone involved was to give them a bit of space to adjust to this new bit of information. And quite happily, they have managed to restructure their relationship, and last night, Mark went home for the first time in a week.
    This made me quite happy, I'm used to living alone, and though I believe I love Mark, neither one of us are ready to move in together just yet. Plus, being such a mommas boy, this rift was slowly destroying him. I'm sure they have a long road to walk down but they both are trying and I have high hopes.
    A few days after his mother found out, Mark and I were at work when one of the servers suddenly asked why Mark was wearing one of my necklace's. This was a piece that he saw in my jewelry box and basically claimed it for his own. He said he wanted it to feel closer to me when I wasnt around. He hasn't take it off since, and it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy bunny slippers.
    Before I could say anything, Mark put his arm around my shoulders, and said, and I quote, "Because we're fucking." And he kissed my cheek.
    Somewhat surprising for me, everyone was completely shocked, I didn't realize how good we had become at hiding our feelings. Congrats were thrown around like they were free, and almost everyone told me how happy they were that I finally found a great guy to have. This made Mark's day, he was beaming like a kid at Christmas who just got his new shiny bike.
    So the nerdy gay server was a bit un-happy but he'll get over it, after all, he didn't even know me, though he glares at Mark's back when he thinks no one is looking. He'll come around, everyone loves Mark, he's too likable for the nerdy gay to remain jealous.
    So for once, my life seems to be ending on a good note. I can finally let the world know that I'm dating a guy that I really like, Mark says the stress he felt seems to be slipping away, I guess he didn't realize how much energy it took to have a secret life. He still smokes pot, but not everyday, which I'm thinking will slowly disappear the more comfortable he becomes in his new skin.
    My boss was a bit worried at first, but when I told him that Mark and I have been dancing around this relationship for almost a year and assured him that it wouldn't affect my job performance as Mark's boss, he gave me his blessing.
    It seems my boss was the only one that figured out Mark and I had been playing around. I guess it's true what they that you can't fool all the people all the time.
    Jason
    PS: My comment about text-messaging and close-minded bigots was just to throw you off the scent. But I meant what I said about girls, who fucking needs them.
  2. Jason Rimbaud
    Mark and I have reached the point in our relationship where the newness has finally faded and we've moved into the realm of comfortable bliss. Our days slip by with the quickness of one that is quickly approaching the end. Not to say that we aren't stupidly happy, nor do I mean that the sex has lost it's allure, because let's face the truth, we hump like mad men who have finally been released from prison...a all female prison.
    You could say that everything is perfect...
    Yet I can't help but think that the other shoe is about to drop...from the top of the Empire State Building right on my pretty little balding head.
    I know myself, I do, after all I've lived with this crazy freak for thirty-three years and I am painfully aware of my track record. One of the reasons I've had bad luck in past relationships is I find it difficult to keep my...err...manhood in my pants when faced with temptation. In other words, I have a wandering eye for the pretty men I meet in my life.
    What If I stumble
    At work, at my hip up-scale restaurant in Palo Alto, I've had my difficulties as well. Mainly from the other servers, servers who for the last two years were my co-workers, my partners in crime, and my equals. And now, because of my recent promotion, I am no longer their equal, now I have to tell them what to do. And I'm finding it a bit hard to balance past friendships with the tedious nature of being responsible for the restaurant. All while trying to maintain a new relationship with Mark, another server who at one time was my equal.
    And it's not that he expects special treatment, he does, and it's not that he tries to push the boundaries to find the line, he does, and I'm at my wits end trying to juggle all these things while still doing my job to the best of my abilities. And when I have to put my foot down and say enough is enough, after all, it doesn't take thirty minutes to take a piss, not even with a Urinary Track Infection or some other horrible sexually transmitted disease I am hoping beyond sanity that he doesn't have. And though no one knows about us at the restaurant, he knows, and for some stupid reason can't understand that I won't let him do whatever he wishes.
    What If I stumble...
    The other day, a server called me aside and asked that I speak to this table that was sitting on the patio. I inquired why, and the server said the guest was quite unhappy that she had found a leaf in her entr?e and was demanding that I take the steak off the final bill.
    I know...
    This stupid bitch demanded to be seated outside, it wasn't like we forced her to sit underneath a fucking tree on a windy day in Palo Alto. Nor did we purposely sit her at a table that attracted some kind of flying insect like bears to honey. She picked the fucking table.
    I mean seriously, how fucking stupid can this bitch possibly be? Can you believe she demanded that we comp her check.
    What If I stumble...
    And to make matters worse, we hired this completely sexy, out and proud gay boy that is the spitting image of my friend Daniel in his younger days, so basically he's a nerd, with glasses to boot, and a narrow ass that begs me to squeeze it with my face.
    He doesn't have the hang-ups that Mark clings to like a virgin clings to it's pillow. He's proud to be gay, comfortable even, even in public. And he smart, witty, charming, and dare I say, dead fucking sexy.
    What If I Stumble...
    And to make matters worse, he has made his intentions quite known to the staff. Remember, no one at work knows about Mark and I, so in the broader sense, he's doing nothing wrong. But this leaves me in quite the pickle, as far as everyone is concerned I'm single and if you ask the staff, in desperate need of some loving.
    Then you have Mark, trying in vain to control his jealousy as the nerd chases me with determination that is quite commendable, if I wasn't balancing a jealous boyfriend, friends who won't mind their own fucking business, and a boss that sits back and laughs at the whole damn mess, I'd probably shit myself with laughter.
    What If I stumble...
    All this and I'm a bit frazzled. I really like Mark...like...fuck that, I told him I loved him this morning before I crawled out of bed to head off to work. And I do, love him that is, and I know I won't jeopardize this for some sexy nerd with glasses or a hot, sweaty, semi-violent one night stand.
    But I know how I sabotage my happiness, and I am fearful of this past behavior.
    And then, this morning, way before Mark opened his beautiful brown eyes, I lay there, his pale body entwined with mine, the soft snoring that escaped his lips, and the occasional sleep noises he made, brought such comfort that all these fears slipped away and I couldn't help the ravaging of his sleeping body.
    While I was in the shower, I couldn't help but laugh at myself. I was so worried about the thousand what-ifs that I had completely forgotten about the things that mattered most. Worrying about stumbling is no way to live a life, because let's face it, everyone stumbles. It doesn't matter that we stumble, all that matters is how we get back up and try it again.
    What If I stumble...who fucking cares.
  3. Jason Rimbaud

    Weird Night

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    So it's been a weird week. And by weird...I mean down-right fucking insane with a dash of stupidity thrown in to complete the mix.
    So why was it so weird, down-right fucking insane with a dash of stupidity you ask?
    *waits for you to ask*
    All right, don't get pushy, I'll explain.
    First, with my new promotion at work...
    Wait, did I tell you I got promoted at work?
    Well, I did. Three weeks ago, I got promoted to Assistant Manager at my hip up-scale restaurant in Palo Alto, California. Before that promotion, I was promoted to Catering Manager as well.
    So with this new promotion, I've been working about seventy hours a week. I'm in charge of catering sales, so I spend most of my mornings on the phone, or exchanging emails with potential clients. I drive to their house, we discuss the details and the logistics of how they wish to threw the event and then I coordinate with the rental company for any tables, chairs, cutlery, etc etc. After which, I spend a few hours with the Chef discussing the menu, and after we hammer out the details, I call the client back and get their final approval. This takes up the bulk of my day, nine AM to three PM.
    After which, I change from my suit and into my serving clothes, if I'm working in the restaurant that night, and head in to work at PM. Then I work till about eleven or twelve, maybe go out for a drinkie poo before heading home. Once home, I check my mail, reply to all work related messages, perhaps chat for a few online, then hit the sheets to get up around 7am and start the whole damn thing all over again.
    Oh yeah, I love it.
    I know, you're saying that's not that insane at all, but try doing that for a few months, six days a week and the pressure starts to build. Believe me...I know.
    Where was I? That's right, Mark.
    Mark and I have the most ridiculous relationship in the history of ridiculous relationships. I know this for a fact because I did research on the Internet and I'm way out in front of even the most bizarre celebrity relationship.
    We aren't dating, but we spend so much time together we might as well be. He stays over a few nights a week, we have dinner together, we watch movies together, I spend time with his little sister and mother...but we're not dating.
    *rolls eyes*
    It's getting a bit more insane but still not there to qualify my opening sentence. I know, be patient, I'm getting there.
    Am I the only one that has this most treasured trait?
    So last weekend was Pride Weekend here in San Francisco and after weeks of working six days a week and who knows how many hours, factoring in the stress of dealing with my non-relationship with Mark, I was more than ready to blow off a bit of steam. And what better way to "blow" off steam than hanging out in SF with thousands of fellow queers celebrating my culture?
    When I was in my early twenties, I was quite the party animal/monster/slut/insane person and if there was one thing I knew how to do back then, it was to have fun. I did all the drugs, I fucked all the boys, and did so many stupid things I sometimes wonder how I survived it all with nothing but a few scars. I might add all those scars are internal, as I'm still beautiful on the outside.
    This one time, at band camp...guess that movie reference?
    So when I was twenty-two, I lived in Pennsylvania, and spent most of my time in straight bars with straight friends. There were several gay bars there but as none of my friends were gay, I found it was just easier to hang out with them and hit the gay bars after they called it a night. After all, they usually went home around twelve and everyone knows gay boys don't hit the bars till a bit later. It worked out for me.
    Anyway, one night in this bar called, Kokomo's a really cool sports bar, I noticed this hot boy sitting across the bar. It didn't take me long to figure out he was gay, so I did what any gay boy would do, I struck up a conversation with him. It was easy, I already had a few drinkie poos and was feeling pretty invincible. I'm sure you've been there before.
    Now I've been accused of acting pretty straight most of the time so it was no surprise when the boy, Greg, said something to the effect that I was pretty cool for a straight boy. Knowing most gay boys have a fantasy of seducing straight boys, I decided to act out the part. I know, I'm pretty cool like that.
    So I let him believe I was straight, a bit curious but definitely straight. So I pretended to think about it for a long time when he asked if I wanted to go back to his house for one more drinkie poo before shyly agreeing. I remember him being pretty smug as we left the bar and started the ten block trek back to his house.
    After leaving Kokomo's, we had to pass by the block that housed the three local gay bars, a block that was nicknamed the Queer Circle, as the gay boys would visit first one bar, then the other, then the other, before heading back to the first one, making a giant circle of prancing gay boys.
    Anyway, as we approached Queer Circle, I noticed a car drive by with two older guys, and when they passed us, they slowed down and stared before speeding off. We had made it about half way down the block when that same car passed again, slowing down first. Needless to say, they were very appreciative of the two of us.
    I looked at Greg and pointed it out. He laughed and said they thought we were a couple. So I said, "I'm tired of walking, if they come 'round again, let's ask them for a ride."
    He looked a bit dubious, but as they came up again, I flagged them down and walked over to the car before he could say anything.
    The must of been in their late forties, kind of chubby and completely perverts. They asked what we were doing and I said we were going back to Greg's house to get a drink. They asked where it was, and I pointed up the block and asked if they'd give us ride. They discussed it for a moment, and said sure. Greg and I climbed in the back seat.
    The passenger turned around and asked, "How long have you been a couple?"
    Greg laughed and said we weren't a couple and that I was straight. The passenger looked disappointed and turned back around. So being the little devil that I am, I grabbed Greg and pulled him into a kiss, pulling him on top of me in the process. As we sat there making out, the passenger turned back around and started watching, I'm pretty sure his hand was in his pants. The driver had moved the mirror and was looking at us more than the road ahead.
    The passenger groaned when I opened Greg's pants and started touching him. Greg was shocked but definitely happy and went with the flow, I think he got off on the fact that we were doing this in front of two total strangers, I know I was.
    Arriving at Greg's house, the two old men almost begged us to let them come inside and watch. I think Greg might have said yes, but fucking in front of two old pervs wasn't something I wanted to do, so I told them no but thanked them for the ride by burying my face in Greg's crotch.
    I'd call this night a weird, down-right fucking insane with a dash of stupidity night. I jumped in a car with two strangers without ever thinking of what could have happened, I was lucky that nothing happened. And I have more stories just like that, but I was living life and never thought of consequences that might happened.
    And after all these years, I had thought I put all this stupidity behind me.
    But guess what, I had at least one more weird, down-right fucking insane with a dash of stupidity night left in me.
    And that happened to be last Friday night.
    To Mark's credit, when I informed him of my plans to go to SF to partake in the Pride festivities, he voiced his concerns that in that type of environment, I might slip up and "party" with a bunch of strangers. And to translate the term "party", it means to use cocaine.
    I admit it felt nice to have someone care about me, I couldn't help but feel all warm and fuzzy bunny slippers.
    I told him I needed to go out and have some fun, I couldn't handle staying home one more night.
    So he countered by inviting me to this house party a friend of his from school was having to celebrate the end of the semester.
    Believe me, it was difficult to decide between attending Pride with a boatload of queers or hanging out with a bunch of straight frat boys in their early twenties. The deciding factor was that I would be spending time with Mark, even if I had to pretend we weren't having sex three times a week for the last three months and I probably wouldn't have any fun.
    So after work on Friday, after changing at Mark's house, we headed over to this party. Before we walked in the house, Mark said that if I wasn't having any fun, to let him know and we could leave. I thought that was pretty cool, and he didn't even asked me to pretend to be straight.
    Who would've thought that at my age I would have a blast at a party loaded with drunk twenty-year-olds? Not me...that's for sure but that's also exactly what happened.
    And for being an old man with balding hair, I must admit that more than a few of those college chicks were quite taken with me and one even asked if I wanted to go back to her house for some "fun". I declined of course but it did help my self esteem.
    Most of the night, I watched poor Mark dodge this cute little blonde that apparently has been chasing him all year all over campus. If I hadn't a stake in Mark, I would've told him to let the poor girl catch him, she was really cool and completely hysterically funny. But as I do have a stake in Mark, I wanted to kill her or at least push her off the second floor balcony while she was smoking.
    I was a bit surprised how awkward and shy Mark was around these girls. When he was chasing me, he didn't seem shy at all, matter of fact, he was pretty blatant about his intentions. But around these girls, he was clumsy and couldn't seem to find his tongue and when he did, something stupid came out of his mouth.
    It was rather amusing and for most of the night, it kept me quite entertained. That was before Mark decided to have a bit too much to drink. That's when the real fun started.
    Most of you know Mark is a pothead...and he can smoke all day and still function somewhat normally. But give him three or four drinks, and he's all over the place like an idiot. And when Mark gets a bit drunk, he starts to get a bit...touchy to put it mildly.
    And around midnight...I was outside on the balcony having a smoke and Mark stumbled out with this stupid grin on his face. I'm not sure if he saw the other people outside or if he just didn't care, but he walks right up to me and puts his hand on my cheek and says, "Hi you."
    I smiled and said, "Hi."
    "I like you." And then he kisses me, right there in front of everyone.
    What was a boy to do? I kissed him back, pulling him in closer to me.
    After a few moments, he wraps his arms around my waist and looks at everyone with this stupid grin on his face and says, "I'm gay."
    Everyone looked kind of shocked, so I said, "Don't worry, I'm gay too, it's all right."
    And just like that, Mark was mine.
    We left the party a while later, but not before finding out that no one there really cared, except the blonde chick, she was definitely a bit jealous but who cares, I knew if it came down to it I could take her in a fair fight.
    Mark was drunk so I drove home, he didn't want to go back to his house, and I guess I could understand why, so around two or so we ended up back at my apartment.
    You might say, that doesn't seem weird, down-right fucking insane with a dash of stupidity kind of night that would warrant my above comment.
    But that wasn't the end of the night, oh no, not by a long shot.
    The weird part didn't start until we were smack dab in the middle of...err...having some fun in my bed. Mark grabbed my face with both hands, pulled me close and whispered into my lips, "I love you."
    And without thinking, I replied, "I love you too."
    Jason
  4. Jason Rimbaud
    I've been thinking of deleting my Blog.
    I just don't feel like writing entries any more. It's like when you suddenly realize you don't need therapy anymore. It's just a waste of money and time if you continue seeing the therapist.
    Not that writing these little entries are therapeutic for anyone but myself, though I think I've kept a few of you entertained with my little stories, I think it might be time to retire.
    Much like my poetry, I'm just sick of always writing about myself. I want to focus on story telling, write some good fiction, dust off my imagination and follow wherever it goes.
    (I'll just ignore the fact that I'm writing this even while saying I'm sick of writing about myself)
    What is the purpose of a Blog? To give readers insight into other's lives? Is this somehow enabling the voyeur inside of us?
    Hell, my life isn't more interesting than anyone else's, we all have stories to tell. I don't know...I seem to be rambling about nothing.
    I do have a few things on my mind though. A few weeks ago, through my own stupidity, I think I hurt/pissed off someone I've really come to respect as a person and even considered a friend. This happened here, at Awesome Dude, and it's been weighing heavily on my mind ever since. We all make stupid comments at times, and we all look at the world differently. I never wanted to hurt this person, though I know I did and even apologized for my actions. But I don't know if my words were heard.
    This isn't why I'm thinking about deleting my Blog, just something kicking around my thoughts.
    There has been a few incidents over the last few months, here at Awesome Dude, that have left me rather confused. Mainly because I don't understand why people are getting upset because of someone else's opinions, thoughts, or naivet?. I've always believed that the only way I can be offended by someone else's words, is if I allow those words to offend me. If someone says something that I disagree with, I discount those words and move on. If those words are coming from someone a few years younger than myself, than I shrug and forget it, knowing that with time and experience, that person's views will change as he matures and grows.
    I think we have forgotten what it was like to be young and filled with an unshakable sense that we know everything. At least I felt that way when I was young. And with time, I now realize just how stupid I really was back in the day.
    I don't know, something seems to be missing lately. It's not the arguing on the forums, or the difference in opinion, those I find entertaining, this is something else. I feel like I've become disconnected with Awesome Dude. Much like I felt with Gay Authors, though to be truthful, I don't think I ever gave GA a real chance. Maybe it was being a small fish in a large pond, or maybe because GA is a bit clickish. Yet I could say the same thing here at Awesome Dude. But is it really being clickish if only a small group actually participate while the rest sits back and lurks?
    With every group of friends, over time they develop certain jokes, behaviors that a new person might not understand at first. This isn't being clickish, just familiarity. Being clickish is only if a group of people refuse to include others and I don't think Awesome Dude has that problem. Neither does GA in my opinion.
    What does this have to do with anything? I don't know.
    I still feel like deleting my Blog, I'm still a bit confused why I feel disconnected here at Awesome Dude, and I don't know what to do about Mark.
    Mark, the bane of my happiness it seems. How can a reasonably intelligent man, like myself, fail to disassociate himself from a bad relationship? It's not bad as in violent, it's just bad as in he can't figure out what the fuck he wants and i can't figure out why the fuck I allow him to remain in my life. Believe me, it's not just about the sex, it's great, and it's not because I don't want to be alone, I don't, there is something about this man that drives me completely and utterly insane. Is this what love feels like?
    If I do delete this Blog, I'll probably regret it. There are times I love rambling on about nonsense shit. I like the fact that people like to read my nonsense shit. What I don't like about it, it's all about me. Maybe if I could write about someone else, then it wouldn't seem like such a chore. But then I'd probably get jealous that someone else was getting all the attention.
    It's been a while since I had vacation, and I'm started to feel a bit thin. With my new promotion, my faltering relationship, and my several relapses, I feel a bit fragile. If I can't handle the stress now, how can I hope to maintain my sobriety after the new restaurant opens?
    It's Father's Day, and boy do I have a few things to say about that prick. I hope you're burning in hell you piece of shit rat bastard.
    Moving on...
    Mark left a few hours ago, we talked and had a bit of fun in the bed. I don't feel dirty though I do feel a bit used. I wonder how Mark feels right now? Sometimes I forget the twenty years of brainwashing he has to suffer through just being with me. I've forgotten the self loathing that must be battering his mind even as his lust burns in his veins. Maybe we both do deserve each other.
    Jason
  5. Jason Rimbaud

    My New Site

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    For any of those that are interested, my brand new site is up and running over at the Hub. It contains every piece of work that I've posted online. Designed by Rob Hawes, I couldn't be happier with the final outcome. So if you're interested, look over at the upper left hand corner of the screen and click on the link called, The Writings of Jason Rimbaud.
    Jason (proud poet)
  6. Jason Rimbaud
    Wow, I can't believe how long it's been since I last posted an entry.
    Bad Jason.
    A few things have been happening lately.
    I got a job promotion. I'm now the Catering Manager as well as the Assistant Manager in my hip upscale restaurant. And since we made the list of the top one hundred restaurants in the Bay Area, the catering sales have doubled. But I love it, I'm rarely in the restaurant anymore and get to boss around everyone. How cool is that?
    I'm single again. Mark is back firmly in the closet and in a way, I'm happy with that. I was going to write a long rant but I haven't the energy. Oh well, don't be sad, you all know I'll write a poem or two about it soon.
    Oh yeah, since I'm his boss now, I get to order him around. How fucking cool is that?
    My site should be up and running any day now over at the Hub and I'm pretty fucking stoked about it. So stoked that I'm almost finished a new five part story I started writing months ago when I stayed at the beach for three days. I think it might be called Time Stood still, but who fucking knows.
    I bought a new 65 inch 1080P projection TV and a Bose surround sound with the winning from two days at Cache Creek Casino. I was unbeatable at the black jack tables and won several thousand dollars which I promptly spent. Along with the TV, I have a new mattress, a steam carpet cleaner for those pesky stains in my rugs, and a new TV stand for my new baby.
    Thank god Wolfie likes the new digs, I was a bit worried as I didn't consult him.
    I made an appointment to get another tattoo and can't wait till next Thursday. I'm thinking about getting "SLAVE" on my neck, but my boss pointed out that it would'nt be the right kind of advertising for my current sex life. *shrugs* He suggested slut instead. I don't know, it just doesn't have the same flow as "SLAVE".
    I've decided to stop smoking, then I realized I'd rather die of cancer than of diabetes so promptly started again.
    Got so drunk a few days ago, that I called Mark up and begged him to come over for a friendly fuck.
    Needless to say, I had to wash my sheets again but was quite pleased that the new mattress lived up to my expectations.
    Further realized that sex with Mark is much better when both parties are a bit indifferent and slightly pissed. Rough sex...I likes.
    Well, that's about it from Jasonland. It's getting late and I have an early day tomorrow. Later
    Jason
  10. Jason Rimbaud
    I saw a picture of Camy and his boyfriend, M today.
    Just want to say...wow...Camy is yummy for being such an old man.
    I can't believe his birthday was a few days ago and somehow I missed wishing him the best. So I'll do something out of character, I'll make this blog entry all about someone else today.
    Just to let him know we all are thinking about him...take a moment and send him another or for the first time, birthday wishes and to congrats him for turning the big 50 while managing to look younger than me.
    HAPPY BIRTHDAY CAMY! Best wishes for you and M, I couldn't be happier.
    Well, I could be happier...we could share a pint for your birthday, that would make me happier. Or Mark and I could go away for a few days...though you really can't help me with that.
    Or could you?
    How rich are you? I'm assuming by now, 50 years old, you have to have something socked away for a rainy day. Care to make a donation to the Mark and I getting away for some out of town sex fund?
    Jason (happy to dedicate this blog entry to Camy)
    I just realized, this is two blog entries in a row where Camy is being featured. I hope M don't get made at this silly American for flirting a tad with Camy. But then I saw his picture, M has nothing to worry about. Camy has way better taste than me.
    Jason (for real ending this Shiite)
  11. Jason Rimbaud
    want...want...want...want...want...want...
    I just want Camy to be happy...
    I just want Camy to be satisfied...
    I just want Camy to know he is loved...
    I just want Camy to be joyful...
    Fuck it...I just want Camy!
    Jason *feeling quite giddy and happy this night/morning*
    (written in response to Camy's latest blog entry)
  12. Jason Rimbaud
    Yesterday, Mark and I met for coffee an hour before work. I guess he knew I was still pissed and in his usual stubborn refusal to ignore things like normal males, he confronted me.
    How is it that this little boy can have so much power over me? He's not that hot, more of a nerd really, just your average type "Joe". His haircut is nonexistent, I think his mother puts a bowl on his head and snips away. His taste in clothes is typical of every stoner in the world, jeans and t-shirts with skater hoodies.
    And...he's a drug addict. Though I must admit that pot is pretty harmless. But fuck, I don't think I ever saw him completely sober. But "just" pot or not, he still is an addict. And I don't think I need an addict in my life, one is enough thank you.
    Can you believe it's been five months without cocaine? I think out of everything I've ever accomplished, I am most proud of that. Five months completely off cocaine and pills. And I can't remember that last time I was drunk. God I'm getting boring.
    Forget about the drugs, let's focus instead on Mark's girlfriend.
    Did you know that after four months, they still haven't had sex yet? Apparently, and boy did I wish he would've kept this bit of information private, there's been a handful of blowjobs and some finger work, that's it.
    Should I be happy about this? Because as he told me this earlier today, he was fully expecting me to jump up and down with joy at this admission.
    Yeah, you haven't fucked her yet, you don't know if you will fuck her in the future, you come scratching at my door every day to shag like bunnies, but in the end, you still have her. Answer me that fucking question. You wanted to talk, let's discuss this topic.
    There's something about his eyes, it's hard to keep my thoughts in order when I stare into his eyes. And the one thing I really like is his constant eye contact. I find myself forgetting my argument while peering into his chocolate eyes.
    And a few weeks ago I found out I was allergic to chocolate. Why can't I learn my lesson?
    Fuck Mark.
    Unfortunately he never answered my questions at the coffee shop. Our co-worker saw Mark's car and came inside to join us for a cup of coffee. Boy was that awkward, here we were in the middle of a fight about our....whatever it is...and suddenly we have to act all nice and status quo. And I hate that. I've been through to much shit in my life because of my sexuality...I'm not up for hiding, or keeping secrets about something I am not ashamed to be.
    We worked, estranged and uncomfortable. So out of sorts, a few of the other servers commented on our lack of "affection". How do you answer that? Oh sorry, can't be all fluffy giggles with Mark, I'm mad because though he's fucking me and not her, she gets the prime time with him. You know the time slot that involves public appearances mixed with family time.
    Something I really like about Mark, he is extremely family orientated. Something I believe keeps him silent about me and firmly with "HER", his family might not be accepting. Which is something I doubt considering the closeness they share. I'm sure his mother would love him the same. I think all the problems reside inside Mark's fear of being labeled a "gay".
    Later that night, I finish first. I get my tip money and bolt out the back door without saying goodbye. Mainly because throughout the shift, I had convinced myself that, though fun, continuing with Mark was self-destructive and maybe a threat to my sobriety. I had decided to cut my losses.
    I wasn't a block away from my hip upscale restaurant when my phone started ringing. Without looking, I knew who it was. We hadn't finished our "fight" at the coffee shop and Mark couldn't let it go. I threw my phone in the back seat and turned the radio up.
    By the time I got home, he had called four times. I left the phone in the car.
    Once inside my apartment, I headed to the fridge and grabbed the Orange Vodka and OJ and made myself a cocktail. When my doorbell rang two hours later, I had three cocktails. Not enough to be drunk, but just happy enough to answer the door. On my way to the door, I told myself that I would fuck him one more time, and send him on his way like a worn out trick. I was going to treat him like I would any other one nighter. I wasn't even going to kiss him.
    I opened the door, shirtless and smiling with a drink in my hand. He didn't say a word, he grabbed my head and kissed me. It was like nothing else...I can't describe it...I won't...this is for me, something I won't share.
    A few minutes later, we had somehow made it the couch, and somewhere in between he has lost his shirt. It was so intense, I didn't even tell him to take off his shoes. He was right there, next to me, staring into my eyes.
    "Why didn't you answer the phone?"
    I didn't want to talk to you, I'm still mad.
    He smiles...fucker...I look into his eyes...he speaks, "I was wondering if you'd like to come to my house for dinner."
    Did I tell you, since he's still in college, he lives at home? Um, did I tell you that I haven't been to his house...yet?
    Why? I know, but it hasn't sunk in yet.
    "I want you to meet my mom and my sister."
    I met them, remember they came into the restaurant.
    He shakes his head, and playfully smacks mine. "I really like you."
    Remember, I'm a bit happy(read drunk).
    Okay, I'll tell the truth, it wasn't three cocktails, more like six. I was a bit drunk by this point.
    "I really like you."
    Prove it.
    That was me, my challenge to him. I was still pissed. He's fucking me and playing with her. Nobody wins...nobody.
    For the first time, he looks away, takes a deep breath, and almost whispers, "It's over."
    I'm crushed, because though I don't want him to know it, I really, really, really like him. And since I don't want to know how much he hurt me, I say, It's for the best.
    He looks at me, sees my face and for a moment he looks confused. This his face lights up and he starts to giggle. He grabs my face and kisses me again. ( it's none of your business) "No, silly fag. I broke up with her tonight."
    We didn't talk much after that. We messed up the covers on my bed and had one fantastic shower a bit later on. Much of the evening is a bit blurry. He's still not ready to admit/come out, he doesn't want anyone to know about us.
    But god damn, she's gone, out of the picture, flushed away.
    I don't know what the future will hold. There is a lot of obstacles and a hesitation on my part to try this. He's so much younger than me, so much he hasn't experienced yet. But fuck, the world is such a better place when he's lying next to me. He brings a calm, a willingness to try. To be something like human.
    Jason
    PS: I'm sorry about the errors and spelling issues with this piece. When I first started writing it, I was a bit pissed, slightly drunk and by the time I finished writing it, now it's after five am, I'm happy and quite exhausted. And I won't go back and re write it like I would normally.
  13. Jason Rimbaud
    I can't believe it's been so long since I last wrote something here....
    But then I don't care...I've grown to hate the sound of my voice/words...whatever...
    I've got nothing to say/write at the moment....
    Not to say that nothing interesting has happened to me lately...because let's face it...I attract drama like lightening to metal
    and Sunday night was pretty fucking huge...I mean here it is two days later...and I'm still at a loss of words.
    On top of that, it's around 9 am on Tuesday morning. I haven't been to sleep yet and I think I might be dreaming this Blog entry instead of typing it. Who knows...if no one replies then it was all a dream...and since it's all a dream...I might as well tell you all about Sunday night...but then I'm not sure if I'm ready to share this particular bit of information to my loyal READER...this might be something I want to keep to myself for a bit longer.
    Fuck that...I'm embarrassed to tell you...
    You'll make fun of me...I can hear you now...shaking your head as you softly say, "I knew it, that dumb boy couldn't keep from making a dumb decision like this...it was just a matter of time."
    Yeah, you say that behind my back, but do you have the courage to say it to my face!
    Then I'd get mad...we'd get in a fight...then I'd feel bad that I hurt your feelings...and then I would bake cookies...
    Well, I'm out of eggs and the flour isn't that self rising kind...so you can take that attitude of yours and beat it...cause I don't need no one making fun of me...I feel bad enough as it is...god I want to sleep!
    Jason
    PS: Mark is beautiful when he's asleep.
  14. Jason Rimbaud

    Camera Phones Suck

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    It's around two thirty in the morning, Tuesday morning, and I am at a loss of words.
    I was sleeping, all cozy wrapped up in my favorite comforter dreaming of blonde haired boys with dancing eyes, and right when it was getting to the good part, my phone woke me up. Or rather the noise my phone makes when I get a new text message.
    For a moment, I glance at the table next to the bed and debate whether or not to look at the phone or to try to fall back asleep so i could find out how that nice dream ended.
    But since I rarely get text messages at two thirty in the morning, I decided to reach over and check out the asshole who chased away that sexy blonde from my dreams.
    To make a long story short, or just to try and cope with what just happened, I'll blurt it out and forgo the long winded digressions and rants.
    It was a text message from Mark, remember him, my straight boy crush. Yeah, the message was only four words long, it said, wish you were here.
    Why am I experiencing this loss of words? Because it wasn't what he typed that sent my head spinning, it was what picture he sent that sent me flying out of bed and rushing out to the balcony in my boxers to have a cigarette.
    I won't lie, it was a nice picture. But damn it, I thought this was settled. I'm going insane. I'll never be able to control myself now. Even with the cold night air, I had enough excitement to send him a picture back with this message
    Yeah, so do I.
    Damnit, I fucking hate him.
    I'm going back to bed. Maybe that blonde will return and finish what the bastard started. I can only hope.
    Jason R
  16. Jason Rimbaud
    Current music selection: Blue October from the album History for Sale
    Current state: Pretty Drunk
    Current mood: Yeah...right
    Daniel, my forty-two year old roommate, his friend Fredricko (excuse me if this name is misspelled I never got the chance to ask him the correct way) and I spent last Tuesday night out drinking and having a good time with several of our friends. From the moment I met Fredricko I was mesmerized. He's gorgeous to say the least. About five foot five, one hundred twenty pounds, amazing brown eyes. Though he hides them behind thick glasses. Just this delicious little nerd.
    He was celebrating a promotion so he was generously buying shots. Rounds and rounds of jager bombs. Jesus, he wouldn't stop buying and after a few hours we were all quite hammered. During the night, Fredricko and I had been flirting pretty heavily. Even going as far as making out by the pool table to the dismay of several straight men. It was a straight bar after all. So I'm not really surprised they threw peanuts at us. Thank god I'm not allergic. Anyway, after hitting more than a few bars, some straight some gay, we were really heating up.
    After we called a cab and made it back home, Daniel declares he's retiring for the night. Fredricko and I decide the celebration was just beginning if you get my drift. So we head back to my room to finish getting to know one another better. It's going great, clothing are flying around the room, my favorite shirt was ripped off my body and I lost a contact. It was hot and heavy. Once my underwear joined the pile of clothes on the floor I was in heaven. And for a while, life was perfect.
    But life nevers stays perfect. If I would have only known the consequences, I would have never stopped him from his...exploration of my situation...nor would have I thrown him on his back and ripped off his underwear. But I didn't know the consequences and I did just that.
    Even in the dim glow of the moon, I saw it. And I wasn't prepared. I'm three times seven, I've been around the block more than a few times. And I'm not talking about these small San Francisco blocks either, I'm saying those big New York City blocks. I've walked in on my Aunt and Uncle doing things I've only read about, scarred yes, but I dealt. I've woken up in the middle of the night with my younger brother sitting on my bed stark naked, his hands moving so fast I was sure a fire would erupt at any moment. After I finished puking I dealt. But there was nothing in my bag of experience that could have prepared me for the horror I saw between Fredricko's legs.
    I've heard about boys like him but I never thought I would encounter such weirdness in my lifetime. Let me tell you, I freaked out, lost my mind and did some kind of dance that still leaves my puzzled. I mean, Tom Cruise jumping around on couches was nothing compared to the level of freaked out I achieved.
    The thing that freaked me out. Let's just say when I delivered to my parents, the doctor had made some adjustments to me. Adjustments that Fredricko's doctor skipped. I don't know, maybe he didn't have insurance. Either way, I saw this...thing...it looked similiar to mine but had some extra stuff that freaked me out. And since I was drunk, let's say I could've handled it better.
    Okay, I jumped off the bed and pointed at it and said in a very quiet voice, "What the fuck is that?" I warned you, I didn't handle it well. I thought he was going to cry, the look on his face was a look I hope I never see again. He called me an asshole and gathered up his things and left the room before I could do anything like apologize or explain why I was so freaked out.
    THe next morning, a very pissed off Daniel greeted me at the breakfast table. Fredricko was no where to be found and I felt like an ass. After Daniel finished yelling at me, I explained what happened and wouldn't you know that bastard started laughing. That just pissed me off. It had really freaked me out. It didn't help matters that Daniel dropped his pants and showed his "situation" to me. After a close examination of his situation, I now know the difference between Fredricko and I. Though I'm a bit tired now after seeing Daniel's junk I do feel I'm better prepared next time that happens to me. And being somewhat of a whore, I'm sure its only a matter of time.
    So I guess what I'm trying to say, gentlemen, if you're in the same boat as Fredricko and some weirdo freaks out when he sees the extra attachment, don't get mad. Maybe let him have a moment to get used to this oddity. Anyway, cheers everyone.
    Jason R.
  17. Jason Rimbaud

    Sands of Iwo Jima

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    I'm sick, I think I'm dying.
    My head hurts and I've got this light-headed feeling. My nose is running, there is no way I can have so much snot inside my little head. I'm cold, for the first time in years I'm wearing lounge pants in bed, I have a sweatshirt and I'm wrapped up in a comforter. I'm watching the Sands of Iwo Jima starring John Wayne. God, why can't I just die.
    Jason R.
  18. Jason Rimbaud
    Stupid Jason, Doing Stupid Things
    I said I was never going to do this again. And after the last time, this is the last thing I wanted to happen, again. But I have to face the facts, it did happen. And now I can?t stop these thoughts, I can?t control these feelings, and I don?t know how I?ll look at myself in the morning. Or even if I?ll try.
    Stupid Jason, doing stupid things, again.
    And I don?t even know how it started.
    Wait, that?s a lie. I know how it started. I just don?t know how I let it get this far.
    It?s Sunday night, I don?t know what time it is, but then time doesn?t matter anymore, it?s already too late.
    It?s Sunday, a great day of football since the Colts lost and next week I?ll be watching the Chargers play the undefeated Patriots. It would?ve been a great Sunday if the night would have ended at that moment. But it didn?t, and I was drunk.
    It?s Sunday, the day my manager closed the hip up-scale restaurant where I work so the employees can enjoy a late staff Christmas party. A good idea normally, but I knew Mark would be there with his GIRLfriend in tow. Definitely not a sight I wanted to see on my day off. I have to see her enough as it is when she visits her boyfriend at work.
    Because of that, I had declared that I wasn?t going to attend. But a few nights ago, while drinking at a bar, I was somehow manipulated into promising I would at least make an appearance.
    Stupid Jason, doing stupid things, while drinking.
    It?s Sunday, and it started off okay, I arrived around seven-thirty, an hour and half after it started. And I wasn?t late because I wanted to make an ?entrance?; I was still celebrating the Chargers win at the Sports Bar. And because I knew I would need a lot of insulation before facing Mark and his bitch. So I spent most of that time doing Vodka shots in between ordering double Screwdrivers. So by the time I arrived, I was quite hammered.
    Stupid Jason, doing stupid things, because of fear.
    And while I was drinking myself into stupidity, I came up with a plan. My plan was simple; I would ignore Mark and his cum-dumpster. I would focus all my attention on everyone else. Good plan, right?
    I wish, but I was drunk. And we all know that a drunk Jason is a very dangerous thing. I should?ve gone home, but I didn?t.
    For an hour or so, my plan seemed to be working. Whenever Mark would walk towards me, I?d leave and start talking to the first person I saw. When I would sneak a look, he would be staring at me with an inquisitive look on his face. I could tell he knew what I was doing but there was nothing he could do about it. Not with his arm candy hanging on to him like she was scared he?d blow away in the cross-breeze from the ceiling fans.
    Like I said, this worked for an hour or so, but even with me ignoring Mark, it was still hard to see him dancing with his little blow-up doll. It didn?t matter that a few days ago; I could?ve had sex with him but refused because of past situations. It was still hard, so while he was dancing, I went outside to have a cigarette.
    Stupid Jason, doing stupid things, while hoping he could handle it.
    And guess what? I couldn?t handle it, it was driving me crazy. How pathetic is that? I turned him down and I?m the one with all the regrets.
    So I go outside and sit down on the curb with a cigarette. I?m about half-way done when I smell him. I hang my head, it was going so well. I look up and see him standing next to me.
    He says, ?Always the loner.?
    I reply, ?Yep, did you think tonight would be any different??
    ?Not really. But I was hoping.?
    I focus my attention on my cigarette, like I?ve never seen one before. I see the end, glowing red in the semi-darkness, and realize that I?m slowly killing myself. But at that moment, dying would be welcomed, anything so I didn?t have to face him.
    I finished my smoke in silence; he stands there, staring at me patiently. I flick the butt away and stand up to go back inside. I never knew that silence could be so deafening.
    Until that moment, my plan of ignoring Mark was working perfectly. I had been there for over an hour and hadn?t even greeted him or his stupid walking blow-job machine. But if I know anything about Mark, I know he is quite determined. Mark is the type of guy that confronts things head on with a stubborn attitude that could wear down mountains if given enough time.
    As I go to pass him, he steps in front of me and peers into my eyes.
    I stop, I know it?s over. But I?m not going down without a fight.
    ?WHAT?? I hope hears the edge in my voice.
    ?So you think ignoring me is going to make all this go away.?
    I shrug, ?That was the plan.?
    He shakes his head and grins. ?You?re so stupid.?
    I have to agree with him, I am stupid. I should?ve punched him in the face. But I didn?t, instead I try again to walk around him. He blocks me again.
    Stupid Jason, doing stupid things, because of a straight-boy crush.
    He takes my silence for approval, because he asks, ?Don?t you even want to hear about it??
    I shake my head no, and it?s the truth. I know what ?it? he was referring to and the last thing I wanted to hear was his adventures in gay sex from some boy I didn?t even know.
    So I did what I always do, I changed the subject. ?How?s your girlfriend?? I?m sure he caught the sarcasm; it was almost dripping from my mouth.
    He looks at the door of the restaurant and says, ?She?s fine.?
    I crossed my arms, if he wanted to talk about ?it?, then I wasn?t going to make it easy for either one of us.
    I ask, ?Did you tell her about it??
    He smiled and asked for a cigarette. I should?ve punched him, but I didn?t. I gave him one. I should?ve walked away while he was lighting the smoke, but I didn?t. Instead I offered my lighter and lit it for him.
    Stupid Jason, doing stupid things, still.
    He took a deep drag and after he blew out his nose, he said, ?It was horrible, I hated it.?
    ?And I don?t care.? But I was lying, I did care. Because hearing him say that, it only served to drive home the fact that I was crushing on another unavailable straight boy. My anger started spiking.
    ?Liar.? This he said while staring into my eyes. He took a step forward and I took a step back.
    ?Why should I care??
    I know it was weak, it even sounded weak as I said it. I was just hoping he didn?t know how weak it really was.
    Again he laughed, ?That should be obvious, even for someone as drunk as you.?
    I crossed my arms and gave him an ?Oh Really? look. ?Pretend I?m stupid.?
    ?Nothing happened.? This he said very softly.
    I couldn?t help myself, I said, ?Now who?s lying.?
    He took a step towards me and said, ?He played with me for a bit and put it in his mouth, but I stopped him.?
    I stand there, not moving a muscle. ?That would explain why you were walking funny the next day??
    Again, he takes a step closer; we are now only a few inches apart. He whispers, ?I hurt my back, I fell off his bed when he tried to kiss me.?
    We were so close that I could smell the alcohol on his breath; I had to fight the urge to take a deep breath. Instead, I say, ?You couldn?t kiss him??
    He shook his head; his eyes seemed to be dancing, daring me to reply.
    So I asked the question that I never should have. I knew it the moment it left my lips. ?Why not??
    Stupid Jason, doing stupid things, while caught up in his dancing eyes.
    ?Because it wasn?t him I wanted to kiss.?
    And that?s when it happened, I don?t know why, I couldn?t help myself. I leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips. And for a moment, he didn?t do anything. He didn?t kiss me back, he didn?t push me away. It was like we were frozen. And just when I started to think I had just made the biggest mistake of my life, he kissed me back.
    Someone moaned, I don?t know who, but I felt his hands on my hips and felt him pull me closer, tight against his body. I wrapped my arms around his waist and began kissing in earnest.
    I?ve had lots of first kisses, some were horrible, some blew my mind, and some were just okay. But this kiss was unbelievable. It was urgent, filled with passion that caused my knees to shake. It was like all the longing I locked inside over the last year suddenly came pouring out in a torrent of lust and wild abandonment.
    I don?t know how long it lasted, it couldn?t have been more than a few minutes, but I suddenly realized what we were doing and where we were doing it. I pulled back and pushed him away. He was confused by my actions; I could see it on his face like someone had drawn it with crayons. He shook his head and leaned in again.
    I put my hand on his chest and said, ?Stop.?
    ?Why?? He asked, still breathing a bit heavy.
    I looked at him; I saw that he was so wrapped up in the moment everything else had faded away. It was like he had finally given in to the feelings racing through his body and decided that rational thought was overrated. I know because while we were kissing I could feel it against mine.
    ?This isn?t right. Your girlfriend is right there on the other side of that door. And any moment she could walk out here looking for you.?
    That was enough to wipe that dazed look off his face. The reality of it all smashed into him. He was standing in the parking lot kissing a boy while anyone driving/walking by could see him.
    He looks at the door and reaches into his pocket while saying, ?You?re right, this isn?t a good place.? He takes a few steps away from me and puts his phone up to his ear. I hear him say, ?Hey babe, Jason and I are going to my car to smoke a bowl; we?ll be back in a few minutes.?
    He puts the phone back in his pocket and realizes I?m staring at him. He grins and asks, ?Where did you park??
    Stupid Jason, doing stupid things, because he?s horny.
    I should?ve been angry or at least a bit bothered that he had just lied to his girlfriend so we could go to my car and continue whatever it is we were doing. But I wasn?t, because instead of running away, I say, ?This way.?
    It?s Sunday, I?m drunk, and I allowing my stupid straight-boy crush to come back with me to my car. To say my thoughts are a bit jumbled wouldn?t be accurate. I wanted this to happen, hell, I?ve wanted this for a year. But I can?t help but think back to the last time I got involved with a straight boy.
    And what if we get caught? What if my little crush turns into something more? Something I can?t handle. What if afterwards he hates what we?ve done and it ruins what ever is left of our relationship? What if he doesn?t live up to my fantasy? Oh my god, what if he likes it?
    I get to my car and pause, asking, ?What are we doing??
    He gets this look; I can only describe it as passionate lust, and smiles. ?Something we should?ve done months ago.?
    Stupid Jason, doing stupid things, like unlocking his car.
    I hadn?t even shut my door and he was all over me. I did the only thing I could; I gave in and went for the ride.
    There was groping, mutual and animalistic without being violent and kisses that were so powerful they drove away all thought and for a time, we were one and the same. We had lost all sense of time during our exploration because thirty minutes later he phone started ringing.
    His girlfriend, who had given up waiting, had walked to his car only to find out we weren?t there. And though I found the situation to be wrong on so many levels, I was a bit amused by how pissed she sounded on the phone.
    It was surreal, Mark had one hand up to his ear and his other hand was lost inside my pants. As he lied to her, saying I ran out of cigarettes and we walked to the store to buy more, his hand never stopped exploring. After promising we?d be back in five minutes, he rolled his eyes, the corners of his mouth bending up into a grin. He leaned in again.
    But I stopped him, the phone call reminding me that I was being very stupid. ?This isn?t right.?
    I couldn?t believe I said it either.
    ?It?s not fair to her.?
    What the fuck was wrong with me? After all this time, I had finally gotten what I wanted.
    Stupid Jason, doing stupid things, fucking morals.
    He removes his hand from my pants and sits back and stares thoughtfully at the restaurant. ?I know.?
    I grab my cigarettes and light up as he says, ?What do we do now??
    I look at him, I don?t speak. I can?t. I don?t know what we should do now. I know that for thirty minutes I was happy, but the cost of those thirty minutes were beginning to frighten the shit out of me.
    ?You should go,? I finally say, looking out the window, anywhere except the passenger seat. ?She?s pissed enough already.?
    ?She can wait.? He declares, crossing his arms. ?I?m not done yet.?
    It was getting to me. This little game of cat and mouse that Mark and I had been playing all these months had finally reached the crossroads. Now was the time to decide. We couldn?t ignore it anymore, not after groping each other, and he was right, we weren?t done yet.
    I looked at him, his face flushed and his eyes shining, an expectant look on his face as he waited for me to say something, anything. And when I didn?t, he said, ?I know what you?re thinking.?
    ?Really?? I said, keeping my voice steady and neutral. I didn?t want it to show, the racing heart, the longing to lean over and resume exploring his mouth, and I didn?t want him to know just how much I wanted him.
    ?It?s her, isn?t?? He asks, though I believe he knew the answer.
    I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what I was about to say. I felt sorry that I had that moment and he was going to be blindsided. But without asking, I knew he wouldn?t leave her for me. Not with the pressure from his family, and not with his fear of being gay. Not when it was just a few kisses in the front seat of car. I did the only thing I could do, I lied.
    I forced my face to a blank stare and said softly, ?This won?t happen again.?
    ?What?? I surprised him; he wasn?t expecting to hear those words. ?Why??
    I punched him lightly on the shoulder and said through a forced smile, ?We were just having some fun.? I almost stopped, his eyes stopped dancing and his smile faded. I saw the hurt in his eyes and forced myself to continue.
    ?I won?t tell anyone, we?ll just blame it on the shots.? Again I smiled, but then I had to look away. I wasn?t sure which one of us was about to cry. I think it was both, if only on the inside.
    But I forced myself to add the last nail to his coffin, I said, ?She?s waiting, go back inside before you get into trouble.?
    Now he looks away, and opens the car door. He pauses for a moment, so I say, ?See you Tuesday.?
    He shuts the door and quickly walks across the parking lot. I couldn?t help myself; I actually felt tears slip down my cheek.
    I start the car and drive away. My head knows I did the right thing, but damn if I hate it for that.
    Stupid Jason, doing stupid things, and now he?s alone.
  19. Jason Rimbaud
    Apparently Cole and Trab feel like I've failed to deliver a pay-off that has been hinted at concerning my interest/relationship with Mark, a straight co-worker, and the story behind my little trip to the hospital a few days ago where a cute nurse asked me to remove my shirt so he could take a peak at my insides.
    As I read that paragraph back, I wonder why they need a further explanation. It seems pretty straight forward to me. My co-worker is straight. So any interest I might have/had toward the fucker is/was a waste of time. Unfortunately, Cole and Trab, my name isn't Paul Harvey and there is no rest of the story. And after everything that transpired that night and the obsessive analyzing I've done ever since, I don't have the strength to write it all down here in my Blog. Sorry, that's all you're going to get about that subject.
    On a related note but not really, Mark is no longer curious about gay sex. And much to my chagrin, he now knows, without a doubt in his pretty little head, that he is in fact very straight and happy with his stupid GIRLfriend. Whatever...fuck him right. He wasn't circumcised anyway. And for those of you that have been reading my Blog from the beginning, you'd know about my fear of foreskin. If not, then go back in my Archive and check out the first entry.
    So Cole, Trab, I hope this explanation helps in some small way. I hope you're happy about making me go through it all again. Closure, you have it now? You happy?
    Jason R.
    Oh yeah, POST SCRIP, since I refused to "help" sort out his curiosity, he no longer talks to me. Though I must admit to laughing at the way he walked the next day. Apparently the kid who introduced him to fucking wasn't that gentle in the end. Serves him right I guess, I'm better off anyway.
    *rolls eyes*
    And just so Cole and Trab won't have a reason to bitch. I'll quickly explain about the hospital visit.
    So I quit smoking a few weeks ago. And to help fill that void, I started eating sweets. So the other day, I bought an extra large chocolate bar before I went to work. I ate half the bar but it did nothing for me so I bummed a smoke from a friend and smoked it down right away. It wasn't long before I had trouble breathing and my heart started racing, like I snorted about an eight-ball of cocaine all at once. I freaked out, and rushed myself to the hospital. After telling my story to the doctor and several different nurses, I was told that since it had been a while since I smoked, I had a reaction to the cigarette. This seemed like a probable reason, so I went home and straight to bed.
    The next morning, I ate the rest of the chocolate bar and twenty minutes later, I had the same reaction. I went back to the hospital and the only thing that made since was the chocolate. So after a simple test, I found out I couldn't eat chocolate anymore. Which is fine with me, I don't really like chocolate anyway. So it's Monday, I bought a fresh pack of cigarettes and threw away all the candy. And I was told that smoking was going to end my life. Go figure.
    Are you two happy now? Did I answer all your questions? Did I?
    Cole and Trab: You guys are awesome!
  20. Jason Rimbaud
    aw man, hospitals suck. but the nurse who took my chest x=ray was cute. and when he told me to take off my shirt, it took a moment to realize that we weren't going to have sex. not that i could in my condition but my mind is still a pervert.
    Jason R.
  21. Jason Rimbaud
    A Christmas Song from Third Eye Blind
    I'm gonna stuff my present up your chimney
    And the melted snow will make it all wet
    Cuz it's gonna be one of those Christmas days
    We spend in bed
    I will be your little drummer boy
    I'll beat it til you feel no pain
    Cuz baby you're my Christmas joy
    When you're sucking on my candy cane
    It's gonna be one of those Christmas days
    We spend in bed
    Merry Christmas
  22. Jason Rimbaud
    I woke up this morning feeling uncharacteristically happy and it took me a few hours to pinpoint the reason for this exciting emotion. Then I realized that my nose no longer bleeds when I blow it first thing in the morning to clear the sleep away. It's been years since this happened. Maybe sobriety has it's up-sides after all.
    Jason R.
  23. Jason Rimbaud
    One Confused Gay Boy
    I almost did something last Monday night that I swore I would never do again. And just to get it out of the way right now, because we all know how easily it is for me to get sidetracked writing these blog entries, it has nothing to do with Cocaine.
    Though if it did have something to do with Cocaine I wouldn?t be a confused gay boy and this blog entry would never have been written. So I?ll let you decide which problem is more relevant.
    I think for you to really get a grasp on the events that transpired last Monday night, I think I have to take you back in time a few months. So come with me, let?s take a slow trip back in time when the weather was warmer, I was a bit thinner, and completely coked out of my mind.
    That really doesn?t sound like a fun trip at all. I think you readers are going to hate this blog entry. *shrugs* Not my problem, I?m not making you read this, am I?
    PLEASE DON?T STOP READING MY BLOG
    Before we begin, let me introduce the characters of this sordid tale. First, you have a twenty-two-year-old, let?s call him, Mark. Then you have a twenty-five-year-old, let?s name him, Dale. And lastly, you have me of course, because we all know that I?m the reason ya?ll are reading this blog. And I go by, Jason. So now that we?re all friends, why don?t I begin?
    THE BEGINNING (that?s a bit overdone now isn?t it)
    So I work in a hip up-scale restaurant in Palo Alto as a server, and working along with me are ten other guys and two girls. The ages range from thirty-seven to twenty-one and out of these twelve servers, I?m the only gay boy.
    So for those of you that are counting, the statistic that there is one gay boy out of every ten is still holding true.
    And for being such a diverse group of guys, I?m fortunate that everyone is really accepting of my sexuality. And after working there for a year, I somehow have gotten the nickname, Fag Boy. This was given to me by, Mark, a few months ago. And while not everyone calls me that on a regular basis, a few do and I take no offense.
    I really can?t, considering the name I gave, Mark, which everyone calls him on the regular. His name is Teabag, named after his love of showing everyone his nuts. I?m pretty sure I got the better name out of the two.
    From day one I?ve been out at work. And this is not from my actions because people still question if I?m really gay because apparently I?m ?straight acting?. My coming out happened the very first day when Mark asked if I had a girlfriend and I replied that I was single and very gay.
    QUICK BIO FOR MARK
    Mark is twenty-two, rather average looking with short dark hair, and big brown eyes. He?s also a complete homophobe, even after working with me for over a year, he still makes some really dumbass comments regarding some of the gay patrons that visit our hip up-scale restaurant. He?ll turn to me and say something about the gays and then realize who he?s talking too. Then he?ll blush and say, you know what I mean. I?ll call him a phobe, he?ll call me a Moe, and everything is fine. And before you get a nasty taste in your mouth regarding this youth, he?s changed a lot in the year since I?ve known him. And over time, we?ve settled into a nice routine filled with practical jokes and a genuine fondness for one another that has nothing to do with sexuality. Or so I thought.
    The best part about his homophobe actions is when he has to be the server for a gay couple; you can see it in his eyes, the panic that is lurking just under the surface. He?s always pleasant and professional but I know just how uncomfortable he is at those times.
    Why is it that most straight guys think every gay guy they meet will try to get into their pants? Seriously, does that happen?
    Whatever the reason, Mark is afflicted with this stigma. So to explain things to him, I took him out one night after work seven months ago. We sat down at the bar and to prove my point, I started pointing out different girls asking the same question, ?Who you do her?? In just a few minutes, he had said yes to about half of the girls and said no to the others.
    I then told him to start pointing out different guys to me and to ask me the same question, ?Who you do him?? I was surprised, after only a few minutes he realized what I was showing him. He really thought that gay guys wanted to fuck every guy they saw. Once he realized that even gay guys have a certain type they?re attracted towards and that most have no desire to date a straight guy, he became really comfortable around me.
    And since most of you are probably aware of where this entry is heading, I don?t feel like I?m getting ahead of myself at all by saying that I did notice that most of the guys he pointed out that night looked a lot like he did, same body type, same dark features, with the same style of dress.
    Some of you might remember Mark, I wrote in a blog entry called, Mistaken Identity and Two Rolls of Toilet Paper, chronicling our games we play at work. If you would like to know more about this, then I urge you to read that blog entry.
    Five months ago, I was still nose deep in Cocaine and pretty anti-social so I rarely hung out with my co-workers outside of work. But somehow, I was convinced to attend a twenty-first birthday celebration at a local dance club. And seeing this was the last server that works at our restaurant to turn twenty-one, everyone from work was planning on attending.
    I don?t know why I said yes, I didn?t even like the girl that was turning twenty-one. And at that time, going to a club just took time out of my doing cocaine.
    It?s weird now as I look back on that night. Basically if I would have stayed home to bump lines all night then the events of last Monday more than likely would?ve never happened and I wouldn?t be so confused right now. If only?
    I arrived at the club around 11:30 PM that night and found only the birthday girl and her two friends. Apparently the rest of my co-workers were planning on making a fashionably late appearance. Go them, I wish I was that smart.
    For over an hour the three crazy chicks bombarded me with stupid questions regarding my gayness and what type of boys I preferred. Even with my sneaking off to bump lines in the bathroom did little to help the situation and by 12:30 I had had enough. I wished the birthday chick happy times and promptly left the club.
    Oh if only the story stopped right there than this blog entry would be finished and ya?ll would be loads happier. But that?s not what happened because once outside I saw Mark and his friend approaching the club from down the street. Mark saw me and waved and headed into the club. And though I was planning to go home and finish getting fucked-up I found myself turning around and walking back into the club. This is where I found out that Mark had run out of gas and that the rest of the servers were just minutes behind him.
    So I love to dance, and if I?m in a bar that has music then I?m dancing. And for the next hour, in between birthday shots, I did have fun dancing with assorted people. I had six or seven shots in me by this time and had bumped who knows how many lines so when Mark asked me if I wanted to go outside and cool off a bit by smoking a cigarette I hastily agreed.
    I stood with my back against the building while Mark stood facing down the street, sort of sideways from me, staring at the passerby?s.
    After a few minutes of silence, he looks at me from the corner of his eye and states, ?You were going to leave when I saw you outside earlier weren?t you.?
    ?What?? I know, brilliant conversationalist.
    Again, he looked at me from the corner of his eye and said simply, ?You came back inside for me, didn?t you.?
    Since Mark and I hadn?t really hung out that much I wasn?t sure if he was being serious or not. Mark?s father left him at an early age and with his two younger sisters he is surrounded by women who constantly show him affection by touching, kissing, hugging. So for a guy he?s pretty touchy. So instead of taking him seriously, I lied, ?I was having a smoke.?
    Now he turns and faces me and looks me right in the eyes and says, ?Bullshit. You came back for me.?
    ?You think highly of yourself, don?t you?? I reply, not breaking eye contact.
    So we stand there, staring at each other for a few moments, each daring the other to make a move. Then he suddenly starts laughing and says, ?Of course.?
    We finish our cigarettes and head back inside where I, for the time being, forget about our exchange.
    Shortly after that night, I really went off the deep end and lost myself in depression and drug use. And though at work we still got along great, and he still did little things much like the above incident, I was too wrapped up in myself to really pay attention.
    But four months ago, this caught my attention, in a big way. It was a bad night at work. And by a bad night, I really mean that Mark and I had spent most of the night punching each other in the ribs or kidney area.
    SIDE NOTE: Some nights after working with Mark I?d go home with my ribs so sore it almost hurt to breathe. And on my than one occasion Mark has confessed too me that his back was covered in bruises.
    Anyway, Mark was standing at the computer putting in a guests order when I came up behind him and punched him rather hard in the ribs.
    After swearing loudly, he looked over his shoulder at me and said, ?You?re always hurting me, why don?t you make me feel pleasure instead of pain??
    I laugh and reply, ?That?s not my job.?
    He turns to face the computer again but I catch it when he almost whispers, ?It should be.?
    I was very high at the time and this statement scared the shit out of me. I?m not stupid, and I know the little games Mark and I played was our weird way of flirting with one another. But that statement hit a bit close to home. Once, long ago, I made the mistake of falling for my straight best friend and after that destructive relationship was over I swore I?d never do it again.
    So I did the only thing I could think of doing?I made a stupid joke and walked away. But this little exchange put me on my guard and I began to watch Mark rather closely. I then observed that Mark touched everyone, a shoulder pat here, an arm squeeze there, pretty harmless stuff really. But he touched me differently. It took a few weeks for me to pinpoint the differences but once I saw it, it was clear as day.
    That is a stupid expression, clear as day, isn?t? After all, I?ve seen days where the sky is filled with dark clouds and rain is misting up everything a few feet away.
    It took a few weeks for me to pinpoint the differences but once I saw it, it was clear as a beautiful spring day without a single cloud in the sky.
    That?s better.
    When he hugged one of the other servers, he would bend at the waist and make sure his crotch area would never come in contact with the other person. This was true even with the two girl servers. Yet when he hugged me, there was full body touching. I could go on but I don?t really have the time. Or to be more accurate, you might not have the time for me to ramble on and on about unimportant things.
    When Mark and I are surrounded by our co-workers, we have this playful, almost brotherly relationship between us but once we?re alone, Mark?s demeanor changes drastically and he even speaks differently, more relaxed, more comfortable. For a long time I allowed myself to view these differences as nothing more than another layer of our already complex relationship, much like the actions taken by a younger sibling who still has a bit of hero worship for his older brother. After all, I?m quite a bit older than he is and sometimes I can?t see the forest because of the trees.
    Three months ago, our playful games began to slowly change. Where once we left bruises when punching one another had, for lack of a better word, morphed into softer touching. Like we had given up all pretense of punching just to make contact and now had accepted the simple fact that we just like to touch each other.
    Because there are times when we are standing around in a group, he?ll make sure he?s as close to me as humanly possible without actually being joined with me. And yet he?ll ignore me at the same time, resorting to sideways glances instead of acknowledging my presence. And there have been several times when he?ll do something so bold that not only shocks me but him as well. Like the time I was standing at the computer and he came around the corner and immediately started grinding up against me or the time he walked into my hand with his crotch and moved his hips just enough that I felt the outline of his cock in his boxers. In both of these instances, his eyes widened, like he just realized what he had done, and he quickly walked away, behaving like nothing had happened.
    And the more he did this, the further I retreated into my cocoon of anti-social behavior. And just because I?m an honest kind of guy, I?ll admit that my attitude towards him slowly began to change. By this time I had let him see just a hint of my mental state and he knew a portion of my drug addiction. I?m sure he didn?t realize how bad it had gripped me because I think he would have tried a bit harder to get me to open up and trust him. And during these conversations he got a taste of how far down I was and how depressed I truly had become.
    Because one night after work, we were smoking and talking about friendship and the need to have people in your life, and I declared that I prefer to be alone and that having friends were overrated. He disagreed of course. He said that without friends in your life that care about you then you will never know that cocaine is slowly killing you. He further argued that the only reason I was depressed all the time was because of my high intake of cocaine and the blow was making me look like shit.
    He was right, I had lost a lot of weight and the dark circles around my eyes gave me an eerie look that resembled a walking cadaver. I wonder if he ever knew how close I was to the edge that night. I wonder if anyone will ever know.
    In September he waltzed into work and told everyone that he finally found a girlfriend. That?s not true, he never told me. I found it strange, both then and now, that he never told me about this girl. It didn?t matter one way or the other, I was dealing with my own shit at the time.
    I do know that the addition of this new girlfriend did nothing to stop the flirting between the two of us. All it did was confuse the shit out of me, especially after the events of last Monday.
    Two weeks, another after work session smoking, Mark looked at me and then asked, ?Have you been gaining weight??
    I know I?ve said it before but let me state it again. I HATE SOBRIETY. Always have, and probably always will. Why? Because now that I?m off the coke, I?ve gained a shit ton of weight and don?t really give a shit when everyone else says I look healthy now. I don?t, I just look fat.
    I nodded my head and shrugged. He then said, ?You look good too, happy even. Have you finally found a boyfriend??
    I?ve always been the guy that keeps his personal life very private and with the exception of Mark, no one at work knew a damn thing about my personal life. So why I decided at that time to explain in great detail the events that had happened to me in the last few months I?ll never know. But I did. I told him all about Susan, My Resurrection, my giving up Cocaine and my new outlook on life.
    When I was finished, he wrapped his arms around me and whispered into my ear that it was about time I grew the fuck up. That was when it happened, that was the exact moment the crush I have for Mark was born. The crush I have for him isn?t huge, just a tiny harmless crush for someone who shown me kindness.
    I swear, because at that time, it was more important that I found a friend. I know my feelings for Mark aren?t real, just a by-product of me desperately needing a true friend in my life.
    By the way, Trab, you once told me that above all else, I needed a true friend in my life. You were right.
    So for the last few weeks, I?ve been spending a lot of time with Mark outside of work. Not too much time, he?s busy with school, with work, and his girlfriend, but enough time that I feel safe enough with the amount of trust I placed in him. And I like it, spending time with him. It gives me something else to do than spend hours alone in my apartment, cleaning the floor. And though I had a bit of a crush I pushed those feelings down and embraced the friendship I felt instead. But then it all changed, last Monday night?
    I know, after how many pages of long winded trips back in time, we finally made it to the reason I started writing this in the first place. And for those of you that are still with me, here?s the payoff, just something for the torture I?ve put you through today.
    Last Monday night, Dale threw a small party at his house. Mark and I were the only ones invited from the restaurant; everyone else was friends of Dale and his girlfriend. After a few hours, once everyone else had left except Mark and me when Dale produced his bong and the two of them smoked a bowl. After they finished smoking, Dale popped the movie Transformers into the DVD player and we all settled down in front of the TV.
    I don?t really care for weed but seeing as we were in a closed room, I?m sure I had a contact high going on. Mixed with the several beers I had finished already, I was feeling pretty mellow by the time the credits started rolling.
    Dale flopped down on the easy chair and quickly passed out. That left the large leather sofa for us, I sat down on one end and he took the other. About half-way through the movie, Mark and I began playing our little game of ?would we do her/him?. This gave us lots of material for jokes and goofing around like two idiots.
    At some point in the movie, Mark left to relieve himself. But upon his return, instead of reclaiming his seat on the other end, he choose to flop down in the middle, his upper body inches away from me with his legs kicked out on the coffee table.
    Somewhere between us making fun of the movie and playing our little game of who would do who, I suddenly realized that he was leaning against me, his head dangerously close to resting on my shoulder. When I noticed this, I immediately stood up and went to the bathroom.
    I stood there in the bathroom for a few moments, staring at my reflection. In my head I kept asking what the fuck was going on. I know I?m a bit slow, and have a hard time judging when someone is serious about the touching or just joking around. This is true especially when it comes to someone actually liking me.
    I stood in the bathroom and kept telling myself that it didn?t mean anything. I rationalized it by blaming his behavior on the weed and the beer, and that leaning against me was more of an accident than a design. So by the time I left the bathroom, I had convinced myself that he probably hadn?t realized he was leaning against me at all and that I should stop worrying about stuff that was perfectly harmless.
    Yeah, that lasted only until I sat back down. Because not only did he immediately lean back into me but this time he moved even closer to me and put his head on my shoulder.
    Just who is the gay boy here?
    My heart started pounding faster, and I felt suddenly very uncomfortable. When I snuck I look at him, he looked totally at peace, like it was an everyday occurrence that he snuggled up with another guy while watching a movie. And just about the time I settled down, he sat up. I figured he just realized who he was snuggling up with and wanted to move as far away as possible. Wow, boy was I wrong.
    Because once he sat up, he grabbed my arm and lifted it up high enough so he could snuggle even closer to me. And once he found a comfortable position, he pulled my arm down around his body and sighed. Oh yeah, he sighed.
    So there we were one happy content straight boy and one very nervous confused gay boy. What a pair we made.
    And I?ll admit it was nice sharing this very intimate moment with someone I really liked. And even now, to be honest I don?t know if there was anything sexual about his actions that night. I could be trying to rationalize this experience and hide from the truth, but I have trouble believing anyone would be interested in me for more than just a sexual purpose. And, he professes to be extremely happy with his girlfriend.
    Either way, shortly after that, Mark fell asleep, my arm draped over his body and snuggled into my chest. Long after the movie was over I sat there, just watching his chest rise and fall as he took shallow breaths. Trying desperately to figure out what the fuck was going on, if anything was going on, and what the fuck I was going to do about this new development.
    Let?s face it, so many thing are wrong with this whole situation. Not only is he younger than me, but to my knowledge has never even been with another guy, and he has a very real girlfriend. Plus I swore I would never get involved with another straight boy confused about his sexuality again. Not after Jason and that whole mess.
    So I carefully untangled myself and quietly left, figuring I would take my cue on how to behave from Mark the next time I saw him.
    Which was today and from what I could tell, I was the only one that was uncomfortable.
    Because when I walked into work, Mark greeted me with his usual hug, even laughing when I rolled my eyes. We joked and made small talk all through the night as usual. So I figured he either didn?t remember what happened the night before or had chose to ignore it all together. Either way, I was totally fine with this strategy.
    Denial isn?t just a river in Egypt.
    But towards the end of the night when all the servers were standing around waiting for the last of the guests to finish up eating and leave, Dale asked me when I left the night before. I told him I left after the movie was over. Then Dale asked Mark when he had left. Which Mark replied, ?I woke up and left after I realized I lost my pillow.? Then Mark looked right at me and added, ?For a while it was quite comfortable sleeping on your couch.?
    So I left work and rushed home to start writing this blog. On though it?s now Thursday night, almost Friday morning, I?ve had several days to think things over and still can?t figure out if Mark is interested in me or if he?s playing around with the gay boy. Who knows, maybe he treats all his friends like this, you know, like a pillow.
    My head is telling me that he?s a bit interested, at the very least curious. But if that?s the case, then that leaves me in a bad place. I don?t want to be the one that fills his curiosity nor do I want to be his first boyfriend either.
    So I think, the best course of action for me to take, is to keep my distance and maintain our relationship on a professional basis. But that damn crush came crashing back and I find myself more attracted to him now than ever before. And I thought my life would be easier once I lost the drugs. At least when I was fucked-up, I didn?t care about things like this.
    I guess it could be worse.
    Jason R.
  24. Jason Rimbaud
    7 Things I Hate Today!
    I know hate is a strong word and should never be used lightly. But if there is anything that would justify a universal feeling of hate, I think the following list will suffice. So without further digressions, rants, or any other silly hijacking comments, I give you the seven things I hate for today.
    Number 7: Every few days I receive an Email from ATT INTERNET service. They give me a list of reasons why I should switch my INTERNET service and they also offer discount prices. Today I read an email where, if I sign up for a year of service, I could get DSL access for $14.00 a month. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention this part. I already have ATT Internet access, they sent me the fucking email at my ATT Email address that they fucking gave me when I signed my contract locking me in at a set price for a fucking year. Oh yeah, I fucking hate that.
    Number 6: Old people coming to restaurants. I don't want to hear about the good old days when coffee was a nickel and you had unlimited refills. At my fucking restaurant, coffee is $4.00 a cup. And if you want another one, that will be another fucking $4.00 dollars. That's what by the cup means. Oh, and one more thing, it's never a good idea to order only one entr?e with the intention of "sharing because you don't really eat that much anymore". We all know it's bullshit, you're just cheap. And if you weren't cheap, then you would leave more than a ten percent tip. Remember, a server lives on tips, and if you stay sitting at that table for three hours because you and the old lady have no where else to go, then don't be surprised if you find something floating in your $4.00 cup of coffee.
    Number 5: Anyone, and I mean any-fucking-one, who believes that a one-year-old is a welcomed addition to a night out at a restaurant who charges sixty-dollars a plate. And don't even think about asking why we don't serve a children's menu. If you have to bring your smelly offspring with you everywhere you go because you don't want to pay for a babysitter, then take your fucking family to Denny's. Don't bring your ill behaved monsters to a hip upscale restaurant, the servers don't want you there, and I can bet the couple sitting next to you trying to celebrate their tenth wedding anniversary don't want you there either. So fucking stop it. If your kid doesn't have hair on it's "no-no-parts", then stay the fuck at home.
    Number 4: People who arrive 5 minutes before a restaurant closes for the night, wearing smiles and exclaiming loudly that you're just so damn happy that you made it before we close. Why? Because you are the type of person that will order two waters, and share a single entr?e, that you will not eat for two hours because you're busy making-out in the booth in the corner. Not only are you keeping the server from going home, but you're making them wait for ten-percent of a thirty dollar check. And even if you add in an extra ten percent and give them six whole dollars, don't be surprised if they leave the money on the table. Because the idea of having to stay at work two hours after the restaurant is closed because you want to make out in the corner booth is not worth the six dollars. If you are the type of person that does this, then you are a bastard and I hate you. I fucking hate you.
    Number 3: Commercials spouting anti-smoking propaganda. Let's face it, there is not a single person living on the planet in the year 2007 that doesn't know that smoking isn't the best idea. And I get it, you hate smoking. Get over it. Do we really need to spend hundreds of millions of dollars on really stupid commercials trying to stop people from smoking? Why don't we take that money and spend it on more important things, I don't know, how about universal health-care? How about offering classes on the long lost art of minding your own fucking business? I want to take that guy from that commercial and lock him in a room where hundreds of people blow cigarette smoke in his face for three days. Then, and only then, can he have a reason for making those stupid fucking Truth ads.
    Number 2: Commercials heralding the latest advancement in prescription drugs. It started out harmless enough, remember Antonio Banderas as the cute little bee flying lazily about telling us too take this new pill for our nasal allergies. And I could even understand the ads dealing with sleeping disorders. But now every few minutes I see commercials advocating erectile dysfunction pills and anti-depression tablets with side affects that are decidedly worse then the aliment they claim to cure. Think about it, I've got this granite hard cock but I can't seem to stop my ass from leaking. Hmm, flaccid cock or shit spewing from my ass, I wonder what I would choose? And doctors need to stop inventing diseases to justify their new miracle pill. Who the fuck ever heard of restless leg syndrome? I didn't, I didn't know it was a syndrome. When my legs hurt when I was in bed, I got up and drank a glass of water. Problem fixed. But that's not good enough anymore, now we need a fucking pill. What the fuck, it seems like they have a pill for everything now-a-days.
    Which leads me right into
    Number 1: Commercials telling us NOT to do drugs. Well, it should be, commercials telling us not to do drugs that aren't controlled by the Federal Government. Have you seen these anti-pot ads? In one, a girl is sitting in the kitchen, go figure, eating, and the family dog comes in and sits on a kitchen stool and asks her to stop smoking pot. I wasn't even smoking pot when I saw that commercial and all it did was make me wonder if my dog would start talking to me if I smoked up. How fucking cool would that be? Can you imagine what the family pet would have to say?
    I don't want to start bitching about those of you that are currently taking pills that are saving or prolonging your life, but I'm not sure if I want to take a handful of pills that actually have a higher risk of hurting me than helping. And what about those pills that after you take them, you fucking die. Is that side effect warning on the bottle?
    Shouldn't we be wary of any drug that is invented for the sole purpose of generating money? If we are so advanced that we now have to start inventing diseases to cure, why are people still dying from cancer? Why can't we cure AIDS? And don't get me started why we have dozens of pills to get a boner but still can't come up with a better solution to fight the flu then by injecting flu in the form of shots. Hmm, I get a shot to ward off the flu, and the shot gives me the flu. That is a brilliant scheme if I ever heard of one.
    For a society that spends so much money on anti-drug campaigns, we are quickly becoming perpetually medicated and all with the Federal Governments approval. And I don't care what anyone says, having a full-on-robot-chubby due to severe rigor mortis stemming from complications caused by my erectile dysfunction medication isn't really a miracle cure by any means. You have to be at least breathing to enjoy fucking. Though being dead is a viable alternative when faced with anal leakage. But of course, that's just me.
    Jason R.
  25. Jason Rimbaud

    My Resurrection

    By Jason Rimbaud,

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

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