Fall Triggers

It's a little early for it to be this chilly in California.  A little early for Fall to announce it's arrival.  I like it though.  I love the way the air has changed.  I love the whisperings of the trees as they mourn the death of their beauty and the welcoming of dormancy.  I love the way wild animals are hurrying along to pack up food resources for the cold winter.  I love how the sun goes down earlier, and the way that it does it and how it puts on display a very special sunset in conjunctions to the Fall clouds and all those colors.

But along with all this beauty, Fall brings a certain type of longing.  Or is it a loneliness?  As fall arrives, I begin to crave something.  My soul looks for a missing somewhat; maybe a sock or a key to the lock.  The house gets quiet as the sun disappears and the remnants of light dissipate - we all get quiet:  the house, the cats, my heart.  We all listen for sounds of the arrival of this thing that we long for.  This longing that is only felt in the Fall 

Perhaps it is that it will be cold, and we want to be warmed up against something other than ourselves.  It's not just a physical coldness that comes with Fall; it's a coldness of emotions and a threat of holidays that trigger emotional and financial outputs  

Or maybe we are simply super excited for this season which is our favorite, that our craziness tries to balance it all by faking a hint of sadness, longing and void?  To keep us grounded?  But it doesn't know that all it does is make us want to look for something... To go looking.

May it's just the fact that I'm turning 40.  But I love Fall, because even though it messes with my emotions, it completes me.

The end.

One particular instance; of many, when I used the Women's Restroom.

First, let me start by saying that due to space issues, most San Francisco businesses only have one restroom which is shared by both genders.  Regardless, the San Francisco By Area is a very open-minded progressive place and doesn’t target people under irrational claims backed by conservative mindsets.   So, I’ve used the women’s restroom or shared one with women many many times before, without any issues.

On a particular occasion, the Jewish Contemporary museum in San Francisco was hosting an Amy Winehouse cover’s night (July, 2015), to which I went in drag as Amy.  During intermission, I had to pee.  So here I am, six feet tall in a gorgeous black dress and a beehive.  I wasn’t comfortable going into the men’s restroom, so I opted out to use the women’s.  What I didn’t know was that a huge line had already formed before me.  So, as  I made my way past the two doors, I came upon a dozen or so women in line waiting to use the stalls.  It must have been quite a site.  I apologized and I said I felt weird using the men’s restroom in drag and that I hoped they didn’t mind.  One older lady said to me “You look like you belong here.”  I appreciated that.  

I sat down to pee.  I sat down with my six inch heels on and my panties around my ankles (yes, I even had panties on).  Now, I sit down to tee-tee at home all the time, but it was odd for me to have to sit down because I felt that I had to, but it was my compromise.  I’ve peed standing up before while wearing high heels; It’s nothing knew, but I sat down more so out of respect for the ladies, and because my beehive must have been towering over the bathroom stall.  I came out, washed my hands and left.  It was an episode that stood out to me from my evening.

The recent dialogue around the restricted use of rest-rooms based on gender in North Carolina brought up that particular Amy memory for me.  I didn’t go into that restroom to hurt anyone or take advantage of any ladies.  I am a gay man and have no sexual interests in women or their bodies.  I went into the women’s restroom because that night, I was a woman.  I was Amy.  And I felt more comfortable using the women’s restroom.  I felt safe there.  I felt welcomed.  I felt that I could retreat to do one of our most basic bodily functions in the company of others in the same vulnerability.   Period.   (I also recognize that my presence could have made some women uncomfortable, but I hope that the encounter and uneventful episode was on some level positive and educational for them too, as it was for me – especially now with this topic a flamed. 

Although for the most part I was welcomed into the women’s restroom, now I realized that, had this taken place in a different city or state, the outcome could have been an entirely different picture.  I am lucky to live in this place called the Bay Area, because we strive to make people happy; not marginalize anyone.   I really wish that the American conservatives would stop targeting sectors of the population and let people happy and free.  

Now, if a man is going to harass or assault a woman, it doesn’t have to be in a women’s restroom.  It will be wherever – criminals are everywhere and are determined to do their evil deeds; without putting on any makeup. 

Your Shit Online

The question about "How much should you share on social media?" has been around for years now.  There are stories with happy endings, and some with tragic ones.  And yet, our online behavior has not changed; if anything, because of the degree in which technology has incorporated into our lives, we don't even question our online reveals any longer.

So, that Saturday with the delicious carpet food, you shared with us about the dude who had become frustrated about the Goodling and shit.  If there was a moral that I took away from it that I could apply to my life, it was "If you don't want people to find your shit online, then don't post it". Period.

So, I met up with a friend to sing karaoke in Concord later that night at a bar.  It's a little dingy hole in the wall frequented by Walnut Creek frat boys and the typical East-East-bay white trash.  It's fun.  It's so dysfunctional that it's fun. 

At one point, I went to the men's restroom which has all walls covered with tiles.  Taped to there were several sets of paper mustaches, along with one dollar bill with "For a good time call (xxx) xxx-xxxx".  Because of the mustaches, I thought it was a clever way for the bar to promote.  And I liked it, so I took the dollar bill of the wall and brought it home.  Out of curiosity, I google the number to see if it was the number to the bar, but it turned out it was not.  So my next step was to plug into Facebook.  Bingo.  Hot sexy stud of a man.  But, things were not making sense until I realized that someone had played a joke on him.  So, I actually texted him and sent him a picture of the dollar bill along with a message that said "This was hilarious.  And clever".  Dude replied with:  "My buddy Thomas gives great head, call him at *********".  So, the joke went into deeper.

I plugged in Thomas' phone number into Facebook and was able to pull a profile, with so much information:  married, with kids, likes to ride dirt bikes and hunting.  His wife works at a college up in the hills.  So on so forth. 

Anyway, what is the moral of my story?  You have no idea how much of yourself you are divulging to the world, and how easily traceable it can be?  With a phone number from a bathroom wall, I was able to pull so much information on these two strangers and their lives.  So, yeah... if you don't want it known, don't post it. 

Alex

My cue to disengage should have been the minute “I’m a flight attendant” came out of his mouth.  Flight attendants are trouble; period.  I; however, didn’t really have any expectations and was simply enjoying the attention.  He was beautiful.  My complete cup of tea.  Handsome.  Flirty.  And his sidekick was hilarious – I may have liked her more.  Her and her exposed twatt. 

So, after Martuni’s he called for an Uber to come get us.  Ii didn’t come up for like 15 minutes.   While he fought with the driver over the phone, we stood at the corner and Hilary and I sang Amy Winehouse.  She’s a huge fan apparently.  The Uber wasn’t coming so we cancelled it and we walked up to the Mint and took my car.  The minute that we get into the car, the “flat tire” signal came on.  Really bitch?  Fuck.  I pulled over just to check the tires, but none were flat. 

The divine parking goddess understood my distress and saved me a spot right outside Badlands. Dude didn’t want to take his coat in so he left it in my car.  The bar was crazy packed.  They removed the dance floor corrals from before, so now the dance floor and the mob sort of expanded.  Everyone was drunk.  It’s really hard to go to places like this when you are drunk.

We got in line to get in, it was already like 1:15.  Paid our $3 cover.   Somehow, the minute we walked in, Hilary disappeared.  I was sort of looking for her, but dude was like “don’t’ worry about it.” – must be some form of unspoken BFF coding that had told him that she had left. 

Alex and I danced.  We kissed.  I could tell he was eyeing the other boys.  There were plenty of cute young drunk boys.  He kissed good.   I was simply enjoying just that.  Then he leans over, after two more beers which mostly ended up on the floor, and he asks me “What are you trying to do?”  I understood the question, but I pretended that I didn’t understand because it kind of caught me off guard.  He clarified his inquiry with “Are you trying to be a whore or are you trying to be good?” 

Part of this new sobriety cycle for me includes abstinence from poppers, pot and promiscuous sex.  I need to solidify my being.  I don’t need some external essence to be unbalancing  my focus.  With that said, if he had taken me home, I would have gotten naked and probably sucked him off or something… because you know how our morals and standards all get thrown out the window when we meet a hot man.   I mean, even at one point he took a long chug of his beer and he leaned closer to me and I thought he was going to kiss me and share the beer, and  I was like… Oh fuck it.  It didn’t happen, but the reality is that I probably would not have pushed him away with “I’m sober”, which I had already communicated earlier.

Anyhow, so I solidified my stance and I told him that I wasn’t trying to be a whore.  So, he kind of rolled his eyes a little and responded by telling me that he just got out of a long term relationship and wasn’t looking for anything serious; but that I was attractive.  Ummmm… Thank you?  He went to abandon his empty beer glass and I figured I’d wait for him on the dance floor.  He didn’t return.  I saw him from a distance talking to a cute guy.  Then they started grinding nearby.  This took no more than 30 seconds.  A few minutes later, the bar is getting ready to close and the lights come on.  Since I still had his jacket, I figured I’d hand it over… I should have kept that bitch!!  It was a nice jacket 

I stopped by and told him that we needed to get his jacket and to meet me outside.  So, I exited the bar  and stood there waiting for his ass while these packs of young queenie black gays were trying to pick fights with each other and the bouncers were trying to herd us down the sidewalk.  When he finally came out, he was with a different boy – cute, too young and totally drunk.  I gave him his coat, told him I wish Hilary had made it home safely and he ensured me she was fine and that he would send me video.  Video of what?  It was awkward and meanwhile, the little twink is standing by all territorial and shit. 

 

So, I got into my car with its “flat tire” dashboard light on.  Man.  I pulled off on Market outside Wholefoods to check the air pressure.  My left driver’s seat tire was at 24/32,  so I pumped it up – while some crazy cracked out person was yelling at me in gibberish and I could not understand a word he said.  Although, I think he was just really drunk and he had missed the BART and he was trying to find out if I was going over the bridge, but I didn’t even try to understand nothing.  I just wanted to get home.  So, I finished up and got back on the road, with my ego and my feelings being held together by the strings of the symphony. 

To end this story, while we were walking to the car, a homeless man passed us and Alex asked Hilary if she would fuck him for 100 dollars.  She said no.  So he raised it a little, she still said no.  Then he said, “fuck I’d do it for $20”.  Lol lol lol.  So, I said “I got a dollars!!”.  And we laughed and Alex said no, not for a buck.  And Hilary replied with “Why not?  You gonna do it anyways, might as well make a dollar!!”   That was funny; but I guess that was the moment when the night’s events were kind of foretold to me, so that when they happened, I wasn’t really surprised.  Maybe I was going to get fucked, for free – and I ruined that possibility by respecting myself… and I’m glad I did.  I’m beyond all this now, I am too “almost forty” to keep on playing the game. 

I feel bad that I abandoned you at Martuni’s.  That’s bullshit.  And I’m sorry.  I kind of lost my head a little. I was having and I wanted the night to continue.  But seriously Jose, I mean, they were both 27 and drunk as fuck.  I am 39 and sober.  Like, what real dynamic was there? 

 

I drank.

There are Two truths to be shared.  One:  I wanted to get vulnerable up on my soapbox and put this out there before word got out and you heard it from some another source.   Two:  I had been looking for an excuse to do it, or someone to enable it.   For the past two months, I had been surrounding myself with people, places and context that would facilitate and encourage me to. 

I drank last Sunday.  Two beers.  If you ask me what motivated me to do so, I would say that I don’t know, that it was entirely a conscious decision to drink and that it was uneventful and totally under “control”.  But in reality, all of the activity and turn of the clockworks and the grinds took place behind the scene, in a dark little place where the evil resides and orchestrates its wrong doings – deep, deep in the brain and the heart, or somewhere in between.   (However, I do know that the emotional stir began when my boss got unexpectedly terminated back in February; this event became the event that would snowball into a giant unmanageable emotional avalanche.)

Sunday, April  17th, was both a good and a bad day.  Good because the weather was gorgeous and I was in the company of good people.  Bad day because I opened up a tinny tinny door that leads to a “slippery slope”.  My first response was “eh”, you know.  It was nothing.  But I felt it; I felt the all-too-familiar evil stir from its slumber.  However little the alcohol may have been, it fueled it – it gave it the power it needed to begin to rise.  I heard it ask me for more.  I felt it stretching its stiff body.  I heard its bones pop as he began to move.  The only two things that kept from engaging it were my ego and the other alcoholic next to me who I watched transform right before my very eyes as he swallowed drink after drink – our conversation went from a “Hello” to hearing him describe the addiction-damaged relationship he upholds with his wife, which was literally a regurgitation of my very own story with my ex. 

So, now the challenge for me is to not only start from scratch with the calendar count of my days sober, but to take my sobriety journey to a deeper level.  It’s one thing to quit drinking and remain abstinent to it, and it’s another thing to dig deeper into understanding why you drank the way you did, and why you did the things you did and why you got the way you did when you got drunk.   And so, the next stage is for me to grab a better understanding of that underlying layer of the other me.

 So, here I am.  Day two of my new sobriety.  Do I get a chip? 

April 1st 2011 - It was no joke.

On April 1st of 2011, my then-partner and  I closed escrow on the house in Concord.  It was no joke.  A few weeks later after that we would be totally moved out of our apartment in San Francisco and supposed to be starting our new lives in our new home.  We had so many plans and had made so many resolutions to each other and ourselves - we wanted to change.  We knew shit between us was not okay and probably saw the house purchase as an opportunity to start a new - but in reality, it was more of a way of attempting to run away from our problems, not realizing that going to such a far away place from the city would only magnify our emotional states.  I know that I began drinking a lot more and I also started staying in the city a lot with friends; it was my way of dealing with the loss of San Francisco, but what I didn't see was that in this process I was also neglecting my home and my partner and we grew apart very quickly.  A year later, we separated and I set up on this other journey that seems to have started yesterday but that truly began 4 years ago.  Where did time go?  Where am I now?  Who am I?  Why am I here?  Where do I go from here?  Time has lapsed in such a way that I almost can't  account for it, because I really don't know were I has gone.  My ex is a total new person whom I can barely recognize and to whom I have little in common with.  Five years with him and then four without him and I still think about, even though separating was probably the best thing to do... You know, people find themselves in relationships that are simply convenient, not necessarily romantic or happy; but simply... functional.  I don't know what my relationship with my ex was.  Sometimes I want to label it as convenient, because it's easy to find some rational that justifies the failure; but when I allow myself to dig deeper, I remember the happy and meaningful moments and I then I have to be honest with myself and accept that I loved him dearly; more than I ever said and more than word could capture.  I have a history of self sabotaging, and I know that a huge part of my relationship failing had to do with my working to ruin it, because "I don't deserve goodness in my life."

Well, I didn't really know what I wanted to write.  But I needed to write something.  I wanted to capture that fact that I've been aware of the date.  My five year anniversary in this house.  Can you believe it?  I simply do not know what to make of it.