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Jason Rimbaud

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Blog Entries posted by Jason Rimbaud

  1. Jason Rimbaud
    Just returned from watching Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom.  Or should I say dragged to see the flick.  
    I should start by saying that I am a huge fan of Jurassic Park, a satisfied fan of Jurassic Park 2, a meh for Jurassic Park 3, and a very disappointed viewer for Jurassic World.  
     
    For all the amazing CGI of the first one, they did not skimp on the story and characters.  All I have to say is Alan Grant.  Jurassic Park 2, the sequence when T-Rex squared pushes the camper off the cliff is stunning, again they did not skimp on the story and characters.  I know they have plot holes and characters that were only half developed.  But the entertainment factor of Dr. Ian alone carries that film that is re-watchable each time I see it on cable.  Jurassic Park 3, sees the return of Alan Grant, one of my favorite actors from the 90's and eerily attracted to in a carnal way, returns to an okay horror film.  I love the moments with Eric Kirby, he has some of the best lines in the entire film.  Plus, you have the human eating birds attacking our steadfast heroes.  Lets not talk about the spinosaurus as a villain.   
     
    Then you have Jurassic World some 17 years later with the amazing B.D. Wong and the over-hyped Chris Pratt and his abs.  Great CGI and a pulse pounding action scenes but with under developed characters, kids in danger for no reason, and a deeply unsatisfying ending that is a bit too nostalgic for my taste.  I felt that Star Wars Force Awakens suffered from the same malady.  A fan that grew up and made a homage movie to their childhood fantasies.  In both films, each writer and director focused more on feelings that actual story, spectacle over substance, and nostalgia dripping from the screen that makes me wish instead of essentially re-making a classic, they would have been better served in just re-watching the originals.  
     
    So when "N" insisted on us going to the movie tonight on my one day off this week, I was prepared for another Jurassic World.  After all, Chris Pratt has already given me a sequel that was boring on the surface, sub-par in the meat of the story, and just plain awful by the discovery of the villain.  Of course i am speaking about Guardians of the Galaxy Chapter 2.  
     
    I offered other opportunities, even went as far as begging us to go to Las Vegas last minute just to avoid this movie.  And much to my chagrin, he wasn't having any part of that strategy.  And once the credits rolled, damn was I impressed.  For the first time in a long time, Chris Pratt was more grounded as an actor since I first saw him on Everwood.  The writers/directors kept him from his Prattness and he acted the shit out of a smart, believable script that didn't seem like over two hours that it ended being.  Bryce Dallas Howard stopped being the damsel in distress/high heels from the previous one and held her own against the new villain of the piece.  I will give zero spoilers but finally a sequel to Jurassic Park that was promised.  I didn't stay past the credits so I don't know if there is a post credit scene., but they set up the next installment perfectly that made sense in the framework of the story.  Completely understand why its making all the money.  
     
    I would say watch this movie, you won't be disappointed.  
     
    J
  2. Jason Rimbaud

    Anniversary

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    "It's not that I didn't like the gift..."
    "You don't," Ron interrupted while flipping through a magazine.
    "Right, but he doesn't have to know that."
    "He will figure it out when you never wear it and it goes the way the rest of his gifts have gone," Ron said, gesturing towards the closet.
    "It's our fifth year anniversary, that deserves something more romantic than a brown coat and an even plainer brown scarf," Daniel exclaimed, pushing his hair off his forehead.
    "It could have been worse you know."
    "Really. How?"
    "Remember the animal print top he bought you two years ago," Ron said, putting the magazine down on his lap. "What kind of animal was that again?"
    "Zebra."
    "Right, that would have been worse. A zebra printed coat."
    "Sometimes I wonder if he is even gay."
    "I doubt that," Ron said as he busied himself with his magazine. "I see how you walk into the kitchen the morning after date night."
    "That's what I mean," Daniel stood up angrily. "You shouldn't be privy to our love making sessions."
    "And you shouldn't be calling it 'our love making sessions' either."
    "We use to stay out all night just talking. We'd go out for long walks on the beach under the moonlight. We'd hold hands and make out until the sun came up over the city."
    "And I remember when you thought turtle necks hid your tremendously long neck."
    Daniel ignored him and continued, "Now I cook dinner, he opens a bottle of wine. We snuggle on the couch while watching Alien Encounters before shuffling off to our bed promptly at nine pm where our love making sessions begin and end by nine-thirty."
    "Sounds like a pretty horrible life to me," Ron said as he stood up and looked at his watch. "You have a man that not only puts up with all your crazy insecurities, your family baggage, and still loves you so much there are times I get physically ill being in the same room with you two. Horrible life."
    "You know what I mean," Daniel said as he threw up his hands in frustration. "What if it's over?"
    Ron rolled his eyes. He loved his brother more than anything but there were times it was exhausting listening to his insecurities. "COme on drama queen, we have to go if we are going to make that seven oclock showing."
    "I can't believe he has to work late on our anniversary."
    "Damn," Ron stated as he looked down at his shoe. "I think I have a broken shoelace. Why don't you go get the car and I'll change shoes and meet you down in a minute."
    "Okay."
    The moment the door closed behind Daniel, Ron pulled out his phone and waited for the connection.
    "Is it set?" The voice on the other end asked.
    "My brother the drama queen is heading down as we speak."
    "How mad is he?"
    "You know my brother, he doesn't even know how he feels moment to moment."
    "Thanks again for watching the house this weekend. You are by far my favorite brother in law."
    "I'm your only brother in law weirdo, "Ron said with a laugh. "Have fun in Bermuda."
    Ron returned his phone to his pocket and kicked off his shoes. He sat down on the sofa and put his hands behind his head and sighed loudly. "Finally, some peace and quiet."
  3. Jason Rimbaud

    September highs

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    I should be here more often but my career ( what a weird thing to come from my mouth ) has me full up the last year. As it is, in a weeks time, I'll be leaving San Francisco to open the second restaurant in what I hope is the start of a national brand.
    And though I'm not the owner or investor ( yet ) I am quickly moving up in the new company.
    Can you believe they put me in charge of a multi-million dollar restaurant? And a celebrity Chef too boot.
    How my life has changed in the last five years. I guess sobriety has its uses after all
    Jason ( the happy one )
    PS. I also have a great boyfriend
  4. Jason Rimbaud
    5:00AM...M wakes me up by straddling my back and whispering in my ear that he wants me to go running with him
    5:15AM...M and I walk out the front door to freezing wet air and head off toward the upcoming sunrise
    6:15AM...We walk back inside the house and head toward the shower, we don't make it
    6:17AM...M rewards me for running with him
    7:04AM...We get in the shower and I thank him for rewarding me
    7:43AM...We sit down for breakfast. M gets 2 eggs over easy with coffee and I get a bagel with OJ
    7:55AM...M heads off to class and I do the dishes
    8:20AM...I get in my car and drive to Millbrae to catch B.A.R.T. train to San Francisco
    8:45AM...Get on B.A.R.T. and start checking and replying to work related emails
    9:00AM...M sends text and says he's misses me
    9:25AM...Get to the restaurant and begin checking the overnight voicemail
    9:46AM...Recieve call finalizing cocktail party plans for 6 PM that night for 50 guests
    10:00AM...Recieve phone call from a busser who claims he can't come to work
    10:01AM...Tell busser to come or else...he claims he tried calling me all morning but I didn't pick up
    10:02AM...I call bullshit on his claim as I had been awake since five AM
    10:17AM...Send M a text that says...Grrr
    10:30AM...Greet and Brief the lunch staff about the days events and specials
    11:00AM...Open for lunch and deal with a server "suddenly" becoming ill
    11:01AM...Sent server home and I'm not happy as we are booked quite heavily for lunch
    11:17AM...Busser shows up to work late we are 17 minutes behind schedule
    12:00PM...Order a Chicken Cobb Salad for lunch, can't wait
    12:15PM...Homeless crack-head tries to steal food off a table sitting on the patio
    12:16PM...Feel a bit better after yelling at the crack-head
    1:30PM...Finally get a chance to eat...Chicken Cobb Salad is wilted but tasty
    2:00PM...Receive email about last minute changes regarding cocktail party
    2:01PM...Push time up to 5PM and change the menu with Chef for cocktail party
    2:13PM...M texts he'll be staying at his apartment tonight but he loves me
    2:30PM...Was told that "sick" server left to meet one of our chefs for some afternoon delight
    2:31PM...Not happy with server or the chef, can't wait until tomorrow's meeting
    3:00PM...Sit down with a wine rep and have a tasting for new Pinot Noirs
    3:30PM...Surpervise the setting up for the cocktail party and decorate the room
    4:00PM...Greet and meet the night shift and brief them on the cocktail party and the night's business
    5:00PM...Guests arrive for the cocktail party and the fun begins
    5:30PM...Restaurant is full and I jump behind the bar to help bartender make drinks
    6:45PM...Finally get a chance to leave the bar and smoke a much needed cigarette
    6:45PM...Text M just to say hi
    7:30PM...I yell at a server because she forgot to ring the entr?es for a table of five...for twenty minutes
    8:00PM...To console the table I buy them a round of drinks and dessert, I think it worked as they left happy
    8:07PM...M texts that he's going to bed and that he loves me
    8:15PM...D and I begin doing physical end of month inventory on wine, beer, booze
    10:00PM...I do all the book keeping for the day's business and send the servers home after a job well done
    10:30PM...D and I finish physical inventory and I turn off the lights and lock the doors and head toward B.A.R.T.
    10:52PM...Get on train and text M that I love him and goodnight, he doesn't respond
    11:29PM...Arrive in Millbrae and walk to my car
    11:35PM...After waiting for my car to warm up I start driving home to San Mateo
    11:55PM...I walk in my door and see a note on the counter from M
    11:55PM...M figured I wouldn't get to eat dinner so he left me a slice of pizza in the fridge
    11:56PM...Forgo the pizza and head up the stairs stripping out of my clothes as I head to the shower
    12:05AM...Walk into my bedroom and realize that M is curled up with my pillow snoring softly
    12:06AM...Stare at M asleep and realize that I can't imagine life without him
    12:07AM...I pounce on M and life is perfect
    1:00AM...M says he couldn't sleep alone and figured he'd surprise me
    1:02AM...M whispers goodnight and moments later he starts snoring softly
    1:04AM...I shift to a more comfortable position and set my alarm for 5 AM
    1:05AM...I grab my laptop and start typing what will become this Blog Entry
    1:31AM...I post this Blog Entry and snuggle up to M's back and drift off to sleep...happy and content
  5. Jason Rimbaud
    It's been almost two months since I started my new bright and shiny job in San Francisco...you know the one I'm talking about. The job that was suppose to give me more time to myself, time I could use to write.
    Well that dream was held up and then smashed to pieces right before my very eyes. I won't make NaNo this year, matter of fact I failed miserably. Oh don't you worry you crazy kids, I'll punish myself accordingly later.
    I had such high hopes and plans, but life keeps fucking me up lately. I get up and go to work, barely having time to wash my body much less touch myself in dirty ways. I still know what my dick looks like, I just haven't beaten it for a while. (and it might owe me money by now)
    I want to tell you about the guy I caught jerking off outside my restaurant window a few weeks ago, but I can't. Because I'm working to fucking much to take the time to relay the tale. I want to tell you about the old queen that sat down at my restaurant and got so drunk he pissed himself sitting in his chair in my restaurant, but I can't, I have to go to work early tomorrow morning and just don't have the strength to tell you about.
    Or the guy I got arrested because he tried to walk out on a $124 check without paying. Or how I walked across the street and caught him in another bar before dragging his broke ass back to my restaurant where I called the police. Not to mention that he owed the other restaurant for the drinks he consumed on their premises before I drug him out by his ear.
    And then there was this guy on the train that was so hot I decided to make out with between Daly City stop and Colman street station. So hot and heavy this make out session was, by the time he got off on his stop, I was standing there with a solid rock erection showing proudly for the rest of the passengers to stare out while I tried to wipe off the stupid grin on my face.
    And then later on in the grocery store when I was doing my weekly shopping, and my mind drifted back to that hot make-out session with this hot guy that I popped another boner all of a sudden and when I turned around, this lovely old lady was standing there, staring at my bulging pants with a horrified look on her face. (though I'm sure she has seen a penis erect before, I don't know why she was so offended)
    Do you have any idea how "hard" it is to do the weekly grocery shopping with a burning erection leading the way? I bet you don't, because I'm sure I'm the only one that is afflicted with man's greatest reflex.
    Fuck me, I'm way to sleepy and maybe a bit drunk to tell you about my last two months. So I'm sure I'll just take more pictures to send to random friends and go to bed. Sleep tight you crazy kids, I know I'll be sleeping restlessly.
    Jason
  6. Jason Rimbaud
    I was in a bar earlier tonight and this black guy I have never met before comes over and says, I quote, "For a white boy, you have mad flavor."
    I'm not really sure what "mad flavor" is, but I gots it.
    So why would this stranger come over and say things I don't really understand? I guess I should start at the beginning. Well, not that far back, I don't think even my loyal reader would stick around to read this Blog Entry if I started at the beginning. So lets start from a beginning.
    I got pulled over the other night on the , way home from work. Apparently my left brake light was shorted out and where its not really illegal it does give the police a good reason to pull someone over at one AM in the morning so they can check and see if that someone has been drinking before getting behind the wheel of their little car. Doesn't that make you all warm and fuzzy bunny slippers?
    And unfortunately for me, I reeked of booze.
    And before you go all high moral road on me...I was not drinking. Matter of fact I hadn't had a drink in over a week at the time of this incident. Though if I were to be in this situation as I type this, I would be hammered. But the good news, I'm not driving a car right now. And even better news, I probably couldn't find my car right now.
    The pig...err...I mean police officer says, "Do you know why I stopped you?"
    "Not really."
    "Your left brake light is out." Then he leans in closer to my open window and says, "Have you been drinking?"
    "No."
    The bully in blue uniform goes, "License and registration please."
    This is the part of the story where I tell both of my readers (I know...I'm gaining readership) that as of this moment, I currently have an expired drivers license.
    Don't look at me like that, it's not that I did it on purpose. I'm no criminal.
    It's not like I get carded anymore, so I haven't looked at my license since I got the damn thing five years ago. So I have been driving illegally since my birthday back in January. I'm such a rebel. *insert devil horn hands*
    After taking a look at my expired driver's license, and the kick-ass picture, the donut eating machine says, "Can you step out of the car please?"
    We had a really busy day at work, so busy that I had to jump behind the bar, in a suit I might add, and help the bartender sling drinks for two hours. And do you know how hard it is to sling drinks wearing a suit and tie? Pretty fucking hard, matter of fact, so hard that I ended up spilling a few drinks all over myself.
    Cut back to the car at one AM, not only does this pig think I'm drinking and driving, he thinks I'm a dick with no respect for the law. There goes that warm and fuzzy bunny slippers feeling.
    I step out of the car, quite gingerly I might add. Work has been crazy busy and I'm not as young as I once was, my feet hurt, I think I tore a back muscle hefting around a keg of beer, so stepping out of the car isn't really true. I hauled myself out of the car, a bit unsteady on my feet. Sadly this didn't help me look stone cold sober either. "I swear, I haven't been drinking."
    Again the officer looked into my eyes and said, "I don't believe you. You smell like you've been drinking and you don't look that steady on your feet."
    I am a smart ass, but even I know when to keep my big fat mouth shut. So instead of saying, 'well you're eyes look glazed does that mean you've been eating donuts' I simply let the thought die inside my head.
    While I'm on the subject, why does every single police officer in the world have the same haircut? It's always shaved close on the side of the head and then on top they have this really bad crew cut. Seriously, next time you seen a cop, look at the haircut, they all match.
    So the patrolman sends me on a series of stupid tests designed to do nothing or tell nothing either than make your heart pump harder so any alcohol that's in your stomach reaches your bloodstream faster to give the cops a higher blood alcohol content reading. I had to walk a straight line, which is very difficult when your feet have swelled up the size of melons. I had stand on one leg and count to twenty with my head tilted back, touch my nose without looking, and my personal favorite, saying the alphabet back wards.
    Which ironically, I have absolutely no problem doing right now drunk as hell.
    After about twenty minutes of this useless shit, the dick head says he has reasonable doubt that I am indeed under the influence and demands that I take a Breathalyzer test.
    In the meantime, while the first cop was frowning at me for my blatant disregard of the law, two more police officers show up. I'm on the side of the road, about two blocks from my house, and three cops are gathered around, all who frown when cop number one says I am driving without a license and my brake light is broken. From the look on their collective faces, I am scum. Matter of fact I am wondering when one of those crazy S.O.B.'s is going to pop a cap in my ass.
    You have seen the footage about that BART cop last New Year's Eve who had that black guy on the ground, three of them holding him down, and the BART cop pulls his gun and shoots him in the back. That happened not that far away from where I live in the Bay Area. Check the footage on Tube if you haven't seen it yet.
    I can almost feel the pleasure oozing out of the cops, they think without a doubt that I am drunk, and I'm only a Breathalyzer test away from them making a shit ton of money and probably a bonus for busting a DUI.
    Did you know that? Police departments have a running contest each month, where the police officer with the most DUI's get a cash bonus. And you wonder why real crime is rampant in the world? The cops are all staking out bars trying to bust little Suzy who had one shot of Yagermister and two warm draft Coors Light instead of stopping violent crime like rapists and murders. You go Barney Fife.
    So they give me this little tube and I blow into it. And much like I knew it would, the results show I have zero blood alcohol content. The cop looks at the machine, and then back at me, and says, "There must be a malfunction."
    He takes me to another police cruiser and a different machine where I repeat my blowing. I wonder if I had been drinking, and failed the machine blowing thing, I wonder if they would allow me to go to another cruiser and blow again.
    Anyway, the results said again, ZERO. And now they aren't happy at all. It's now after two thirty AM, catching another drunk driver is all but impossible since all the bars are now closed and everyone is safely home. All the police gather around the machine and finally admit that not only have I not been drinking but I am completely sober.
    And do you know what, they don't apologize for wasting my time. The cop looks at me and says, "I could make it that you lose your license for a year, enough time has passed. How would you like that? Driving is not a right, it is a privilege for those Americans that follow the rules."
    I really didn't know what to say to that. This cop is so mad at me that I'm not drunk, something he should be happy that I don't drink and drive, but he's in my face, his face is red and his veins are sticking out. For a moment I think I'm in the twilight zone or something. Why is he so mad at me?
    I wanted to scream back at him, but I didn't, because I'm intelligent. So instead, I stand there, not saying anything unless he asks me a direct question, while he writes me up a ticket for an expired drivers license and another warning fix-it ticket for my brake light, and a warning that the next time he seems me on the road, I better have a current driver's license.
    So what did we learn...
    That cops get really mad if you smell like alcohol but haven't really been drinking and that I can't pass a sobriety test while completely sober. And apparently, I'm so gay that I can't change a brake light on my car without cutting my hand and ripping out the carpet lining in my truck.
    Thank god for my neighbor who had pity on me and changed the light for me. So I bought him a beer at the local bar and proceeded to get so drunk, and tell my story to anyone who wanted to listen.
    And while at the bar, after another telling of this story which started to get more and more blown out of context, this black guy comes over and give me a hug, and says, "For a white boy, you have mad flavor."
  8. Jason Rimbaud
    I've been on vacation for the last five days and I must say, I haven't done anything of importance. Okay, that's not really true, I have done things. Yet none of these things were things I had been needing to do.
    On Sunday, while on the train going home to start my five day vacation, I wrote this in my notes section of my handy dandy I-Phone...'Starting tomorrow, I'll be having five days off work, not really sure what I'll be doing or where I'll be going but it's time to find a warm hole and stick my dick inside it.'
    Lofty ideals huh...don't judge me, it's not my fault. I blame television.
    On Monday, I had a plan to go to San Jose to get Hot Wings from my favorite place, Smoke Eaters.
    I would like to take this time to admit to a problem...nay an addiction that I have been struggling with for ten years. The taste of a really spicy Hot Wing sauce is like nectar of the gods to me. This is a straight up addiction no fly by night flirtation. So much so am I addicted to this sauce, I could probably mainline the sauce on a daily basis. I even go as far as to dip my finger in the sauce and lick it off while I drink beer. I guess I love the way it burns my mouth and lips. Though I must admit, the next day, while doing certain daily activities it burns like I'm stuck inside the seventh level of hell.
    So I had this idea to go to San Jose and get Hot Wings from Smoke Eaters and then go back home with a case of beer and maybe a new video game and veg out in front of my big screen high definition TV. So on the way, I stop off at the local GameStop to see if there is a new game that might stir my interest. And boy, did I find more than I bargained for...
    Splinter Cell, the latest one, I was very interested in purchasing so I sauntered up to the counter to this delicious geek that was standing there in all his nerdy glory and asked if this game was satisfying. Apparently, he loved the game because he started talking a mile and minute, his hands wavering in weird motions and he was practically bouncing off the walls.
    He was a typical looking geek, long hair, scruffy beard that couldn't grow in all the way, dressed like a fashion reject from a bad eighties movie with a Spiderman T-Shirt that was two sizes too small for his lanky frame. I'll say it, sex on wheels.
    It's four o-clock in the afternoon, I'm on vacation, and I'm randy as goat. While he's going on and on about this game, I couldn't help but to laugh. I say, "You seem pretty excited about this game."
    "I am."
    "I usually don't get this excited outside of sex, how about you?" I say/asked, flashing him my most seductive smile.
    For a moment, he looks at me, then he smiles shyly and looks around before saying, "I get even more excited about sex."
    "What time do you get off?"
    "Five o-clock."
    "Fancy an after work blow job?" I ask bluntly. After all, I only have five days and I don't have time to beat around the bush. Plus I really wanted to eat my Hot Wings from my favorite place in San Jose and drink some beer.
    It was so cute, he looked down at his feet and turned his head, not bothering to look me in the eye. He mumbles, "I'm not gay."
    "It's okay, my mouth is gay enough for the both of us."
    Geek always taste better when it's straight geek.
    On Tuesday, I had to do laundry and wanted to give the apartment a good cleaning over. Wolfie had been on my ass lately about the streaks and dust on the TV so for a few hours, I lost myself in the mundane chores of keeping house. About seven o-clock, I worked up a mighty thirst so I showered quickly and headed off to the bar to find myself a dumpster.
    Figuring I would make this vacation's theme, Straight Week, I decided to only try and seduce straight boys.
    For the last few weeks, there is this little hottie straightie that hangs out at my local neighborhood straight bar, and we have been giving each other the eye. Or to be truthful, I have been giving him the eye and he's been giving me the eye when he thinks I'm not looking. That night I decide that I'm not just going to look from afar, I decide that he's going to be my dumpster for the night.
    Turns out his name is Brad and he wasn't completely straight. He goes to some college, he's getting his undergrad in some subject. I know, when he was talking I really was paying attention.
    As he sat on the stool beside me, I couldn't help but notice his bulge, it was so enticing and mysterious. He's okay looking, probably about a "5" with no visible spots. I buy him a drink, make some dirty chit and some flirtatious chat before I say let's go back to my place.
    "I don't need anything else to drink."
    "Me neither." I say, rubbing my hand across his prominent bulge.
    Undergrad students who try to be straight tastes better than your average gay undergrad. Must be something about their pheromones.
    Sometime last week, I was riding on the train on my way to work when I noticed this young couple sitting a few seats away from me. I would guess they were around sixteen or seventeen and they were making out pretty heavily like only kids can do in public. The girl was cute, curvy and had red hair. The boy was your typical EMO, dressed in black and wearing skinny jeans that couldn't be any tighter unless he just painted them on. But what stood out about this couple, after fifteen minutes of heavy petting, the boy was in a very aroused state. You have to love skinny jeans.
    The boy looked to be embarrassed about his predicament, trying to place his arm in his lap, his hands, anything so as his erection wouldn't be seen by either the passengers or even his make out partner. I believe the girl was oblivious as to his state and as I watched this for a few minutes, I couldn't help but to laugh. Here was this boy trying hard to hide his cock and yet he still wanted to make out with his girlfriend who's hands had started to roam about his body.
    As my stop was approaching, I folded up the paper I had been reading and as I walked past them to exit the train, I dropped the paper in his lap and smiled at him. He quickly placed it in the proper place and gave me a look that said he was more than grateful for my act of generosity. I walked off the train feeling like I had done my good deed for the month.
    On the way home, the very same day, I watched two people fucking on the train. It was surreal, I was on one end of the train car and they were on the other end. They saw me but they didn't care that I was watching. She was sitting on his lap and from the moans they were making, they were having a ball. So I did what any person would do in my situation, I took a picture. So much for my belief in Karma. Whatever good I did with the boy by giving him a paper, it didn't come back to me in the least.
    The topper to this little tale, she suddenly jumped off his lap and then her head disappeared and the guy almost screamed out in ecstasy. So I started clapping. They didn't even have the shame to look embarrassed. I guess I lost my Bay Area Rapid Transit cherry.
  9. Jason Rimbaud
    I guess I'm in love with my I-Phone. There I've said it...publically and everything.
    With all the applications you can download, I'm surprised it's not listed as one of the worlds greatest something or other. Let's face it, it beats the shit out of the Grand Canyon. (Sorry Des)
    Though now that I think about it, the I-Phone should come with an ugly people spotting application for those of us that take a drink from time to time.
    It would've came in handy for me last night. I'm not saying the little twink that shared my bed was a two but he was definitely a two. *shudders*
    I was accused of not making sense the other day at work...to which I replied, "When I'm this dead sexy, I don't have to make fucking sense."
    There is a server at the restaurant I now call home, let's call him "D", who isn't really that good of a server. But the guests love him and he has a good heart so I keep him around. But after screwing up for the thousandth time the other night, I look over at the bartender and say, "Good thing "D" is attractive, because his smarts isn't going to take him anywhere."
    Why isn't Florida called, 'God's Waiting Room'?
    Since I got clean and sober, I'm finding it harder and harder to remain slim, I know, the drugs were killing me and my behavior was erratic at best. But at least I was thin. So what if I was bald, at least I was thin. Now, I'm still bald and at what my friends call a healthy weight...which is code for fat ass. And to make matters worse, the hair that I'm losing on top of my head is now showing up in the craziest places.
    Why would your ears ever need hair? For that matter, why would your back, blissfully free of hair for thirty-three years suddenly sprout what I can only describe as fur.
    And before you all freak out, I do a bit of manscaping to keep the Sasquatch on my back under control. But it's all a bother really.
    And yet instead of going to the gym, I'm sitting here typing this drivel while drinking a beer after I just ate half a pizza. Maybe I deserve this fat ass staring back at me from the mirror.
    I guess I really don't want to be perfect anymore. Damn-it all, I am quite happy. Maybe that's all I really need.
    Jason
  10. Jason Rimbaud

    New Goals For A Pretend Writer

    By Jason Rimbaud,


    Life In Glasses
    Have you ever read something you wrote twenty years ago and literally cringe in embarrassment? I have so many times it’s becoming a constant state of cringe. And believe me, I’m a master of cringing. 
    I’ll give you an example of a cringe that came over me about six months ago..
    Twenty-one years ago I wrote a fanfic about the members of Nsync. Which I find to be strange as I have never been a fan of their music. Nor have I been attracted to any of the members of Nsync, then or now. 
    I always found my taste in men to be a bit on the nerdy side. Give me a man who wears glasses, a bit awkward in social situations, and I’m all in. If you add in a darker skin tone then I get a mental erection and it's all over but the moaning.
    A few of you might know my husband is ethnically an Indian who was born in Malaysia. He’s almost 5’ 10” and weighs 120 pounds skinny butt naked. Does he wear glasses? Check. Is he smart? Extremely. Is it any wonder why he gives me mental erections just by walking into the room?
    Back to the fanfic I wrote. It was twenty chapters and just over 100K words. The plot revolved around an assassination attempt of a US Senator at a concert in Hershey Pennsylvania. Of course the protagonist meets the members of this boy band and the plot is off and running to a climax I still believe is pretty good.
    But you ask, is the story any good? I can say honestly, it had some really good scenes, a fairly interesting plot, mixed together with some of the worst writing I have seen in a long time. Trust me, I read it, then I read it again. It wasn’t great by any standard.
    The tone was all over the place. Due to the main plot, it was a bit dark. After all it was about assassinations at the core. I tried to weave suspense throughout the narrative, and I think I tackled that part okay. But then I would have a scene of graphic sex, eight or nine pages of graphic detail. So it was this weird mix of death, humor, and jerk off material. Sound like a story you want to read?
    Yet can you believe at the time, I would receive up to fifty emails when I posted a chapter. I thought I was on top of the world. Which only goes to prove the theory that even a bad writer can get sympathy platitudes. 
    I actually had an idea for a sequel. Thankfully it never materialized as I would have another novel to look back on and cringe.
    Why did I fail to write the sequel you might ask? A few months after I completed the novel, I kind of went off the rails with a love affair of cocaine and Oxycontin that I wallowed around for a few years. And that addiction morphed into a habit of picking less than ideal boyfriends that only fueled my drug addiction that caused me to choose bad boyfriends which fueled my drug addiction.
    And if any of you are wondering what life was like during that time of my life or if you are contemplating on getting a drug habit, I urge you to scroll down to the past blog entries and you can experience all the chaos that comes with those addictions. 
    Or if you want to really experience what goes through a drug addict's mind, you can always read my poetry. I might have stopped writing stories but I never stopped writing. I poured all my mania, my anger, my drug addled thoughts into some pretty amazing pieces. In poetry I found a way to confront my demons and exorcized them one piece at a time. I am still rather proud of my poetry.
    Then I somehow gave up the drugs and the poetry. I swapped them for blog entries. Those posts really delved into the characters of my sordid past and focused on my journey into sobriety. They were funny, sad, and at times would drive any sane person mad at the stupidity of my actions. But through it all, I remained honest and wrote with an intensity that scared me at times and healed me at others. I showed the bad along with the bad, and was unashamed. 
    Then just like real life, days turned to weeks, months turned into years, and slowly my life got on track. I’ve been clean for over fifteen years. I focused on my career that afforded me an amazing life in San Francisco. And that focus on career came with a hefty price. I had walked away from writing and found peace and a measure of what I thought was happiness.
    Then I met the man who would become my husband. That is when I found out there was another level above a great life. For five years I went from great to perfect. I had found my life partner, the person that would spend every night sleeping next to me. That person that can make me smile just at the mere thought of his name. And when he decided that our life needed something else to make it better than perfect, he brought a cat home named Peaches. And then somehow it got even better when he brought home another named aptly, Kali. 
    And life is still perfect. And I know some of you might be thinking there is a “but” coming. You would be wrong. My life is still perfect. We started our own business. I’m doing something I love. And yes it’s slow getting off the ground, and we are still struggling to be successful. But I’m happy.   
    Throughout that feeling of happiness, I had a growing feeling deep down in the darkness of my heart. It was a feeling I had lost long ago. That feeling that urged me to get back to what I’ve always said was my first love. 
    Even before the love of drugs, I had a love for writing. From my earliest memories, I have wanted to be a writer. And for a multitude of reasons, I slowly lost that love to create stories. Yes, I wrote poetry, blog entries. Those were things that were needed at the time for my own sanity. But I wanted to get back to crafting stories.
    So I made a plan to get back to where I knew I wanted to be. Firstly, I would gather all my writings that were posted in various places under a bunch of different names before I settled on Jason Rimbaud for a pen name. I had numerous short stories and novels, mostly on Nifty. And I’ll admit that in those early days, I wrote a bunch of stroke material. 
    Secondly I wanted to start writing seriously again. So in July 2022, I made myself a promise that I would write at least two hours every day. And thus far, I have stuck to that promise without missing a single day. 
    I have written a bunch of flash fiction, even a few short stories since then. I also wrote a bunch of blog entries that no one will ever see due to the fact they focus on my husband and our lives together. They are way too personal to ever share. 
    The flash fiction stories were a way I could dip my toe back into serious storytelling. I needed to relearn how to write stories. I had been writing true to life ramblings so long I had forgotten how to structure a real fictional narrative. And that was a huge challenge for me.
    Then in mid-November, I saw a writing prompt somewhere and got this idea about a story involving a pink jockstrap. And I got really excited about this premise. So excited that I actually wrote it. And then I got brave enough to ask a few people to help me with the edits and beta reading.
    Was the story great? I’m not sure. They gave me amazing feedback and insight but by the time I was somewhat satisfied it was New Years Eve. It’s a bit too late to post a Christmas story after New Year’s so I think I’ll save that until next year. I do feel a bit bad as they had to wade through lines upon lines of crappy writing and I never posted it.
    But that’s not what this post is about. And judging from their feedback, I have a lot to relearn about story structure, plot, and characterization. I mean, you can’t walk away from something for twenty years and expect to be mediocre when you return after only six months. 
    My passion for writing was not diminished in the slightest. Their critique actually started a fire inside me. So what I’m really saying in this post, I am actually re-writing that old fanfic about Nsync. 
    Of course I removed all mention of Nsync. I created my own fictional boy band. I also updated the story to be more modern and expanded the cast of characters. I cut entire chapters and trimmed certain scenes, plus added a bunch of new content.
    And then there’s the sex. I had to tame the sex a lot. I didn’t eliminate it all together, because for some reason not only am I getting back into reading light erotica I’m also interested in writing it again. What am I saying with all this?
    I rewrote the entire story completely. Now I’m going back and adding/cutting/expanding the story from the beginning. My goal for this year is to finish the story and see if anyone would like to host it on their site. 
    I’m relishing the journey of finding my voice after so many years of writing tongue-n-cheek blog entries. And I think some readers might find this change confusing as they expect a more cheeky tone in my writings. I know in the long run I will feel more fulfilled in doing something that makes me extremely happy. And for a guy that has no reason to be as happy as I am currently, I am grateful.
  11. Jason Rimbaud
    This is my third day of being off, and I’m not feeling that good right now.  I think my liver is mad at me and/or dying.  Either way, I’m feeling poopy so I decided to sit down and type out a blog entry. 
    Let me start off by saying, my life is going pretty well for the last few years.  And since “N” came into my life back in January, I really have nothing to complain about.
    I have an amazing boyfriend who I love insanely, a job that doesn’t suck and pays a ridiculous amount of money even before I get my quarterly bonus.  And thus far, since January, I’ve hit my bonus every quarter.
    I bought an amazing condo this year, on a hill overlooking the ocean.  And on a clear day, I can just make out some of the taller buildings in downtown San Francisco.  And a month ago, I bought a brand new car, my first since 2005.
    Two months ago, on my way to work at 5:40am, heading northbound on 101 into San Francisco, my car engine blew up and I was stranded on the highway in line number one.  I’m not scared to admit that I was pretty scared as cars flew by me doing 70 plus miles an hour.  Seeing that tow truck pull up behind me was an amazing feeling let me tell you. 
    But let me again repeat, my life isn’t even remotely bad or stressful.
    So I can hear you asking, why am I typing this blog entry today?  What could have possibly happened in my almost perfect life that would get me off the couch and share something dark and twisted with all of you?  Maybe it as because Cole told me that he missed my writing.  Or maybe because I feel like things are going a bit too well and I’m waiting for the other boot to drop.  And trust me, that is a very real fear of mine, because lately it seems the only thing falling from the sky is fuzzy bunny slippers.
    Could it be that though “N” is almost a perfect boyfriend, maybe not everything is working out in the bedroom?  Is that what you are thinking?  Are you really wondering about my sex life with “N”?  All the dirty details of naked bodies under the sheets. Because I think that is asking way too much of me and I might stop typing this if you are going to be asking those kind of things.  My sex life with “N” is none of your business thank you very much.
    If I actually would take the time to research this, I’d know the exact date I am referring too but if you are that interested you can look it up yourself.  A few days/weeks/months ago, the crazy inhabitants of San Francisco suffered through a record breaking heat wave that rose to 106 on that Saturday. 
    And trust me, the normal weather conditions here have no call for air conditioning.  Just stop and think about that for a moment.  106 degrees without any air conditioning in city that is almost always covered in fog and mist.  Trust me, I have never had so many complaints ranging from this beer isn’t cold enough to my salad is hot.  After a few hours of dealing with bitchy guests due to the heat, I started saying at least your not back in that kitchen, where the temperature was soaring to 110 plus.  That shut up most of the guests.
    During the hottest part of the day, guests would come into our restaurant, feel the heat, and turn around and walk right back out.  It was so miserable, and I kept changing shirts as every few hours I would completely sweat through my shirt.  Nothing worse than having a person serving you food that is dripping sweat into your hot salad.  After it was all said and done, I had changed shirts three times. 
    On a separate note, I did write a thank you note to Old Spice deodorant, cause I still smelled fresh after that blistering day. (I actually don’t wear Old Spice deodorant but I can’t remember the brand I actually do wear and the bathroom is all the way across the house and I don’t want to get up and look)  Don’t judge me, I’m hung-over.   
    Have you ever been so miserably hot that you can barely think straight?  We all know, the heat does crazy things to our brains and after spending hours trying to calm down all the metaphorically fires that erupted due to the heat, that I was completely spent by the time I crawled inside my car and cranked the air conditioning to full blast. 
    People don’t realize how hard running a restaurant can be.  No matter what happens, I have to keep calm and always put the good of the restaurant above anything else.  So the amount of abuse I often take from rude guests leaves me somewhat silent when I’m not at work.  Being happy and cheery for eight hours a day, that usually by the time I’m finished with work, my give-a-shitter is completely empty.  Add all that usual bullshit but compound it by 11, and I was in a pretty foul mood.
    Those of you that are from our hotter states and who are accustom to those kind of temperature might not sympathize with me, so all I can say to you, fuck off, we all can’t be as tough as you. 
    It was so fucking hot outside, that my poor little car couldn’t keep up with the temperature I was demanding of it that my car started overheating.  So for parts of the commute home, I had to turn off the air so my car wouldn’t stop working.  So after giving all my kindness at work that day, I didn’t have much left for anyone, much less my boyfriend, by the time I made it back to my house.
    Now, before you ask, “N” and I have maintained separate apartments, mainly because I’m not happy about the neighborhood he lives in.  Seriously, my car has been broken into three times in two months in his place.  Plus, his place his pretty small, and as I have mentioned in the past, he is not the cleanest person I have met. 
    And he doesn’t like my place only because I live in Daly city, on a hill, overlooking the ocean, and it’s a bit far for him to commute to work.  He doesn’t drive and I’m not that close to our underground, and the nearest bus stop is half mile away, but on the way back, it’s a half mile up a hill, and I can’t blame him for not wanting to walk up that hill after working all day.
    And before you start yelling at me that I’m a bad boyfriend for not driving him around.  We work completely different schedules most of the time and its not that easy.  Jeesh, get off my back, I try to pick him up or drop him off at work as much as I can but sometimes I need to get my beauty sleep. 
    So needless to say, we spend most of our time at his place, and he rarely comes to my place unless we both have the day off.
    My condo has air conditioner, and “N’s” does not.  Matter of fact, he only has one window that opens so all of us can imagine how hot his apartment must have been that day.  So on that hot day a few days/weeks/months ago, I texted him while I was heading home and informed him in no uncertain terms that I would not be staying at his house like we had originally planned.  And again before you yell at me, of course I offered for him to come back to my place and enjoy the cold on that stupidly hot day.  Its not my fault he didn’t want to make that journey up that long hill after his shift ended.  I even offered to get a lyft for him but he refused.  So there.
    This is the part in this story when I tell you that both of us run highly successful restaurants so our schedules rarely match up and its something of a juggling act to coordinate time together that doesn’t involve us watching the other sleep.  I know its weird, but we actually like spending time together in or out of the sheets.  But relationships are better when both parties are awake at other times than just sex.
    And really, stop asking about our sex lives.  It doesn’t matter who tops or bottoms.  We are in a loving committed relationship and its not your concern. 
    Have I mentioned that “N” is an Indian that was born in Malaysia.  He has just a hint of an accent that makes my heart skip a beat each time he talks.  And he’s been here for years so he’s pretty much Americanized. 
    Let me set the stage for you, I’m at my house, taken a cold shower, and am now sitting in my living room naked, watching season five of 24.  Its been about three hours since I’ve gotten home and im finally starting to feel normal again.
    So he texts me and demands that I pick him up at work.  Now think about this, I get up usually around 4am and leave work around 2pm.  He goes to work at 4pm and gets home around midnight.  So when he demands that I come get him, it means that I would only get four hours of sleep.  And maybe I would have, if it wouldn’t have been Saturday night, and the next morning I would have to deal with Sunday brunch again, another heat wave, and more bitchy guests.  So I tell him that I can’t but that I would see him the next day.  I was planning on seeing him at work and having dinner.
    But he gets really mad and starts a barrage of angry texts.  I’ve had a few hours up to this point to cool off and get my head back on straight.  I know he’s still in the middle of the heat and his mind isn’t in the right frame to have a logical discussion about the merits of sleep or my lack of love for him.  And for a while, I keep that fact in my mind and ignore some of the more hurtful things he said/typed to me.
    You know those kind of comments that only someone who love you can make that send you right around the twist.  They know all your faults and fears, and can use them in the most horrible ways when they are mad at you. 
    After more than a few insults, I started firing back with both barrels blazing.  And for an hour or so, we go back and forth, calling each other horrible names, brining up old argurments, basically being awful to each other.
    What got my blood really boiling though, was he said I didn’t love him since I didn’t want to come pick him up and that I was selfish that I wanted to sleep instead of picking him up in my air conditioned car.
    I throw my phone across the room and storm around my apartment waiting for 11pm.  That’s the time when I am going to go to his work and tell him off face to face.  There was no way I was going to wait until I see him the next day.  And while I’m waiting, I’m rehearsing all the things I want to say to him, I’m not going to hold anything back.  I plan on bringing up past things that I let go but never really forgotten about.  It’s going to be epic, I’m actually looking forward to yelling at him, maybe because I’m so nice during my day job that I can get out all my aggression on him. Or maybe its because I’m a baby but I’m not going to tell him any of that.  Fuck no, I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.
    It’s after 11 and I’m driving like a mad man all the way across San Francisco to his restaurant which has the most lovely view of the Bay Bridge.  I arrive right at 11:30 and just wait outside, seething the entire time I’m waiting. 
    About 11:45, he comes out of the restuarnt and locks the front door.  After he locks the door, he picks up a bag and looks around until he sees my car across the street.  The moment he sees me, he smiles and starts walking to the car unhurriedly.
    I’m not going to lie, when he smiled at me a bunch of my anger went away.  But I wasn’t going to let this go and he had no right to say/type some of those things to me.  I opened the car door and stood up, ready to give him a good tongue lashing. 
    The last four steps he runs and jumps into my arms and kisses me until I can’t think straight.  After a few minutes, he stops and hands me the bag, saying, “I got you your favorite.”
    “Why” I’m a bit shocked.
    “Because I knew you wouldn’t eat dinner because you were mad at me.”
    Fuck him, though he was right.  I hadn’t eaten dinner.
    “How’d you know I would even be here tonight?  This whole thing started because I refused to pick you up tonight.”
    He looks at me, smiles the biggest brightest smile I’ve even seen and says, “Babe, I know you better than anyone, why do you think I said all those thing to you, I had to make you come here somehow, dumbass.”
    It was late, around 2am, and we are in his bed, a hot sweaty mess on his bed with one fan blowing around hot stagnant air.  He’s snuggled up to me, gently snoring into my shoulder.  And I have to been at work in two hours to struggle through another hot day with bitchy guests.  Life could not be better and one day, I swear, we are going to be exchanging “I do’s” before our friends.
    After all, the sex is simply amazing.
  12. Jason Rimbaud

    Personal Questions

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    Personal Questions
    A boring look into the existence of Jason Rimbaud

    In the forums of GayAuthors, in the Games and Humor thread, there is an entry called Personal Questions. Basically it’s a forum game where each person asks a personal question and the next person answers the question before asking his own personal question.

    As I read through all the questions and the replies, I realized that there was numerous questions I would have love to have answered. So I thought it would be a good idea if I took some of those questions and answered them in my Blog for my one loyal reader who might want to know a bit more about me then I have shared thus far in my Blog.

    Basically, I’m out of ideas for Blog Entries so I’m going to pretend that people want to read my answers to these questions they asked other more interesting people.

    So without further interruptions or pointless digressions that go nowhere except to boredom. I give you personal questions as asked by lots of more interesting people to other interesting people.

    What is your favorite item of clothing? You might think this is embarrassing but I have an underwear fetish. And before you get to thinking that I’m some kind of freak and that your laundry isn’t safe in the dryer while you run across the street to get a bagel and a chocofrapalatta. You see, I don’t perv on your underwear, no, I perv on my own stash of underwear. And not my dirty underwear either, I like to buy all sorts of underwear. So for the moment, my favorite article of clothing is a pair of Batman boxer briefs, so comfortable against my dangling bits.

    Where was your first kiss? On the lips

    Where was your first kiss? My first kiss happened on a park bench during a summer rain storm with a girl named Michelle. She was also the first person other than me to touch my no-no parts above the jeans.

    What is the one gift you got that you cherish and why? Three years ago for my birthday, “M” bought me an orange fleece Hoodie that is as soft as baby’s tears and as warm as fuzzy bunny slippers. And though “M” is long gone and nothing but a memory, on cold nights I still like putting on that Hoodie and cuddling up in front of the TV.

    What was the last date you went on and how did it go? It was this last Christmas Eve and this great guy took me out to one of my favorite restaurants. We had a great bottle of wine, awesome conversation and then later, because he paid for dinner, I gave it up to him.

    What’s the story behind the worst scar you have? It was the summer I turned twelve and I came up with this brilliant idea that my friend and I should pretend that we were knights of the round table and go on a quest like King Arthur and his Knights. After a few hours of being knights, I decided that I should switch sides. Everything was going great until he swung Excalibur and I forgot to duck. His sword hit my face in a downward slashing motion that started at the top of my right eye, my eyelid, eyeball, and my right cheek. After I got out of the hospital, I realized that I would have to wear corrective lenses for the rest of my life. Luckily, the scar is barely visible.

    What is the one thing you are most proud of accomplishing? My sobriety. I haven’t done as much as a taste of cocaine in five years, three months and six days. And it feels surreal, I can remember telling my therapist all those years ago that I would never do cocaine again and I wouldn’t need a rehab program to do it either. She was very supportive of me but she felt that a rehab program would be something I would need to continue onwards. I don’t recommend that other addicts tackle sobriety the same way I did. I’m just relaying the story how I reached the lowest point in my life and I knew I had to make a change. Everyone must work on their sobriety in their own way.

    What would you say is your sexiest body part and why? Hmm, I guess my one loyal reader might guess that I would say my perfectly shaped cock or maybe I’d describe my prowess of lying on my back. Well, you would be wrong if you thought that my loyal reader. Because the sexiest part of my body is my blue eyes, the only good thing my fuck face father ever gave me.

    How did you imagine your life to be now when you thought about it ten years ago? Ten years ago I probably thought I’d be dead long before I’d make it ten years in the future.

    What is your favorite part of the day? Whenever I make it back to my apartment and close the door behind me and the madness that is humanity is locked out.

    What is something that you do that everyone else thinks is weird? I never sleep with my head against the headboard of any bed. Matter of fact, my own bed is in the center of my room where I can walk around the entire thing. In hotels, I sleep with my head on the foot of the bed with my feet pointed at the headboard.

    What is something that you do that everyone else thinks is weird? Whenever I first try on a pair of shoes I must try the left one on first. I find it very bad luck to put on shoes using your right foot first.

    What is something that you do that everyone else thinks is weird? When doing laundry, if anyone, even my boyfriend, touches my clothes before they are folded and put away and then taken out and put on my body, I have to re-wash them. “M” use to mess with me all the time; he’d open one of my drawers and pretend to touch my clothes.

    If there was one thing about yourself you could change, what would it be? It would definitely be to change my anal retentive behavior. Seriously, do I really have to make sure that all the rooms in my apartment are vacuumed in straight lines in sync with magnetic north? Does it?

    If you had a free pass to have sex with any person in the world, no strings attached and your spouse/significant other was okay with it...who would it be? Considering this question doesn’t specify any person living or dead, I have to go with Elvis. There is just something erotic about the thought of fucking the King of Rock-n-Roll.

    If we were in a relationship and I was breaking up with you what’s the worst possible thing I could do to hurt you...other than physical violence? Share my secrets that I trusted to you with your friends.

    Have you ever been in trouble with the law and if so, what for? I have to just choose one instance. Let’s see, I was once arrested for being drunk in public. I also received a ticket for drinking in public years ago.

    What is the biggest lie you ever told? I once told this really Hot Guy (who I actually quit my job and got a job at his restaurant just so I could be close to him) that his boyfriend was cheating on him. Though now that I think about it, that lie actually came true a few weeks later when I got the boyfriend drunk and had my way with him at a party. Hot Guy and boyfriend broke up a few weeks later and it took me another six months to get Hot Guy to sleep with me. Sadly, a few weeks later I realized that now that I had Hot Guy I didn’t really like him very much so I left him, drunk and passed out at a New Year’s Eve party one of my friends threw and went home with another guy.

    Where was the strangest place you have ever been taken on a date? When I was twenty-one, and trying to be more “normal”, I agreed to go out on a date with a guy instead of just fucking him after too many shots behind the local gay bar. He was a really nice guy and ended up taking me to a Church game night. After the shock of not getting struck by lightning, and using all my willpower not to spill the beans that there was two queers in the middle of “gods house”, I vowed to never try to be “normal” again.

    If you could physically change one part of your body to your complete liking what would it be? My cock, it has just the slightest bend to the right and I would love to be able to make it completely straight.

    What’s the worst nickname you’ve had? Gutter Pants, you can imagine why I’d be named as such.

    If you could go anywhere, where would it be? If I could go anywhere, again no one specified a real place or a fictitious place, so I’d like to go to Heaven and ask god why he’s such a fuck face.

    What’s the biggest secret you’ve ever kept for a friend? That the night before his wedding he came over to my house and the two of us had sex for the last time.

    Do you have parents that stayed together or are you a part of a single or blended family? Hm, a question about my family; I think I’ll pass on this. Well, they were never divorced so I guess I can say they stayed together.

    What’s one thing that you wanna try but too embarrassed to tell anyone about? I’m not embarrassed to tell anyone anything that pops into my little head.

    Who did you look up to growing up? Arthur Rimbaud...if you don’t know who this brilliant writer is, look him up.

    What is your earliest memory? I was around eight years old and the neighbor boy and I use to sneak under my bed and dry hump each other. I have other memories but what fun are they compared to this.

    What is the worst thing you hate/hated about your current/last boyfriend or girlfriend? “M” had the annoying habit of getting food to-go and then leaving it in my refrigerator. I don’t know if he even had the intention of ever eating the bits of crap he left for me to find weeks later.

    How big is your...? Considering who ever asked this question never finished saying how big my “what” is...I’m going to finish it for them. How big is your cock? Big enough to make any guy go gay, if only for a few hours while he is with me.

    What is something that is considered a social norm that you’ve never done? Cry at a funeral.

    What’s your favorite sexual position? It depends if I’m topping or bottoming. Shall I go into details?

    What makes you most nervous? Sitting down one on one with another human being and dropping the walls that keep me safe.

    What type of things do you find funny? Really, that’s a question you want to know. Watching a baby running down the sidewalk before taking a header into the pavement, watching a bicyclist ran into the side of a car, Bill Maher, Tosh.O, any George Carlin CD. I could go on but then I’d start offending you politically correct humans.

    When was the last time you did a random act of kindness and what was it? It was a few months ago, I went to Taco Bell and bought fifty taco’s and passed them out to all the homeless people I saw on my way to work.

    What is the number one thing on your bucket list? I don’t believe in writing bucket lists, I firmly believe that you should never put off something you want to do for a later date. Live like today is your last, always.

    Which is the shortest time it took you to like somebody? Again, this question is open for interpretation. Is it like somebody or like like somebody? So I’ll answer however I want. His name was Jason, some of you might recognize the name, and I remember the first day I met him. I looked at him, he smiled, and I asked if he wanted to smoke a cigarette with me, we went outside and by the time we came back inside, we were fast friends.

    What is your favorite comfort food? Now, remember, comfort food could take whatever form brings you comfort. And my comfort food is sautéed asparagus. It brings me back to when I was a kid, before the devil gay inside me came out to play, when my parents still loved me. We use to sit around the dinner table, laughing and talking, just being a family.

    Where is the craziest place you’ve had sex? I wonder if you’d believe me if I actually told you the craziest place...this guy named John and I once had sex on a public bus around 1am one night. We had just left the bar and were both extremely horny, had a thirty minute bus ride home, we couldn’t wait. He undid my pants, crawled up on my lap and rode my bent dick all the way home.

    Where is the craziest place you’ve had sex? This guy named John and I, a devout but twisted Catholic, once did the dirty in a confessional booth. And I can honestly say that was the most intense sex I’ve ever had, it was amazing.

    What is the happiest moment in your life? I’m still searching for that moment. Because each time I think I achieved that moment, something else that is equally brilliant happens and takes it place.

    What’s the worst thing anyone could do to you? Make me fall in love and then turn their back on me. That would crush me in ways that would destroy even someone as jaded as I.

    When it comes down to it, what is your ultimate dream life? My dream life is one that I cannot recognize or achieve so it’s best not to think about it.

    Do you have a good relationship with your parents? Laughing, I’m laughing at this question.

    Have you ever smoked marijuana? Exactly three times I smoked pot and ate brownies three times. I am not a fan of cannabis. But I’m not against anyone smoking it.

    What’s the worst thing that has happened to you? Sobriety...it has given me the means to look back at a life filled with regrets with none of the tools to medicate the memories.

    If you could murder someone and get away with it, would you? Yes, without even thinking about it. I’d kill my father. Sometimes I wish tombstones could talk back.

    What do you consider your biggest failing? That even after all these years, my fuck face dead father still affects me.

    Would you ever trust your online boyfriend with money? Never. Mainly because I’d never have an online boyfriend because I’m not delusional and can get a guy in real life.

    If you could have one wish (for yourself alone) what would it be? I’d wish my family didn’t hate the fact that the person I love has a cock just like me.

    Are you happy with your life now? Mostly.

    Do you like peanut butter? Not on sandwiches but peanut butter is always fun to have lying around the bedroom if you get my drift.

    Have you ever stolen anything? Yes, and let’s leave it at that shall we.

    What is the one thing you wish people to remember you for? That I was honest...well almost.

    Have you ever shaved “down there”? I’ve shaved down there, up there, around there, pretty much anywhere, not a fan of body hair.

    When was the last time you questioned your own motives for doing something and why? I don’t question my motives; I usually just go with the flow. Why question things I’m going to do anyway?

    What is the one thing you wish you had said to someone, but couldn’t bring yourself too? “M”, I’m sorry.

    What is your favorite color? Blue if its shirts and such...black if it’s coats and pants, and red if it’s underwears.

    Where are you ticklish? Why don’t you come over and I’ll let you find out.

    What other windows do you have open right now? Awesomedude.com, AuthorsHaunt.com, GayAuthors.org, and HomoEmo.com. I really hope further down they don’t ask what I’m doing right now.

    Do you sing in the shower? Yes, in the shower, on the toilet, in the car, on the train, on the street, on stage, pretty much anywhere except work. Though I guess I sing at work sometimes as well.

    What time of the day do you usually get the most done? After midnight usually, I love the quiet time of the night after the weirdo’s go to bed.

    How many sex toys do you have? Three, not sure if I should disclose which type of toys I own...fleshlight, vibrator, and duel headed dildo.

    What’s the most creative thing you do? Answer these questions.

    What is your favorite meal to make for someone else? Chinese food, it always leaves them wanting more in a few hours.

    When was the last time you said, “I’m sorry” and why? Christmas Day, after getting an amazing blowjob and I couldn’t return the favor due to consuming too much egg nog that had my insides running in circles. Matter of fact, after several I’m sorry’s, I ran out of his apartment and straight into my bathroom for twenty minutes. Not fun.

    Would you rather be the best looking guy in the world or date the best looking guy in the world? After careful thought, I decided I’d rather be the best looking guy in the world. I think dating the best looking guy in the world would drive me crazy wondering if he was going to go out with someone better than me. Yes, much better to be the one cheating on the uggo than the other way around.

    What one trait can you not do without in someone? A sense of humor...because they are going to need it to date me.

    Do you have any songs that remind you of certain people/places/times? Runaway Train by Soul Asylum...several years ago, an ex-boyfriend of mine accused me of always running away whenever I’d get close to someone. He was as usual, right.

    What is the most vivid dream you’ve ever had, and why is it so memorable? I had a very erotic dream about my ex-boyfriend (one that I really wished never got away) and when I woke up, for a few minutes, I thought we were still together and I almost expected him to walk into my room and jump into bed with me. It was rather disappointing when reality came back and I realized it was only a dream.

    Will you be willing to be a surrogate for my baby if I asked you nicely? Never in a million years will I use my baby gravy for anything other than for dripping down someone’s cheek/cheeks. One of the best things about being gay is we never have to have those sick, loud, pooping machines. Why would any gay guy in his right mind ever want to have a family like “them” is beyond me?

    Have you ever wrecked your car? Nope, I’m a good driver.

    What is your favorite movie character and why? It varies depending on my mood. Lately my favorite character is Eric Draven from the movie The Crow. What is more romantic than coming back from the dead to avenge your girlfriend’s murder? I know.

    When did you break your heart the last time and why? I have never broken my heart, I leave that to the men I fall in love with.

    Speaking of punishment, what is the cruelest punishment you’ve received by a mate? One of my ex-boyfriend made me go to his family Christmas dinner one year, sober, because I had promised to go to his nephew’s christening and while he was waiting for me to pick him up I was half-way to Atlantic City to go gambling with my friend, Jason, who was my secret fuck buddy for five years.

    When was the last time you pooped? About seven hours ago. And it was a good one too.
    What was the last dream you had about? Aliens had attacked the earth and my boyfriend and I was driving in the dessert trying to outrun the invaders in a Chevy truck. It was so good I didn’t want to wake up.
    Have you ever tasted your own cum? Really...do I have to answer that? I’m sure my loyal reader could guess the answer to this question.
    What is your biggest regret in life to this point? That I let Jason go without telling him how I felt about him.
    What would you do for $1,000,000.00? Whatever it took.
    Where would you never want to live and why? Texas, because everything and everyone in Texas is fucking crazy.
    What is your favorite sex act? It kind of depends on if I’m a top or a bottom in said sex act.
    Who is your best friend? Daniel, he’s the one person that always makes me feel safe no matter what craziness is encompassing my life.
    What’s the worst thing your parents have ever caught you doing? I was sixteen, and my father caught me bent over the couch getting fucked by a nineteen year old guy. It was also the last thing my parents ever caught me doing.
    What is the last book you bought? Nikki Sixx’s This is Gonna Hurt.
    Who was/is your last crush? Again this question doesn’t specify online, real life, or fantasy so I’m going to answer with my online crush. Though I’ve never seen a picture of him, I have the hugest crush on the author known as Julian. Yummy yummy he is.
    If you could choose to have one superpower, which one would it be? I’d like to be able to fly...then I could chase the sun.
    What scares you? Honesty...the scariest thing on earth.
    What are you wearing right now (underwear too)? A pair of slim fit black jeans, red boxer briefs, and black tank top. I know, boring right.
    Have you ever had sexual intercourse with a female? Yes, more than one time. Every once in a while I feel like sleeping with a girl.
    Where’s the weirdest place you’ve had sex? On top of a fire truck with a paramedic.
    If you could throw everything away, what would it be for? Happiness, true happiness without faking it.
    Which is the shortest time it took you to have an orgasm? It was the day after I first had sex with Jason, he was at work and I was thinking about the time we had. I went to the bathroom and in less than a minute I was rinsing out the sink. It was the most intense I’ve had by myself. And I still remember it though it was years ago.
    Who do you think about when masturbating? It’s always the guy I’m on the prowl for, and never the guy I just fucked.
    What is your ideal man/woman like? Preferably he’s a brunet, around my age, a nerd star that wears glasses, has a sense of humor, and likes me for who I am and not what I project to be.
  13. Jason Rimbaud
    The Art of Letting Go
    Written By: Jason Rimbaud
    ?You don?t have a fucking clue as to what you want much less what you want from me.?
    Words, words, and more words designed to cause as much damage as possible without resorting to violence. Maybe I regret those words that were blurted out in the middle of a crowded restaurant the other night. You see, I think I might have come to a crossroad in my life and maybe this once, I?m taking the right path.
    Work?where to start with that mess. After Mark and I broke up I did what I?ve always done when I feel lost?I threw myself into work with a frenzy that borders on obsession.
    If I would?ve thrown half the energy I?ve been displaying lately into my relationship with Mark, we might still be together. What?s the saying about hindsight? With hindsight we?re all fucking savants.
    I have baggage, but who among of us doesn?t? Considering my past and the mistakes I?ve made over the last decade of this so called life, I am somewhat amazed that I still maintain a semblance of positive energy. I enjoy my life and still chase my passions with a single-minded determination that breaks down barriers and move mountains; even if it?s only a pebble at a time.
    ?I survived the hazards of my past and I am proud that I am so much better than my father could have ever hoped to be.?
    And I?ll admit it, there are times when the darkness that I suppress in myself overwhelms me and I fall into depression so black my friends are hesitant to leave me alone in a room with sharp objects. I?ve been known to go on weeklong binges, drinking myself into oblivion just to stop the noise in my head and steal a few hours of sleep before waking up and doing it all over again. And then there are times where I have such a lack of self-worth I start believing the shit my father said all those years ago.
    And like all things entailing this journey of life, it?s all a process. And I?m working on it. I can feel my darkness retreating further and further as I work towards the light.
    ?You are the place I stayed too long, I got trapped in your nightmare and I don?t know how to get out.?
    I?ve been accused of giving people small tastes, brief glimpses into my heart where I give just enough information to keep them fooled into thinking I?m something like human.
    My capacity for grand gestures and storybook endings are movie perfect. It?s the next day, when the moment has faded into pleasant memory, is where I have the most trouble. The living day to day in the grind and sameness of life is where I feel the most uncomfortable.
    I cut people off emotionally; giving just enough of myself to keep them interested before I pull back into whatever state of insecurity that rules my thought process It?s like I get them vested in my wellbeing and then I run away because the look in their eyes is too much for me to handle.
    I guess it?s always been hard for me to receive acceptance. Especially from those I am interested in or have a relationship with. It seems I thrive on being the odd man out or at least project that I like being the odd man out. Deep down inside myself I want to be different from the rest of the world even as I strive to become just like everyone/anyone else.
    Without going into a long dissertation about my current mental health, I just wanted to briefly link my thoughts together so I can get a better understanding of my patterns of self-destructive behavior.
    Love, regret, sadness, joy, anger, contentment, and a host of other emotions seemed to have bypassed my genetic makeup.
    One of my employees, F, called me the other day, so distraught he couldn?t string sentences together through his sobs. It seemed his mother, who had been battling cancer for years, passed away the day before and he couldn?t make it in to work that day.
    In my fucked up emotionless head, I?m thinking, ?why the hell can?t you work today if she died yesterday, it?s not like it was a surprise. Besides how long does it take to mourn someone??
    Now before you go and get all high moral road on me and write me nasty emails, I didn?t say that aloud. I said all the right things, take as much time as you need, let me know if we can help you in any way, don?t worry about covering your shift, blah blah blah.
    That is the proper response in that situation but the only reason I said it was because I know I was suppose to say those things. I truly could care less that his mother just died, nor can I fathom why he starts crying at random times three weeks later. This kind of emotional attachment baffles me on every single level.
    I wonder if I?m alone in these behaviors. Is the apathy most humans display genuine or is it nothing more than doing/saying the right thing to fit into social norms? Is it a practice adopted by the world to comfort with false feelings those who ?need? it?
    I?ve always been good at doing and saying whatever I need to get my desired effect. In my professional career, I act a part. I?m polite, engaging, charming, witty, and extroverted in my dealings with the hundreds of guests I see on a daily basis. But at the end of the day, I do it because I have to pay my bills and make myself a life.
    In my personal relationships, I pretend to care. I ask questions of my partner that I don?t care about the answers. I fake sadness when tragedy strikes them or their loved ones. I project happiness with their triumphs, and force tears when I feel it?s needed. Whatever I need to do at that particular time to make them feel better I do it. It doesn?t matter. And for the most part it doesn?t cost me anything.
    But it?s all a charade. I don?t care on a very basic and honest level. Am I alone in this behavior?
    This is how after three long years of obsessing over Mark, I can get up in the middle of dinner and tell him to fuck off without skipping a beat.
    ?You don?t know enough about me to give me what I need.?
    Words, words, and more words that make up my particular brand of truth that day, words that do more harm than good to both parties in question.
    I imagined my words having the desired effect and I think I can see tears forming in his green eyes. And I imagine him being dumbfounded, something that has never happened over the last three years.
    Did I set out on that beautiful southern California night to break Mark?s heart and to end things noisily in a public place? I don?t know. Maybe.
    Someone once wrote and said my Blog?s are too confusing because I tend to jump around with dates and time. So for you my dear reader, let?s go back a few days before the above incident. Back to Gay Pride 2011.
    I had just met this awesome guy and we were really hitting it off. Matter of fact we had dirty gay hotel sex and it was hot. This guy, R, was really into me and I could feel the vibe between us growing. But the very next day after dirty gay hotel sex with R, Mark called and wanted to know if I?d hang out with him and a few friends of his that were visiting from Russia in San Francisco. And much like a crack addict, I jumped at the chance to get all close and personal with my former straight boy crush.
    We had a great time in the city by the bay and we never seemed to have those awkward moments that sometimes creep up with ex-boyfriends. His friends were charming and so straight a little of it rubbed off on me and I actually started thinking about pussy for a quick minute.
    Mark was a bit worried that his childhood friends might not be so accepting of his newfound sexuality. But I must say, if they were bothered by it, they hid it pretty well. All day long we?d play this game, when a hot chick walked past, Mark or I would point her out. When a hot guy would walk by, they?d point him out, loudly.
    I was amazed by the type of guys they kept pointing out. They were all twinks, thin feminine type guys who fit every gay stereotype in the book. Of course it did cross my mind that they weren?t as straight as they projected but that?s neither here nor over there.
    After more than a few drinkie poos, they started asking us questions about our relationship. Like who fucked who, who was more like the girl; you know all the stupid questions clueless straight boys ask. And in a gesture quite out of character for me, I sat back and let Mark field all the questions. I only chimed in when I was asked a direct question.
    Mark impressed me that night. Listening to him talk about ?us? made me realize just how close our lives had become and how much I allowed the crazy Russian inside my neurotic mind. The more they talked together and the drunker I become, I started questioning our decision to end our relationship.
    I mean we were good together, and the sex was so epic if we ever allowed others to view it they just might implode and become eunuchs because they?d know they?d never reach that level of intimate violence we perfected.
    By the end of the night, Mark and I spent more time staring into one another?s eyes than we did listening to his straight friends try to pick up chicks in a gay bar. Seriously, that nights adventures alone is worth it?s very own Blog Entry because by the end of that night we were at an emergency room until two in the morning while one of the chicks got bandaged up after she was clipped by a taxi cab. But that story will have to wait for another day.
    ?Life is what happens while you stare up into the future looking for that perfect sum of one.?
    The next afternoon I woke in Mark?s arms, hung-over and covered with last night?s pleasure. For a few moments I lay there, content to listen to the soft snoring that escaped his lips and reveling in the feeling of his heartbeat through my hand. With each brush of my hand across his chest, every kiss I softly planted on his neck, I sighed inwardly like a little girl who just finished reading the Twilight Sage and had decided which team she would champion.
    ?Contentment is a place where you find yourself after you given up on trying to control every aspect of your life.?
    It took a moment for me to figure out why I had this overwhelming feeling of contentment as I lay there with my arms wrapped around my little Russian. Connection?plain and simple. We had this connection that a mere one night stand couldn?t hope to ever duplicate.
    No matter what had transpired between Mark and I, all the hateful things we had said to one another, the way we used sex as a weapon of control, the callous way we approached our relationship with selfish intentions, none of that mattered because we had this undeniable connection from the moment we met that couldn?t be severed no matter the circumstances.
    I?ve always thought connections were the single most important thing in a relationship. After the lust fades and the love becomes easy and predictable, the only thing that keeps two people walking in the same direction is their emotional connection. How intertwined have they become during their journey?
    Love is what happens when lust goes horribly wrong. And being connected is what happens when everything falls into place and you forget about love and lust and focus solely on making a life together. Let?s face it, you will lose your looks, your hair will turn gray or fall out, and the little things that you find so cute once upon a time will slowly drive you crazy after years of repetition. What do you have left after that?connection.
    That?s why a few days later Mark and I went on a little trip to Southern California. Maybe we forgot about the hurt we caused one another, maybe it was just easier to work on us that it was to find another ?us?, or maybe because deep down inside neither one of us could admit that we failed at something.
    Mark and I were good at sex, we were good at planning the future, but we weren?t so good existing in the moment.
    Mark is stubborn and will never relent once he gets something in his head. And it would drive me crazy. He?d ask my opinion about something, and for hours and sometimes over days we?d discuss it, look at it from every angle and then he?d go out and do exactly what he originally decided to do even before we even spoke. It didn?t matter what my reaction would be, he?d stumble on seemingly without a clue. He hates to be wrong and never admits when he is.
    I?m emotionally distant on my good days, during my bad days, I?m downright icy. I don?t like to chat about my day, I?m not that good at sharing my feelings other than anger, and it would drive him crazy. He?d badger me about what happened that day, he?d pry into my relationship with my brother, and when I?d get angry he accuse me of not loving him and not letting him inside. I hate to be wrong and never admit when I am.
    ?You can?t go on pretending that I don?t matter to you, I know I do. You?re just too fucking stupid to admit it.?
    After all the words that were said a few days ago, after the dust settled down and we returned back to our homes and lives, I now realize that just having a connection isn?t enough. Mark was right. I am too fucking stupid to admit that he matters to me. Emotionally I?m still tender and raw around the edges and maybe my progress isn?t as far along as I thought?or hoped.
    But I was also right when I likened him to a place I stayed too long. Love shouldn?t/isn?t that difficult, and if it is, then it?s not right. So what we were connected. Do we stay together when we are drowning and dragging each other down? Or do we severe the connection so that we both have a fighting chance at happiness?
    ?I?ve kind of been seeing someone.?
    Mark is staring at me in his own unique way that made/makes me feel like I was the only human on this fucking planet. I looked at him, as if to say, really. More words, more platitudes, more selfish impulses designed to force the issue we always seem to avoid.
    He met this guy at school and for the last month they?ve been seeing a lot of each other. He also tells me he really likes this guy. And as usual Mark babblings, he tells me more information about this guy than I ever wanted to know.
    I don?t know what to say, what to do, or even how to act. It was his idea to take this trip together; he?s the one that needed to spend some time with me without any distractions. This was day three of a three day trip and we had been like newlyweds the entire time. I was fucking pissed.
    Mark was the one person that really got me. He made me feel like I could have a shot at having a normal relationship. And right in the middle of my delusion, he?s ?kind of? seeing someone. Why the hell did he even invite me to the city with him and his friends? Why did he spend the night with me? Why did he always pop back into my life right when I was beginning to heal?
    ?I love you and I want you to be happy and you?re not. I see it in your eyes; I can?t make you happy no matter what I do. And it?s killing me.?
    And that?s the kicker, isn?t? I wasn?t happy and he knew it. No matter that every time I thought about him a goofy smile broke out on my face. Or that I thought about him more than I thought about myself.
    I thought back to all the times we shared over the years and I saw us happy and laughing, enjoying the togetherness. Was I angry? Hurt? Confused? Yes and probably more emotions that would be pointless to list. Because in the end, words, words, words, don?t mount up to a possum?s ass.
    ?I don?t know how to end this?
    In my head I?m screaming that we shouldn?t be looking for a way to end ?us?, we should be striving to save our future. And then like some bizarre movie montage, images of our life began floating in my head. Scenes of Mark and I in bed, at dinner, sitting next to each other watching TV, endless combinations of our relationship and on the surface we looked peaceful, serene, and happy. But then I looked harder, like someone turned the focus screw and everything changed. I started seeing the fighting, the bickering, and the dirtiness that was under the allure of connection. We hadn?t been happy together in a long time and it was like somebody shined the light on the exit and the path ahead of me became clear for the first time in three years.
    ?Sometimes if you love something enough, you have to set it free.?
    I?ve heard that statement many times in my life but it wasn?t until I was sitting across from him that I finally understood it. As long as I kept indulging our madness, I was preventing both of us at moving on.
    ?I really don?t know what to do to make you happy.?
    For years I wondered if I was so jaded that I didn?t have emotions towards others. Or that I wasn?t like other humans and that I was somewhat flawed. Over the course of this Blog entry, I think I?ve answered my own questions.
    I actually never said those words in that restaurant. You see, Mark wasn?t happy. He hadn?t been happy with me for a long time but felt torn between his love for me and his love for a better life. And hearing those words from him tore me apart.
    ?You don?t have fucking clue as to what you want much less what you want from me.?
    That night I found out that I am selfless. I never told Mark that he was breaking my heart. And when I told him that we shouldn?t see each other anymore because we?d only end up killing whatever good feelings we had for one another, I think I meant it. I looked him right in the eye and lied but you never know.
    For the first time in my life, I didn?t tell someone what he wanted to hear to further my own agenda. My motives were honest, even if I was dishonest in my delivery. So maybe I?m not as jaded as I like to think I am.
    Maybe?
  14. Jason Rimbaud

    The Thing About Mark Is...

    By Jason Rimbaud,


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

    Being Gay Sucks

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    Current Music Selection: DJ Sammy
    Current State: Flying the V
    Current Mood: Somewhat sad
    So I went to dinner with my older brother tonight. My first mistake was showing up sober. Why did I think it would be different this time? It?s been ten years since he found out I was gay. How much fucking time does he need to accept who I am?
    So I?m from a religious family. So my lifestyle is one long sin and I have an open reservation into the seventh layer of hell. Do I really need him to lecture me on morals and righteous living? He?s working on his third marriage and I?m morally deficient.
    While he?s telling me how promiscuous ?my kind? behaves, he?s flirting with the waitress. And she couldn?t have been more than eighteen. Maybe the left should re-evaluate their belief systems.
    And he says I broke our mother?s heart. I?m pretty sure her expectations and desires didn?t include having three daughter-in-laws or three grandchildren by two different mothers. Fuck, she should be happy she got grandkids at all after all the lectures she drilled into our heads about the dangers of sex.
    I remember the last time I was in the same room as my parents; I was surrounded by a group of ?concerned? family friends who decided I need a prayer circle to cleanse me of my sinful ways. Believe me when I say that no amount of chanting or yelling will ever cure my desire to suck cock. It?s bred into me on a very basic level. You know, genetically.
    My mother calls me periodically to guilt me into becoming straight. Or to read me passages of scripture that describes in disturbing detail what awaits in the afterlife for people like me.
    Thanks to her, I now know that people like me are a bunch of pedophiles, drug addicts, and sex offenders that only end up in jail or dead from sexually transmitted diseases. Looking on my life, I figure I?m doing all right. I only have two of those problems at the moment. But then I?m still young yet.
    I remember a few years ago, my mother drove from the Valley to San Francisco to see me. She called me at seven AM and wanted to go to breakfast. She kept saying how much she missed our relationship and wanted to mend the fences so to speak. After I kicked out the boy I picked up the night before and hid my drugs, I arranged for her to come pick me up at my apartment.
    Much to my surprise, she?s waiting for me in the lobby of my building. So I let her up and as I shower and get rid of the smell of sex, I hope that we can somehow achieve peace between us.
    As a child, my family was close. I lost my father shortly after I came out. Well, I never came out so to speak. It was more I got caught in the living room sucking off one of the boys from church. My brother stills claims the shock of finding out his youngest son was a faggot caused the stroke that slowly took his life. Maybe that?s the reason my mother hates me so, I killed her husband.
    During breakfast, my mother apologized for the way she had been behaving and asked my forgiveness. I was shocked. There was a god and he answered my prayers. We cried and for a moment, I felt like I was complete again. I might not have my mother?s approval or understanding but I knew I had her unconditional love and support. For those two hours, my life was perfect.
    Her words, I still remember so clearly. ?I want you to know everything I did, everything I?ll do, is always with your best interest. I love you Jason, don?t ever forget that.?
    Those words accompanied me back to my apartment. But the illusion of those words were shattered when I opened the door and saw my childhood minister and three imposing men waiting for me in my living room. Again, my mistake in trusting my mother.
    I escaped conditioning only because I was over eighteen and legally they could not take me against my will. That was the last time I saw my mother. But sadly, that was not the last I heard from my mother.
    While I was in the shower washing away the sex, my mother was busy putting little post-it-notes around my apartment. In my dresser, under my sheets, in the pockets of all my shirts, my desk, my kitchen cabinets, anywhere you could possibly think of posting a note, she posted. Each note with a different scripture verse and corresponding reason why I should stop being gay. Family.
    My brother and I really have nothing in common. He?s straight and like all straight people, he has an agenda. To alter anyone like me into his ?Normal? behavior. To keep people like me from ever marrying or enjoying the same freedoms.
    My first mistake was arriving sober. My last mistake was allowing him to make me feel bad about being gay. Sometimes I hate my life and wish I were never born this way. Sometimes I hate being gay. That sometime is today. I hate being gay. I hate the way it makes me feel. I hate the way I can?t have a relationship with my family. I hate the fact I can?t change it. I hate the fact that I?ve become everything I hate about gay people. I hate the fact that I?ve written these words. Today I hate everything.
    No wonder I think about letting the pain slide. No wonder I think about letting the pain slide. I wonder when I?ll let the pain slide.
    Dark thoughts from me tonight. I?m sorry but I?m a bit depressed and I don?t feel like typing anything else. Cheers and tears.
    Jason R.
  17. Jason Rimbaud
    So something happened to me over the last weekend that I've been debating on whether or not I would share with those of you that read this Blog. And it's not because I think the events that transpired that lonely Friday night is of a personal nature and I'm unwilling to share it here to those that read my Blog on the daily.
    Because I think you know that I've been nothing but brutally honest in these entries over the last few years. Whether I'm writing about my past drug addictions, my straight-boy crush Mark and our adventures, or the stupid shit that happens in my daily life, I never once second guessed or deleted a single Blog entry I've written.
    Not to say that I'm proud of each and every entry that made it online in this Blog and the other one over at Awesome Dude. There are more than a few that never should've been posted in the first place. But that's the beauty of Blogging, being raw and uncensored.
    And yes that was a dig at Julien, maybe I want to read your Blog entries more than once, I love reading old Blog entries and the comments.
    But let's move on, and I still love you Julien. *smooches*
    But when I decided to begin this journey of online Blogging, I created a personal standard, a guideline of do's and don'ts that I swore to strictly follow. I promised myself that I would always write candidly and without fear, no matter the subject. And that I would never censor my words no matter the personal cost. And looking back over the last few years, I think I've kept that promise.
    So why would I hesitate about sharing this particular event if I swore to always be honest in my Blog?
    Well, I never swore that I would share everything that happened in my life, I only swore to always tell the truth when I did Blog. After all, no one person's life is so interesting enough to disclose each and every event that happens.
    Can you imagine trying to read a Blog where the author described in great detail each and every little boring thing that happened to him on a given day? After a few entries, you?d find something else to read, if you just didn?t put a gun to your head to stop the boredom.
    It?s the Blogger?s duty to only present the interesting moments and to keep the boring shit safely locked away far from the reader?s eyes.
    So I was talking about last weekend night?or to be more accurate I was talking about thinking about telling you about what happened last weekend. But before that?
    Most of you know that my parents threw me from their house after my father caught me in a compromising position with an older boy when I was sixteen years old. Most of you know that my father died shortly afterwards and that was the last time I ever spoke to my father.
    My relationship with my mother is nonexistent. The last time I saw the breathing cunt that gave me birth was the day she tried to trick/force me to enter Desert Stream Ministries (I think that is the name), a place that specializes in the re-education of homosexuals. That was the day when I stopped hoping that my mother would one day come to accept my sexuality.
    That day, I remember looking into her eyes and I realized that I saw nothing but hatred, disgust. And I saw the blame. I think she blamed me for the heart attach my father head a few short months after he found out his son was a no good rotten cocksucker.
    That was the day I kicked her out of my life. And believe me when I say, I will die a happy man if I never speak to her again for the rest of my life.
    I wouldn?t go as far as to say that my sexuality is necessarily the fault of my parents, or that they somehow conceived a defected child. But I will go on record saying that they did nothing to curb my natural behavior. And in a way, a very big life changing kind of way, they contributed greatly to my innate desire to be in close proximity with other boys.
    ?Oh really?? you might have voiced this question or a different question that is somewhat similar to the one I offer here, upon first reading the above statement, at this particular time, while reading this particular paragraph, of this particular Blog entry. Or you might ask, ?How could a set of parents, so righteous and so in tune with the almighty god ever contribute to a son of theirs being a faggot??
    I?m glad you asked one of these two questions, it will make the rest of this entry more interesting. For those of you that didn?t ask that question, please feel free to exit?now.
    Beware, the worlds longest sentence is coming up.
    When you isolate twenty to thirty, thirteen year old boys, in a camp far away from all contact with the female type species, especially at the time when those boys are just discovering that the thing between their legs has a more important function that releasing bodily waste, only an idiot would be surprised that the boys, or at least a few of those boys, would find an alternative method to release and explore the pent up sexual energy that Mother Nature has so thoughtfully imprinted in our DNA.
    This is a fact. I?ve seen it proved too many times over the years. Hell, I?ve proved it too many times over the years. Don?t believe me, put three, twelve to fourteen year old boys in a room for three days and leave them to their own devices and see what happens. At least two out of the three boys will experiment, sexually, with one another.
    Because all humans have one thing in common, deep inside our genetic make-up, we are hardwired to ensure the continuation of the human species. And if you take that away, we will still try to fulfill that need.
    Sex is something that most American?s shy away from. I think in part because of our ancestor?s fear of women being accepted as an equal. And in part because a majority of American?s believes that sex is a gift of God that is only supposed to be used for procreation. Any other reason that brings you to orgasm is in direct violation of the Bible and therefore deemed to be an abomination.
    This is completely and hysterically fucking funny to me. We all know, just by reading the papers, the religious right are known to have the kinkiest sexual habits of them all. Of course, the bathroom trysts aside, they justify this behavior by decreeing that if these deviant acts are between a husband and a wife then all is fine and perfect. Just don?t let those same acts happen between two people who are unmarried, or ever worse, of the same sex. Because then it?s an abomination unto God and the evildoers should be put to death. Apparently, in the Christian Bible, only a male and a female are allowed to fall in love.
    Why do we know this to be a fact? Because some asshole who lived in the dessert three thousand years ago claimed he was a messenger of God and said so. That?s it. No facts to validate his claim. Apparently, if you live in the dessert for a few years with nothing to eat or drink, except what birds happen to regurgitate in your mouth, then everything you say must be directly from the mouth of God. Who, by the way, hates faggots for some unknown reason. And if there was a reason, he decided not to explain it to the world. He just hates faggots?because.
    Get this, two guys fucking is such a sin that it ranks up there with anyone who eats shellfish. I know, that?s pretty fucking bad. I don?t know why, and I bet your local minister can?t explain it rationally either. And I also bet everything I own, that your minister eats every kind of shellfish even as he denounces homosexuality. The two laws are in the same book, and I think in the same chapter. But shellfish are good so we?ll throw out that law but two guys fucking gives me the creeps so we?ll keep that in.
    It never ceases to amaze me, how any religious fanatic/fuck can pick and choose seemingly at will, which parts of the Holy Book he follows blindly and which parts he?ll casually dismiss.
    If you take even a part of the book as truth, then you must take it all for truth. Once something is an abomination, it?s an abomination forever. And that?s a long fucking time. Just because the custom of the land has changed, and shellfish is no longer deemed unclean by the masses, which is why the early Jew?s were not allowed to eat shellfish and pork in the first place, that doesn?t mean that God?s law has changed.
    It doesn?t matter what man might twist or interpret the words to say, God?s law never changes. It says so in the book, a cannon that was published by a panel of Christians who were ordered by an emperor to create a standardize belief system that could be implemented by physical force on the entire empire. Or to be more realistic, the entire known world at the time.
    Fuck you, it?s your religion, I?m just quoting from the book you decided to live your life by. If you have a problem with what I?m saying/writing, take it up with your god. These are his fictitious words, not mine.
    Whoa, fuck me backwards Batman, I seemed to have digressed into a rant about religion. This is just a habit I frequently do while writing these Blog entries as you who read my Blog well know. And I am tempted to delete every paragraph that doesn?t pertain to the original topic?but.
    I won?t, because believe it or not, life on this planet will not go forward until this delusional belief in an imaginary figure in the sky disappears forever. This goes for Christians, Muslims, Hindu?s, Jew?s, Buddhists, and any other fly by night religion. Notice I didn?t include Scientology, because let?s face it, those fuckers are insane. Even the Buddhists take a step back and say, fuck.
    So I can still choose which parts of my life to share online and which parts to keep private, how do I decide what to share and what not to share? I think for one?s own sanity, the author and the reader, there are certain things that should remain private and things that should be offered up for anyone to experience.
    And that is why I?m currently struggling inside even as I write this sentence. I don?t know if I should continue this line of thought and let my emotions take me where they may or stop typing and go back to work?
  18. Jason Rimbaud
    So as of thirty minutes ago, for good or for ill, America voted in Senator Obama by a large resounding margin. Soundly defeating McCain in key Republican states, I think America has spoken clearly and loudly that we need change in America.
    With such a majority, Republicans need to get behind the Presidential Elect and try to heal this country. I think McCain said it best in his concession speech that though they were opponents this morning, McCain will fall behind Obama and work with him to move this country forward.
    Now more than ever, Washington needs to see this election as the people are pissed about the "old boy's club" ruling the nation and to start being a government for the people by the people.
    Like I said, I don't know if America did the right thing tonight, I don't know if I did the right thing by voting for Obama, but apparently a majority of the country felt as I did.
    Obama has a long hard road ahead and I hope he surrounds himself with the right people to give him the right kind of advice to restore the greatness of our nation.
    All my best thoughts are directed to the man that will now decide my fate and that of my country for the next four years.
    Jason
    And it was of some doubt in my mind, but McCain's concession speech proved to me that he is a man of honor, patriotism, and has a great love for this country and if he follows through on his promise to get behind Obama, then he truly is a great American.
  19. 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)
  20. 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
  21. Jason Rimbaud
    Somewhere in Between
    As many of you know, life has been more than a bit chaotic for me lately. And where I appreciate all the advice and private messages I received from those of you that care about me, even the someone, that will remain nameless, that persuaded someone else to check up on me, which I thought went so far beyond simple moderator duties and into the realm of a truly caring person. This site is not named Awesome Dude for nothing and I don't think I could ever find a better on line home anywhere. Enuff said about that.
    When I first decided to begin this blog, I named it My Chaotic Life, my life in narrative. The purpose of this blog was twofold.
    First, I had written many things that really had no place on Awesome Dude (they weren't stories per say and I never thought they fit in Awesome Dudes drawn from life category) and I thought they would make for interesting reading. When you can't find a place to post your work, you create a place. So My Chaotic Life was born, after all, just because something I posted happened several years ago, doesn't make it any less important or funny. So the first few entries were pieces I had written over the years about some of the juicier bits of my life. I didn't find this wrong nor did I think I was deceiving anyone. Truly, I never imagined that people would read it anyway, and never in a million years did I think for one moment that these entries would be something others found interesting. This blog WAS and still IS a place for me to vent my frustrations, share some of my funnier experiences, and come to terms with the darker parts of my personality with no apologies and no censorship.
    I guess you could say that I imagined this blog as a safe zone. A place where I could write about my depression, analyze my addictions, and try and comprehend why I fuck my life up over and over again, and NEVER be judged for the things I say. I know its a bit naive to think I won't be judged, this is a public forum after all, but...that's how I view it.
    And my second reason....
    I didn't fully understand this at the beginning, but over a year and some fifty-eight entries later, I started this blog because I hated being sober. I had just begun seeing my therapist and we were really getting into my past and my addictions. Re-living some of those experiences helped me to cope with the sudden intimacy I had with a perfect stranger. I've never let a lover inside my head and here I was telling a therapist that I once tried to drink myself to death by chugging two bottles of Vodka one night because someone said I didn't have the guts to kill myself. Of course he ruined it by taking me to the emergency room.
    But as I began talking to Susan, I started looking back fondly on my life. It's funny how an addict can look back at the train wreck of his past and only remember the good times. I chose to ignore the bits when I was strung out and sucking dick in alleys hoping I'd get AIDS so I could die. Letting anyone fuck me bareback because sex is always better when there is a bit of danger involved. How I made it through without so much as a harmless case of crabs I'll never know. I've watched too many people die for lesser offenses.
    I had been sober for three months, and in a matter of a few weeks talking to Susan, I was back to popping pills and snorting lines. What a pathetic liar I had become, for an hour a week, I was a normal human while in her office. But I didn't even wait to leave the building before getting a bump or swallowing a few pills. This went on for a few weeks until she asked why I was losing weight.
    And that's the other thing I hate about sobriety, without pills and lines, you gain weight.
    I freaked out in her office, she wasn't stupid, and she had called me on my bullshit. Like an addict, I ran. I couldn't face her, not fucked up. So I stopped, and quickly fell back into my normal patterns. I started drinking again, partying, and fucking anything.
    But as all addicts do, they hit a place, a few miles down from bottom, and they realize their faced with a crossroads. Down one path, parties and living stupid, and down the other path, sobriety. Every addict knows this crossroads. And usually the addict figures out a way to bypass this crossroads a few times, but sooner or later, the addict must decide which path he will walk down.
    My crossroad came a few weeks ago. I'd been up for three or four days, doing coke and drifting in and out of bars looking for sex. It was late Saturday night or early Sunday morning, I sat down at my computer and wrote ??????. For the first time, in quite a while, I was honest and wrote the words as they poured from my sick mind. I knew that the right person would read those words, the right person that wouldn't let me go this way, the right person that would fight the hordes of hell over my addict soul.
    Two days later, the right person did read it. And the duality of myself wouldn't let it end like this. I am an addict, have always been and will always be. But I can't let addiction keep dragging me down, pulling me away from the only thing I truly love doing. I called Susan and begged her to see me.
    It seems that I'll only ever measure my sobriety by days instead of how it should be....by years. But I'm working on it, I truly am. Friday I spoke the words I never thought I'd have the balls to say out loud. I told Susan that I would never do coke again. When she asked about pills, I shrugged. After all, it's not healthy to quit everything at once. But I'm working on it.
    So over the last few weeks, I've come to realize just how negative this blog has become for me. I trapped myself right from the beginning, I named it My Chaotic Life. I talked it over with Susan and she, amazingly agrees with me, that I should stop writing My Chaotic Life. Focusing on those parts of my life are self-destructing and really have no positive affect for anyone, myself included.
    I've always been a creature of extremes. I didn't just want to be happy, I had to be euphoric. If I was sad, then I was one step away from killing myself. But I'm sick of living like this. It's okay to just be happy, it's okay to be a bit sad, maybe living in the middle isn't that bad. A bit boring perhaps, a bit fat perhaps, but the alternative is something I'm not prepared to face just yet.
    Friday, during our session, I was silent and drawing in my diary. Susan asked what I was writing. I'll share it with all of you just as I shared it with her.

    So from here on out, my blog will be re-named, Somewhere in Between. I'm sure my more chaotic parts will show up here and there, but now I'll have something else to focus on. Life doesn't have to be chaotic, not even for me.
    Jason R.
  22. Jason Rimbaud
    A Few More Sentences
    The house was dark and at first glance he didn't think Scott was there though his car was parked in the garage. But upon closer inspection, he saw the outline of the blond sitting out on the balcony staring up into the night sky. He didn't think he could cry anymore, but the sight of his boyfriend caused the tears to once again cascade down his cheeks. Willing the tears to stop, he wiped them away with the back of his hand and went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of vodka. Filling up a glass, he walked outside and leaned against the rail.
    He could feel Scott's eyes on him, boring a hole in his back. He lifted the glass to his lips and drank deeply, the clear liquid falling down the sides of his mouth.
    Scott spoke, "That isn't going to help you know."
    Spinning around, his blue eyes filled with anger, he said, "Fuck you."
    "It's your stomach," Scott said, shrugging leaning back further into the chair. The darkness hiding the pain in his eyes.
    Justin threw the glass out into the night, a few moments later he heard the sounds of the glass shattering somewhere below. He asked, "What did I do wrong?"
    "Nothing," Scott said in a quiet voice.
    Throwing his hands in the air, Justin asked, "Is there someone else?"
    "No," Scott answered immediately, surprised by the certainity of his voice. "There could never be anyone else but you."
    "Then why?" Justin asked, sinking to his knees in front of the chair, his hands clutching Scott's knees tightly. "Don't you love me?"
    Tucking his hair behind his ear, Scott caressed Justin's cheek, saying, "Of course I love you."
    "Then why did you say no?"
    Scott could not meet Justin's gaze, he looked so childlike, his eyes big and full of pain. Scott said, "It's hard to explain." His tears began falling down.
    "Tell me please," Justin begged.
    Searching for the right words, but knowing no matter which words he chose, Justin would never understand. Again he wondered if he should have just said yes. A part of him wanted to marry Justin, someday, but not like this. Not without something to offer in return. But that voice inside the back of his head urged him to tell the truth. Sighing, he stated, "Well, for one thing, I don't really believe in marriage."
    "What?" Justin asked, a confused look on his face. "What do you mean?"
    "Justin, even if I were straight, and you were a girl. I wouldn't marry you." Scott said in a soft voice. Though immediately he wished he hadn't said them like that. Justin's face darkened, his temper rising fast. Scott continued quickly, "That's not what I meant. I just don't see the point of going through a ceremony that wouldn't even be legal. I love you, you love me, can't we just leave it at that and spend the rest of our lives together? Why do people think they have to say an "I do"?"
    "It's about a commitment," Justin said, trying hard to force the anger from his voice. "It's about standing in front of a group of friends and acknowledging our love for each other."
    "Have you ever doubted my love?" Scott asked, slumping in the chair.
    "Not until tonight," Justin replied, standing up and walking back to the railing.
    "How can you say that?" Scott yelled out, standing up in his anger.
    "In front of everyone, I asked you to marry me, and you...you said no," Justin explained. "How the fuck did you think I was going to feel?"
    "Just because I don't want to marry you doesn't mean I don't love you."
    "I know, it just means you don't want any strings," Justin said, turning to face his lover. "You'll only love me on your terms, but not on mine."
    "That's bullshit, and you know it."
    "Is it?" Justin asked, his fists clenched tight. "After everything we've been through. All the bullshit that happened with Michael, all the shit that happened with your band, don't you think...you owe me...you owe me this little thing?"
    "Owe you?" Scott shouted out. "That' the problem, I feel like I owe you everything."
    That caught him by surprise and for a moment, Justin stared at him. "What?"
    "All this," Scott said, waving his arms around him. "This isn't my house, it's your house. The car I drive, even the fucking clothes I wear aren't mine. How could I marry you when I have nothing to offer?"
    Justin groaned and rolled his eyes. Everything came back to this tired argument. He said, "How many times have I told you, that what I have is yours?"
    "That's not me," Scott intoned. "I can't keep living my life on your good graces. It drives me crazy having you buy me stuff. I can't even buy a pair of shoes without first getting money from you."
    "You don't seem to have any problems getting money to go drinking," Justin spat. "Or using my money to make your fucking record."
    "That's beneath you." Scott said in a quiet voice, ignoring the tears falling down his cheeks. He turned away and headed inside. Justin followed him and grabbed his arm roughly. Scott spun around and pushed the man hard on the couch, his arm raised back, his fist closed tightly. Anger flashed in his eyes and Justin realized he had went to far. Closing his eyes, he waited for the blow to drop.
    "Damnit," Scott yelled, punching a pillow next to Justin's head. "I didn't want this to happen again." For a moment thinking back to the time he lost his temper in a herion induced rage and hit his best friend, Shelia.
    Justin stared at him, his eyes wide and filled with fear. And when Scott collapsed next to him on the couch, he breathed easy. Hearing Scott mumbling something, he reached out to touch him, yet was shocked when Scott whispered, "Don't."
    Scott stood up and headed for the front door, his shoulders slumped. Justin called out, "Where are you going?"
    "I don't know, but if I stay, I might do something neither one of us can forgive," Scott replied hoarsely.
    "Are you leaving me?" Justin asked, standing up clutching his stomach with his hands.
    Turning his head, Scott said over his shoulder, "Never you, Justin. I'm leaving me."
    Before the door shut, Justin fell back on the couch and curled up in ball. He cried for sometime until he couldn't cry anymore. After an hour, he went to the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of Vodka.
  23. Jason Rimbaud
    All about Eve or Stupid Words Strung Together to Form Sentences
    He left the two laughing, his blue eyes searching the crowd for Brandon, hoping he wouldn't run into anyone else he knew. After going to the bar, he ordered another beer and sipped it slowly.
    "Hi, how are you?" a deep voice called out from behind.
    Turning around, he looked into the smiling face of Justin, another one of Brandon's bandmates. "Hi. I'm fine, and you?"
    "Bored," Justin replied, shrugging. "But then I'm always bored at these kind of parties." Holding up a full martini, he laughed, saying, "But this always helps."
    "Yes, I agree. Insulation always helps." Gabriel said before draining his beer, ordering another.
    "Alcohol is good for many things," Justin continued, never taking his eyes off the longhaired man.
    "Such as?" Gabriel asked, returning the gaze intently.
    "Like forgetting, or maybe enhancing certain feelings we usually keep hidden." Justin stated.
    "Really," Gabriel said. "And here I was thinking it was only good for getting wasted."
    Laughing a deep rich laugh, Justin shook his head. "Oh no, my friend. You see, alcohol affects the brain, and when you've consumed too much, you do stupid things."
    "Really. I"ve never noticed."
    "Really." Justin said, pointing over towards Brandon, who was trapped between four older ladies. "Take him for instance. He gets that way after a few beers. One time, he told Robert DeNiro that he was one of the most overrated actors of all time."
    "Now that's funny." Gabriel said, chuckling at the thought of someone telling Robert DeNiro off. "I bet that was the first time anyone told that jackass the truth."
    Waving his hands, Justin said, "That's beside the point, we were talking about alcohol and it's effects. Take this other friend of mine." This time Justin pointed to a tall dark haired man talking to a pretty blond girl over in the corner across the room. "Alcohol makes him believe something he's not. When he's drinking, he can forget all about his true nature."
    Musing over Justin's statements, Gabriel still couldn't figure out what the blond man was talking about. He asked, "And what does alcohol do to, someone like you?"
    "Me? Nothing, I'm the same asshole drunk or sober," Justin stated, grinning broadly. "But what I'm worried about, is you."
    "What about me?"
    "What does alcohol make you do?" Justin asked, his face turning serious.
    "For one, it gives me the patience to answer stupid questions from people I don't know." Gabriel said. "And for two, it makes me realize that some people shouldn't drink martini's. Excuse me."
    Gabriel started walking away, but Justin grabbed his arm, saying, "Wait."
    Gabriel pulled his arm from Justin's grip, saying, "Yes?"
    A smile returned to Justin's face. Downing the rest of his martini, he said, "I like you. I do. But I don't want a certain friend of mine to get hurt."
    Feigning ignorance, Gabriel asked, "What do you mean?"
    Shaking his head, Justin said, "Absolutely nothing. I just wanted to tell you that you should be carefu what you drink. Other than that, have fun." Turning around, he ordered another martini. Looking over his shoulder, he said, "Besides, I haven't seen him smile in months."
  24. Jason Rimbaud
    Mistaken Identity and Two Rolls of Toilet Paper
    Current Music Selection: Snow Patrol?Eyes Open
    Current State: Buzzed
    Current Mood: Fulfilled
    So I stabbed my co-worker in the back with a fork tonight at work. I don?t think you can appreciate this statement. So I?ll Chris Nolan it, Memento style. We?ll go back in time so you can get the full impact of this statement.
    As some of you know, I work in a hip up-scale restaurant in Palo Alto California. Most of my co-workers are between the ages of nineteen and twenty-one. Almost all of us are males, and for the most part, we get along rather well.
    No matter how professional we are in the front of the house, the main room of the restaurant for those un-familiar, the back of the house, the kitchen area, is one rowdy and fun loving place. Here is where we make fun of the guests, catch up on the gossip of our co-workers, and mainly play practical jokes on everyone. Usually the games we play are divided between the servers and the kitchen staff.
    Mostly our games are harmless, high school games. Like the circle game. For those of you that haven?t heard of this game, I?ll explain. You bring your forefinger and thumb together to make an ?O?, and making sure the ?O? is below your waist, you try and trick the rest of the co-workers to look at the ?O?. If they look, you get to hit them in the arm. But there is a way out, if the person who is shown the ?O?, can without looking, takes his forefinger and breaks the ?O?, and then he gets to hit the person who flashed the ?O?. Usually we all go home with black and blue arms.
    Lately our games have been escalating to hit and run attacks of the left nipple. And yes, only the left nipple is targeted. This gives everyone a fighting chance, as we all have pockets over our left nipples and we can stick things inside to protect the rather sensitive nipple area. So of course we have to be rather creative to get a direct hit, but then we all are pretty creative.
    But none of these games were the cause of the above statement. I?m getting there, just like Memento; good things come to those who wait. Now, we have individual candles at each table to give off good ambience. At the beginning of the shift, we all have to light the hundred or so candles that litter our restaurant. One of my co-workers, after lighting thirty or so candles, walks over to me and complains that his lighter is really hot. I call him a pussy and to prove how hot the lighter is, he places the metal part, where the flame comes out, against my left forearm. I must admit, he was right. The lighter was very hot and it burned me.
    For some of you here on this site, you might not know that straight guys love hurting one another. And since I?m pretty straight acting, I think it?s kind of fun to inflict good natured harm to guys I like. Like I tell them all the time, we?re two steps away from one big gay orgy. That would inflict lots of harm mixed with pleasure but I?m getting off topic again. I stabbed my co-worker with a fork.
    So I scream out, stating the obvious that he burned me. Now, his best friend walks over to see why I screamed out like a girl. After relaying the story, and showing him the spot on my arm that is now a deep red and beginning to blister, that fucker uses his lighter and burns me again, a few inches above the first burn. So in pain, and with a vengeful nature, I flick both of their nipples, hard. So hard that I actually hurt my fingers. They scream out, complaining that the right nipple is off limits and that I cheated.
    So we stood there, the two of them rubbing their sore nipples and me blowing on my burnt skin. So loudly were we screaming, our General Manager came out of his office to see what the commotion was about. After telling him that I cheated by targeting the right nipple, a game he plays as well (we have a great boss) he looks at me and shakes his head, but then I showed him my arm. In his great wisdom, he allows the flick to go un-punished as they did burn me. I stick my tongue out at them, gloating. I know, real mature. But serving in a restaurant is a really stressful job and we need all the distractions to help us get through the night.
    Now remember, we haven?t even opened for business yet and already I have two co-workers declaring they will get me back for my unlawful nipple attack. I walk away, confident that I?ll survive whatever the two come up with.
    Remember, I?m a man of routine. We open at 5:30, at 5:15 everyday I go outside to get one last cigarette down before the hell begins. After I finish smoking, I go to the bathroom, relieve myself and wash the cigarette smell from my hands.
    They see me go outside, ten minutes later, they watch me walk into the bathroom. I enter one of the stalls and proceed with my business. I hear the door open and someone walk into one of the stalls. I think nothing of this; it?s a public bathroom after all. About a minute later, I hear the door open again. I hear them speaking, it?s the two that have sworn to get me back. They walk into the two remaining stalls. I hear a banging noise, and a few seconds later, one calls out to the other, asking if he?s ready. The other replies yes, and then I hear two loud bangs and then a splash, then a muffled yell, followed immediately by a very deep voice saying this, and I quote, ?I?m not who you think I am.? They had decided to grab two rolls of toilet paper and chuck them over the stall walls. What they didn?t know, they had chosen the wrong stall. It seems our delivery driver had needed to take a shit after giving us our beer. One of the toilet paper rolls hit him in the head while the other fell right between his legs and into the bowl.
    Needless to say, both of them bolted out of the bathroom like two scared rabbits while I started laughing. What made it even more comical, was after they left, the driver continued to curse and yell about the incident. I calmly washed my hands and walked out of the bathroom to find both of them, hiding in the office with scared looks on their faces.
    I shake my head, and then tell every person working what had just happened. To say they were mad about the nipple flick was an understatement now. They both swore they would get me before the night was over. And for the rest of the night, periodically one of us would look at the two of them and say, "I'm not who you think I am."
    Shortly after that, we opened the door and had one of the busiest nights in our history. And through the night, though we help each other out, every free moment is spent flicking nipples, pushing, punching, and generally having one hell of a time trying to out do one another.
    Now, wait for it, here comes the reason I?m writing this entry. At the very end of the shift, the one that burned me first, comes at me with a pen in his hand and acts like he?s going to stab me in the nipple with it. My reflex is to stop this from happening so I stick out my right hand. At that moment, the second one that burned me chose this moment to push the other guy hard from behind, sending him crashing into me. Needless to say, I get stabbed in the hand with a pen, deep enough to draw blood. I react without thinking, I pick up the first thing I could, which happened to be a dirty fork from one of the plates. I looked at the one who stabbed me, he protests, saying he was pushed and that he really wasn?t going to stab me. I shake my head and he starts to run. I chase him out of the kitchen and down the hall to the back door, where I catch him and in a moment of stupidity, I stab him in the back with a fork. He screams out, I push him outside, and slammed the door. Everyone, including the General Manager is standing there laughing as he bangs on the door. Yelling that I tried to kill him with a dirty fork and that he?ll probably get some crazy disease.
    After work, I buy a six-pack of beer and in the parking lot, we all drink beer together and laugh over the days events. Speculating on what the next day we?ll bring and what kind of adventures we?ll have together in this hip upscale restaurant in Palo Alto.
  25. Jason Rimbaud
    Moonlight Will Prevail
    Conclusion
    By: Jason R.
    After the funeral was over, my Uncle told me how he had tried for years to contact me but my father had refused his inquiries. He told me I was welcome to stay in his house for as long as I wished to stay. And I have lived there ever since. I guess he became the dad I should?ve had in the first place.
    He taught me that hate, any kind of hate, was no way to live this beautiful life. He forced me to see that if I truly didn?t want to be like my parents, I couldn?t hate them for what they did to me. Or for what they believed. He taught me to love and to show compassion for all living things. And that loving a boy wasn?t sinful. He showed me that love in any form is pure and seldom achieved. Through his patience and constant guidance, I learned that love is a gift from God. He opened my eyes to the gift Greg had left me.
    From shortly after my sixteenth birthday till four days after my twenty-second birthday, I lived with my Uncle in bliss and contentment. He had never married and to my knowledge wasn?t gay either. He enjoyed hanging out with his many friends and of helping others out in thousands of different ways. For all I know, he never thought about sex unless I asked an absurd question about this or that. The time I spent in that house with him is some of the best years of my life thus far.
    For everything he taught me about life, about relationships, or just about giving of ones self to others, I am forever in his debt. Unfortunately, I will never be able to repay his kindness. You see, four days after my birthday, my Uncle passed away from lung cancer. It seems I?m destined to lose everything I love in my life.
    First, I lost my beloved, Greg. Just a few brief hours after that, I lost my family. The ones I have loved so deeply and to this day still miss like it was only yesterday. Then I lose my Uncle, my dad if I may be so bold.
    As I look back on the last ten years, I can see how I grew and how I changed due to my Uncles influences. He has helped me through some of life?s hardest lessons.
    But the most important lesson I ever learned, I learned from Greg. It wasn?t one thing he said or did but how he lived his life day in and day out. If anything, I learned by his example. I have to live everyday like it?s my last. We really never know when it?s time to go. I learned to follow my dream now, today, and not wait for that ?perfect moment?. I learned that it will never be perfect, sooner or later, if you wait, your dreams can pass you by.
    When I went to Greg?s funeral, I didn?t get it. I was so angry with the High School kids and their indifference. This attitude they had, thank god it wasn?t me. I hated each and every one because of this attitude. I didn?t know then what I know now.
    Last week at my Uncle?s wake, I didn?t get it at first either. All his friends were sitting around the table, laughing and joking like nothing happened. At first I was angry, but then I watched as they looked at old pictures of my Uncle and told stories about his life, and slowly I began to understand.
    Funeral?s aren?t about mourning the passing of a loved one. It?s not about groaning and moaning over death. A funeral is a celebration of life, my Uncles? life. His friends weren?t laughing because they didn?t care. They were laughing because they remembered my Uncle in the most precious of ways. They celebrated his life and what he did for them and everyone he came into contact with on a daily basis. It was a remembrance of all things good about a beautiful man.
    I wish I had known this for Greg?s funeral. I could?ve let everyone in that building know what a wonderful and kind person he was. And how much love he had inside his body and his passion for chasing his dreams. But I was still caught up in the trappings of death, I didn?t understand.
    I don?t mourn for Greg anymore. I miss him just as strong today as I did then. But when I think of him now, I remember the laughter we shared, the love that held us together, and I remember his life and what we all could learn from it. To live life with no regrets, to never pass over a dream due to fear and to always follow your heart. I believe with every breath in my body that Greg died content and happy with his place in the universe. A free spirit that never let circumstances dictate his happiness.
    The doctor said he had a heart attack, that he died peacefully in his sleep. He promised me it was painless and quick. I like to think sometimes as I gaze up at the moon, that the last thing he felt was my love and the last thing he thought was his love for me. I?ll never forget our walk in the moonlight nor will I forget he gave me the most precious gift of all, a will to embrace life and to always take a chance on love.

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