It is followed by healing...

I find myself feeling rather shattered and shaken at my core.  Not only some events that transpired during my therapy session left me feeling invaded and attachedk, but also a night out with Josh drinking, which turned into complete chaos and ended with me being ditched later in the evening for some boys that he met.  I have no patience for that shit.


My initial responce is shame.  I'm mad at myself and I can't stop beating myself up about it.  However, I cannot continue with that approach; I need to instead forgive myself and practice self love and compassion for me.


I recognize my behavior.  I forgive myself.  I love myself.  I now turn to nurtuing my injuries, the damage both physical and emotional that I may have experienced.  I am embraching myself and understand there was some ache and some sorrow, and I take care of my wounds. 


I will not beat myself about it.  I will work to make changes instead.  I Love you.  I love you Jose. 

Three BART Observations

Because you appreciate my #BART stories.  I have three observations to make.  They are not really stories.  Just observations.

1)      yesterday.  There was a god in office attire riding the train, post work-out.  He had this gym bag.  He was simply gorgeous from the stand point of beauty and perfection.  Actually, one could also consider him to be annoying.  Anyway, as you probably are going to go ahead and assume:  Yes, I was salivating and staring at him like a new born stares at a nipple.  Num num num.  He caught me looking.  Several times.  He didn’t reciprocate my admiration, he would simply look away in a different direction, almost dismissive… but he would flex his muscles.  He would change his stance to an almost model-esque stance and flex his muscles.  And I would catch him looking to see if I was still being a stalker.  I was.  I liked my ride home.  Thank you Walnut Creek.

2)      I got a spoonful of my own medicine.  I was on the train and this one dude was staring at me.  Totally flirtatiously.  We would make eye contact and he would pull up his imaginary geisha fan and hide his shyness and bat his eyelashes.  It was cute at first.  But then by like round 55 I was like “Queen.  Come up and say hello.  Fuck”.  She never did.  I got off the train and she was still being a Geisha.  Bye Felicia.  My point?  I now know how freaky it is to start at dudes.  Am I gonna stop?  Fuck no. 

3)      I bitch and moan about BART all the time.  But on accession, I happen to witness something beautiful and so real that it stuns me.  Today, on the train going towards the Mission around 5 PM was packed, more so than usual.  At Montgomery, these elderly couple got on the train.  The woman was too short to reach the handle.  The man steadied himself and she buried herself into his embrace, with her face pressed against his chest and her hands – wrinkled hands with nails invaded by age – held on to the collar of his jacket.  I felt the love.  Fuck, I felt it.  I almost started crying, but then I would really really really be like totally a crazy Bart Person.  They were crammed closely to me by the mob of commuters; I wanted to join in the embrace.  But I thanked the divinity for allowing me to have this moment.  It made up for many of the negative experiences I have on BART.

My Journey with alcohol

First year sober (2014) – It was all about a “healthy lifestyle” approach and the actual challenge of completing a year without alcohol.  People in my social circle; who were also drunks and party animals, did not think I had it in me to make it thru; their lack of faith in my commitment actually became the fuel to complete this goal.  The haters motivated me to make it happen, and I did.  In addition, and probably most importantly, the reality of my first year sober was an attempt at proving to myself that I did not have a problem with alcohol and that I had it all under control. 

Second year sober (2015) – I liked being sober.  I was so proud of my achievement that I extended my goal.  But my sobriety evolved from a “health kick” to a “wider lifestyle change” and questions started to come up.  “Why?”  “What's the underlying motive?”  “How did I misuse alcohol in the past?”   "If I start drinking again, would be chaotically the same as before?"  There was a need to understand my relationship with alcohol.  As time went on and I was in a healthier mindset; along with therapy, I began to search for an understanding of what and why I had drank the way I had before.  Truth be told though, I started having bad bad cravings towards the end of 2015; and a lot of it was triggered by discussions and shares in AA meetings that I went to. 

Third year (2016) -   I started drinking a third of the way in (April 17) – and I regret it. I didn’t surround myself with the right people to encourage my sober journey; instead, I gravitated towards those who I knew would be okay with me going back to the drinking Jose (essentially, the haters; I recruited the haters to help in my sabotage).  It had been a very challenging year, in many aspects. The challenge in terms of my drinking on this third year was  identifying with alcoholism.  “Am I an alcoholic?”   What is alcoholism?  What does it mean for me to identify with alcoholism?   I started going to AA meetings in late 2015 - that was not a good move for me; although it's nice to be surrounded with people that share a same goal,  I found there were a lot of influential vibes in this environment, and I know that in part I was triggered by this, and also in part I was encouraged to drink because the mind set of AA is that you take it one day at a time and if you mess up, you start tomorrow again and I took that to heart and as a justification to drink, because I would have tomorrow to begin anew without any guilt or remorse.  But that was wrong, because the guilt and the remorse have always been present.

Fourth year (2017) - I've committed myself to being sober in 2017.  I shared this with my therapy group and the response was very interesting.  It kind of blew me out of the water, but at the same time it sort of took me back to 2014.  "What's the whole point of being sober for a year?  If you are not addressing the root issue?"   True.  It made me realize that I'd gone  back where I started in 2014; making a commitment to myself in a effort to try and convince myself that there is no problem at all.  The truth though, is that in the 8 months that I drank in 2016, although the escapades were not many, there where several instances were I  totally reverted back to the "Drinking Jose" from back in my San Francisco days.  2.5 years sober meant nothing, and I became proof that the "slippery slope" is real.  I'll need to stay focused this year, but I think I need to work on getting down to the root cause of things. 

2017 Resolutions vs. Facebook Memories. A match.

I've always been amused by the daily "Memories" Facebook throws  at me first thing in the morning.  Funny shit.  Serious Shit.  Boring Shit.  Sad shit.  For example, melodramatic posts about being heart broken after my ex and I separated, or posts about my fascination with Amy Winehouse and understanding her pain.  In the voice of Trump:  "Sad."

This past month, I had not given my 2017 resolutions much thought.  I typically will sit down in advance and come up with a list of the many things I would like to accomplish, and then I select my top priorities to go on some form of artwork pasted on my fridge.  I didn't do that this year.  I don't know why, but I just could not find the inspiration to do it.  The holidays came and went and barely noticed them here. 

But on New Year's day, I did sit down and began to write a list of "resolutions" that would pop-up in my head throughout  the day.  Then today, January 2nd, FB point out a memory about me sitting down to do my 2016 goals.  I started to browse the list of other memories that had taken place on this date, and was both amused and disturbed by what I saw.  I saw some really funny shit.  I'm fucking hilarious.  I also saw some dark shit - "Girl, you dark!"  But, the one thing that stood out for me was that I saw posting that appeared to have been written yesterday.  How so?  In the fact that things were still the same.  Two, three years had passed, and I had allowed shit to remain the same.  Goals, dreams, ideas, thinking patterns... had stalled.  It really bothered me.  And it reminded me of a conversation I had had with my therapist in which I said to him "I don't want to wake up in my 50's and realize that my whole life was wasted at home with Netflix or on my smartphone."  Well, that sort of seems to be what has happened so far. 

I am going to change this.  And first step is to come up with a list of things that I would like to tackle this new year.  This is a preliminary list (technically the list I started on 1/1), in no particular order and I am certain that it will grow and be edited in the coming days.

1. To invest in myself (spiritually, emotionally, physically and financially)
2. To stop taking shit people say too seriously
3. Start running again
4. Sober 2017
5. To reconnect with my family
6. To stay off Scruff
7. To read more
8. To write more
9. To spend less time on FB and phone
10. To give Love a chance
11. To believe in me.
12. To accept the fact that people are selfish and that is okay; it's not personal
13. To be selfish, because it's okay.
14. To learn more and further my career. 
15. Travel, travel, travel, travel. 
16. To paint the walls of the house
17. To Plant shit.
18. To stop being self destructive.
19. To be thankful and acknowledge my blessings
20. Me.

And, so with that, I close this out.  All of my goals are achievable; most of them are simply changing engrained behaviors, and this can be hard to change - but the first step is to recognize that there is work to be done. 

I wish you a great year!  And I encourage you to sit down and come up with a list of the things you want to accomplish in the next 12 months.

Much love,

Me.

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.