Reboot

My husband and I have been together for almost eight years now, married for more than two years.  I never dreamt that a relationship could be so easy and idyllic.  Even after eight years of spending almost every day together (I think that we’ve been apart for a total of 10 nights in the eight-year span), we still do not take each other for granted.  We say “Thank you” almost daily for small things that we do for one another.  We text little red hearts and smiley-faces to each other throughout the work days, when we’re apart.  We go to bed each night with an “I love you.”  It’s steady.  It’s nice.  It’s sweet.  It’s damn-near perfect.

There is an old saying: “Familiarity breeds contempt.”  I don’t buy it.  I think that a person would have to be a sociopath to follow that logic.  However, I will admit, while my man and I do not take one another for granted, we sure are “used-to” being around one another.  We have a wide circle of friends, and spend a lot of time with different groups, but the majority of our time is spent at home.  And while we may not be in the same room, for example, he may be in his office, catching up on internet news (he’s a bit of a junkie), he might be writing reproachful letters to our elected representatives (I swear he is going to get us on a list, and the FBI or CIA are going to drone us) or he, most probably, will be playing video games like “The Sims” or “Skyrim” (yes, he is a big kid), whereas, I may be in the living room, writing, playing piano, reading, listening to music, or watching old “30 Rock” reruns on Netflix.  While not in the same room, we can hear each other faintly, or at least, have the knowledge that the other is close by.

So there is more of a chance of our not jumping up and down when we see one another (the way our dogs do every time we enter the house).  BUT…the other day, I was surfing the web, and stumbled across this video “End of the World” by Matt Alber:

Now, apparently this video was played often on the LOGO (read, “gay”) cable channel a few years ago between programs and became rather popular.  But I never watch “regular” TV (shoot, we even canceled our cable last year), so this video was completely new to me.  After I watched it all the way through, I called my husband into my office, and showed him.  He got a little choked up (he’s like that - it’s inherited from his sweet father).  I restarted the video, and danced him around the room a bit.  He loves that.

Over the next few days, I was walking around with stars in my eyes and butterflies in my stomach, so I found Matt Alber’s e-mail on his website and shot him a quick e-mail:

Hey Matt,
Sometimes I am a bit late, but the other day I first saw the video for your song "End of the World."  It was so romantic, I showed it to my husband. 
We've been together for 7 years, and since we watched that video, it's as if we just started dating. 
So I just want to say "Thank you.”
The best to you.

And Matt Alber surprised me by responding in just a few moments:

Wow, thank you for your sweet note. Made me smile! 

So thank you again, Matt.  Keep spreading the romance, guy.

"You're My Sunshine"

How often do we snap at our loved ones when something completely unrelated to them has angered, hurt or disappointed us?
I pulled that the other night.

I had a particularly difficult day at work, and consequently, I’d come home feeling raw.  The Man and I ate dinner.  Around 8 PM, I went to lie down in the bedroom.  The phone rang (one of his old friends), I set Innervisions by Stevie Wonder very low on my iPod and soon feel asleep.

I woke to “Living for the City,” and a kiss on the cheek from The Man.
I grumbled, “You woke me up.”

Surprised, he said, “I’m sorry.”

I pouted the rest of the evening.

A little past our normal bedtime, The Man came up behind me as I sat at my office desk.  “Well, I’m going to bed.” he said quietly, and then he kissed me on the shoulder.  I said "OK" flatly, but didn’t turn around.

After a few minutes, I realized that I was being a jerk.  I walked into the bedroom, leaned against my dresser and sighed.  “I’m not sleepy now.  You woke me up earlier.”

He laughed.  “I know … you told me that.”

I smiled, apologetically “Sorry for being grumpy.  I’m not upset with you.”

“I know.”

“It was a rough day at work…”

“I figured.”

"I just wanted to go to sleep and escape the day."  Then I vented a bit about the earlier trials and the resulting anger, hurt, and disappointment.  He listened; he just listened quietly.

At the end of my monologue, I said, “I’m sorry.  I really try to keep work at work. Thank you for listening to me.”

“That’s why I’m here.” He smiled.

“You are so important to me.”

“I know.”

I can walk around grumpy, and this is what I get:

As I am leaving for work in the mornings: “You look so cute today.”

When I come home from work, a tight hug and a beaming smile: “This is the best part of my day.”

Absolutely anytime at all, a deep look into my eye:  “You’re my sunshine.”

"You're My Best Friend"  Queen

Regardless of the scowl on my face, my heart is warm and light.  The warmth makes my face glow; the lightness sets my feet in the clouds.  And daily, I'm convinced of just how lucky I am.

From "Tales of the Wise Fairy Queen"

Once upon a time, there was a fresh-faced blonde prince who had freckles all over his soft face and shiny forehead.  This young fellow had a fairy queen as a mom.  One day, the fairy needed some feminine napkins and Orange Fanta®, so she sent the lad to the store with a $20 bill in his pocket.  Along the way, an imp snuck into the pocket and swiped the currency.

 

When the prince arrived at the market, he checked his pocket and was astonished to find that it was empty.  Distressing at his bad fortune and possessing the knowledge that money was difficult to attain in the kingdom, he returned home expecting to face the wrath of his mother.  As he walked, he gnawed his fingernails and picked his nose.

When he arrived at the castle, he approached the throne of the fairy queen with his head bowed.  As she looked down on him, he began to cry.

“What is the matter, child?”  She asked, compassionately.

The lad stammered:  “I lost the $20 bill that you gave me.”

The fairy queen descended from her throne and walked toward the young prince.  She placed a single finger under his chin and lifted his head.  She smiled delicately at him.  “My son ... that was not the only $20 bill in the world.”

For June-Bug

I'm Crazy, Aren't You?

It has happened so infrequently in the past four and ½ years, but The Man and I will not spend this weekend together.  I am headed to Louisiana for a party for my son’s fiancée (she is graduating college).  The Man has work to do here in Houston.

Now you may have gathered if you have read any of my posts where he is featured, he and I really enjoy spending time together.  Time with him is “Sunday Easy.”  So I’ll miss him this weekend.  But a little time apart will be good for us.  It’ll give us back a bit of our individuality.

I noticed how much we identify ourselves by each other at dinner the other night.  Although he was sitting a bit down the table from me, I kept hearing him inject my name into the conversion:  “Jason does this…” “Jason and I…” “Jason likes…”  I chuckled a bit at the mentions.  (I was more tickled when The Man referred to what kind of truck I drive.  The woman across the table looked to one of our older friends and asked how he liked the truck. Boy, did I feel like a kid.)

I use him for juxtaposing.  He is sweet and kind.  I’m a bit more gruff and grumpy.  All I say is if one of us has to be the “nice one,” someone has to pick up the reins and be the “mean one.”  I take that role.  One of our friends constantly comments on how I act cruelly to The Man.  The Man and I secretly laugh.  He knows how wrapped up in him I am.

Once I left a sticky note above the washing machine where I knew he would see it.  It said “I’m crazy about you.”  My ten year-old nephew saw and misread it.  He asked me, “Who put up that note that says ‘I’m crazy, aren’t you’?”  That phrase is now part of our frequent exchanges, along with “How ‘bout those Astros.” (meaning “I love you;” I’m just too macho to say so.)

It’ll be odd not spending the weekend together.  So I’ll keep him with me on the drive to Louisiana.  We’ve been listening to a lot of Plastic Beach by Gorillaz.  I’ll play "Rhinestone Eyes" over & over and imagine him rapping his hand on his leg along with the beat.

"I Really Don't Wanna Go" AKA Magic Happens

Mid-March 2010.  And I had dreaded it all week.  I did not want to visit my family.  I wanted to stay home.

It had been since Christmas that The Man and I had been for a visit.  Typically we visited the family back in Louisiana once each month.  This was the longest stretch that I can remember with my going without a visit since I lived in Los Angeles almost seven years ago.  But still ... I didn't want to go.  I wanted to hang out at the house, listening to music and working in my yard. 

But I knew we had to go.  My son had increased the frequency of his "when-am-I-going-to-see-you" calls.  My step-mom had posted "Hey ... when are ya'll coming in" on her own Facebook page (she’ll get the hang of it one day).

Saturday morning, we were packing the truck.  I turned to The Man and sighed, "I really don't wanna go..."

"We don't have to, baby." He smiled.  (He is so perfect).  "We can unload the truck and call your family.  We'll just tell them that we need to stay home this weekend."

"No."  I said.  "We have to go."

So we headed out.  Our normal trip routine.  Gas up.  Breakfast at Whataburger.  Rock tunes on the radio.  And we're off.

Now here's where you can add a tally mark in the "Dork" column on the Queer's sheet.  We were listening to a mixtape that I had made from downloads of last season’s American Idol performances ... yes, yes ... I know...  But anyway, Lee Dewyze's version of Shania Twain's "You're Still the One" came on.  And I started singing to The Man.  Total cheeseball... yes, I know.  But he got all teary-eyed (he's apt to do that often).  But it was beautiful.  After the song, he grabbed my hand and said, "I'm so lucky!"

I just agreed.

We arrived in my hometown and checked in at my sister's house (always the first stop), and then we headed out for something to eat.  We called my son to see if he and his fiancée wanted to join us.  He had just eaten and his fiancée was at a family party, so he asked us to just stop by after our meal.

We got to my son's place and hung out, just watching movies, laughing and shooting the breeze.  It was a blast.  One of our cousins showed up, so we made a beer run.  As the evening moved along, my son suggested that we crash at his place.  We were going to get a motel room.  But this would be the first time that The Man and I would stay with my son.  So we took him up on the offer.  It was an ideal evening.

Later that evening, The Man and I headed to the local pizza joint to pick up some grub.  As he was waiting at the counter, I ambled over to the juke box.  I checked out the tunes, not at all surprised that Shania Twain’s greatest hits CD was in the machine.  I paid my money.  I made my selection. And then I stepped slowly and silently to the far side of the room.

 

As the music came in, I watched as The Man began to reflexively tap his toe to the rhythm.  Then as he started to recognize the tune, his head turned back and forth a bit like a puzzled pup.  When he fully realized what song was playing, he began to look for me.  When we finally met eyes across the room, he smiled broadly. I waved.

I’m glad we visited the family that month.  I got a magic moment out of it.

Knowing When You Are Lucky

There is a picture on my desk taken about 13 years ago.  A woman and me.  Our faces are touching, side-by-side.  I have my arm around her, and both of her hands are wrapped around mine.  My hair is a mess, but I apparently couldn't tell the night the picture was taken.  Her beautiful red hair is perfect.  We look like a couple of kids dressed up for dinner with their parents.  It is one of my favorite pictures ever.

I met the woman at work.  When I interviewed at the small organization of about ten people, it was the practice to have the prospective employee meet with each individual staff member.  She was the office manager.  I met with her and another member of the staff at the same time.  It was a brief interview with the two.  The executive director of the company had a simple rule:  “If you feel as if you and the person could have a beer together, we can hire him.”  I learned later that the office manager, when asked what she thought of me, responded with a casual “He’s all right.”  To which, the executive director countered with “I thought you’d be more excited since he’s gay.”  The office manager was the only gay person on staff.  “Well now that I know that, I say hire him immediately!”  And I was in.

She may have regretted it later.  I was in my early 30s at the time, more than a bit immature and quite a bit high-maintenance.  I would check in at her desk a couple of times a day, complaining about my even more high-maintenance boss.  She would listen for a little while and then say with exasperation, “You need to return to your desk.”  Her office was directly next to the executive director’s office, and my friend would warn me.  “She’s going to storm out of her office, see you here and bite your head off.”  And the director did a couple of times.

My friend kept her work and private life somewhat separate in those days.  She talked of introducing me to her partner, and eventually that happened.  Her partner and I hit it off quite well.  I began hanging out with them, at their house, for happy hour almost every night of the week (we were in our early 30s), for weekend bike rides.  With the time that I spent with her, I learned that she is alternately raucous and reserved, candid and considerate, indulgent and impatient.  But she is always radiant, chic and incomparable. (Now, if she’d just quit asking if I color my hair…)

A few years back, I first heard her refer to me as her best friend.  I honestly had to mask my surprise and delight.  I felt warm inside for days after her simple proclamation.  If you don’t understand, think back to the coolest girl in high school:  the one who did her own thing, the one who could care less about anyone’s estimation of her, the one who knew she was special and knew her friends were as well.  And here she is, all grown up: still cool, still individual, still extraordinary.

She told me once that the only reason that I had stuck around so long was that I was the person whose company both she and her partner enjoyed.  I laughed aloud at that, but the truth rang louder.

If I believed in it, I’d say that fate brought her into my life.  But I’ll just say it is luck.  I know how lucky I am to be her best friend.

(Photo by Justin De La Orenellas)

Always There

She has always been there for me.  But more importantly than that, she has always just been there.  She has been the most constant presence in my life.  In my earliest memories my sister and I were together, somewhat forced to spend time with each other.  In the late-60s, my family lived on the grounds of a plant in east Texas where my dad worked.  On the property, there were only two houses:  ours and one across the road.  The family in the other house did include a teenage girl, who spent a bit of time with my sister.  But most days, my sister and I passed time exploring the creeks and woods near our house, riding our bikes on the dirt roads around the plant, and listening to our mom’s 45 records on our small plastic stereo.  We learned to get along, which we did very well.

My sister went to live with our grandparents in Louisiana when she was five.  The earliest that children could start school in Texas was at age six.  So she spent her first school year away from the family.  I do not remember being especially broken-hearted when she left.  Maybe it was the knowledge that I would have our mom all to myself; maybe it was the assurance that I knew my sister would return.  She did.

My dad was transferred to Tennessee when I was five.  I didn’t have much fear of the move.  Given our living situation in Texas, I had not had the opportunity to make close friends that I would miss.  Above all, I knew that I was taking my best friend with me.  My family spent a year in Tennessee before returning to our hometown in Louisiana.  And there we stuck.

Living in a small suburban area outside of a small town, other kids were available for friendship.  So my sister and I began to spend less time together.  Over a long period of time, I had to be weaned from my want of her company.  She would expressly state that I did not need to hang out with her and her friends.  So, I started to hang out with the boys in the neighborhood. I enjoyed it, almost as much as I enjoyed being around my sister.  Almost.

As we entered adulthood, we stayed close.  She was the best aunt possible to my son.  And when my wife and I divorced, she helped out immeasurably.  I had the delight of seeing her become a mother (four times over).  And as good of an aunt she is, she is an even better mother.

Now we both are busy with our lives.  But we talk on the phone once a week; more frequently when there is some crisis or tough situation brewing with either of us.  She is the person that understands how I work, probably more than I know how she does.   She had a two-year jump on figuring me out.  But I have a pretty good handle on her as well.  She is thoughtful and sympathetic.  She possesses a sharp wit and a quick mind.  She can keep her head in the craziest crazy circumstances.  In a word, she's incredible.

I love being in her presence.  We laugh together at the most inappropriate times. We cry together when all seems hopeless. We relax in each other’s company, secure in the knowledge that we can just be ourselves: no masks, no shields.  When I look into her lovely blue eyes, I know that all will be just fine.  Everything.

My best bud

Although I’ve talked a little bit about him, I think it’s time to direct a bit more light toward my awesome son.  Many people may think they have the best child in the world; I’m one of those.  And he came into my life totally by accident.  Well, just in a matter of speaking…

He wasn’t planned.  Being young and carefree, my wife and I were not concerned with birth control.  So I guess the arrival of a baby should not have been a big surprise.  When my wife was pregnant, I insisted that we not find out what the gender of the baby was with a sonogram.  But not able to withstand surprise (she even read the last few pages of each new book to determine if she wanted to dive in), she asked the doctor anyway.  I did not accompany her on that visit, but she greeted me with a huge smile when I arrived from work that evening.  I knew what had happened, so I asked her.  98 percent certainty that the baby was a girl.  I was disappointed; she was elated.  In the delivery room, the anesthesiologist kept telling my wife “Here comes that beautiful girl.”  I’m sure that I was grimacing.  The doctor lifted the baby up and said “Does a girl have these?”

Our son was such a low-maintenance child.  All he craved was attention.  And he got it in big doses.  Having lost a set of premature twins a year and a half earlier, my wife and I had a ball with the new baby – cheering him on at each milestone:  his crawling, walking, talking.  Since he was the first baby in the family (first grandchild to both sets of our parents), he was doted on incessantly.  He was almost always smiling and happy.  When he did manage to get a little grumpy, all you had to do was tickle him a bit and he would break into infectious laughter.

I’m sure many parent were and are enchanted by their children, but I was mesmerized.  I had gotten what I wanted – to have a son and be a father.

Before he was three, I had come out and his mother and I had divorced.  I became a weekend dad.  It didn’t make much difference.  I would pick him up from his mom’s every other Friday evening, and we would spend a whole weekend of just dad and son time.  I would always ask him, “So, what are we doing this weekend?”  He loved to call the shots, and we would do almost anything he wanted.

When I moved to Houston, I had a difficult time withdrawing from our biweekly contact.  But I did make the trip back to Louisiana once a month to share a weekend with him.  And we talked on the phone a couple of times a week.  The closer he got to his teen years, he wanted to talk on the phone every day.  I understood and reveled in his want of daily conversations with me. 

When he did get to his mid-teen years, he moved to Houston to live with me.  That lasted about six months.  With my not being much of a disciplinarian and with his lack of interest in conventional education (and not bothering to attend school at all), his grades went south quickly.  His mom and I decided that it was a good idea for him to return to Louisiana.

When he graduated high school, he again came to live with me.  Once more, he lasted about six months.  Turns out that he is more of a county boy than a city one.  One night he looked up at a sky bright with urban lights and told me “I miss my stars.”

24 years passed so quickly.  He just started college.  He is engaged to a wonderful young lady.  I am so proud of him.  I tell him just that and frequently.

My partner and I are going to Louisiana to visit him and his fiancée this weekend.  His mother will come to visit as well.  We will play dominos, watch movies, laugh and just enjoy each others’ company.

Over the course of his life, I have told him repeatedly that he is the best son that I could have ever hoped for.  I began to get it back.  I started hearing that I am the best father in the world.  While he and I were talking on the phone the other day, I heard the words “You’re my best friend, Dad.”

Sweet.

A Walk in the Park

It starts with a smile at his front door.  And suddenly it’s four years later.  Well, not to the day.  But back in July 2006, I first looked into his green (I-still-say-“blue”) eyes.  And it’s been a cake walk since. 

I really never knew how easy a relationship could be.  I had hints of it in my marriage.  My ex-wife and I got along wonderfully (honestly).  I just couldn’t keep up my side of the passion bargain.  I had the romance down pat.  Many gay guys are great with affection.  Mine is.  And back to that…

He and I have had a handful of arguments, what couple hasn’t.  But almost daily, we are right in line with one another.  I think he’s the neatest guy I’ve ever met.  I can see in his eyes that he’s crazy for me. 

Four years and two days ago, he asked me if it was o.k. if he fell in love with me.  I said, “Sure … I’ve already fallen for you.”  And two days ago, I got these at work.

I posted on Facebook (under my “real” name) a picture of the flowers with the caption: “Lucky me!  I’m going to keep him…” (And I will, with pleasure).  The “ahh”s rolled in as my friends commented on how beautiful the flowers were.

We’ve taken to walking in the evening three times a week for exercise in Memorial Park here in Houston – the 3 mile track around the golf course.  We walk briskly around the loop:  chatting a bit, laughing a little, just spending time enjoying the activity and the company.

Tonight’s one of those nights.  And I’m a better man with each day that I spend with this guy of mine.

On Not Saying “Good-bye”

I got the word today that one of my co-workers is moving on to greener pastures.  Sad news for me, since over the past four years or so, she and I have become good work buddies.  We’ve been through fires that have galvanized our friendship.  She has a cool clear head, which balances nicely with my reactive quick temper.  We’ve learned to work together quite well.

She was a part of the panel interview that I passed through to secure my current job.  She is an Indian-American, and most everyone mispronounces her name.  I did myself initially.  In my thank-you note following my initial interview, I even misspelled her name.

But once I was on board in my new position, I listened carefully to her introduce herself to others and got the sound down.  One time, she told someone else in my presence, “You know … the Queer is the only one who pronounces my name correctly.”  Well, I just know that names are important.  Especially if you have a unique name.

But as usual, I digress.

In the jobs that I’ve held in my adult life (which I consider my time in Houston ), I have held on to at least one person from each of my five employers.  From my first job that I held about 16 years ago, a friend stopped by my house and had coffee a couple of months ago.  I hadn’t seen him in five or six years, but it was just like we had picked up a conversation from years back.

I even got my best friend from a job.  I was employed with her at the same company for only eight months, but I grabbed her and didn’t let go.

Sometimes the bonds are loose.  Sometimes the bonds are fast.

I’m not sure what will happen with my friend who gave her notice today.  However, I know that she gave her notice to the company, not on our friendship.

When I find someone who is special, I’m good with “hello,” and I’m bad with “good-bye.”

Julie is Singing to You, Buddy

I communicate best through music. No ... not by writing, performing or singing.
Like a freshman offering a mixtape. And that's what I did.

When we first started dating, we just fell together very easily. He was quite talkative. It's just in his blood. And if you get me on the subject of music, I can gnaw your ear off. He let me talk a lot about music, I guess.  He told me just the other day how my knowledge of music had been a big turn-on for him when we first started dating.

Near the beginning he mentioned that he had recently heard "Cry Me a River" by Julie London in a scene from a movie he had recently seen.  I knew that I had to find it.  On a business trip to Los Angeles, I found an old compilation disc with the song.  This was the start of the mix tape, and then it just got sweet and wacky:

1. "Cry Me a River" Julie London
2. "I Will Take Care of You" Dixie Chicks
3. "Not Saying Goodbye" Edie Brickell
4. "The Times You've Come" Jackson Browne
5. "A Break in the Clouds" The Jayhawks
6. "Baby's Coming Back" Jellyfish
7. "It's the Nighttime" Josh Rouse
8. "Rose Garden" k.d. lang
9. "You Turn Me On" LaBelle
10. "Willin'" Little Feat
11. "It Don't Matter to the Sun" Rosie Thomas
12. "Answering Bell" Ryan Adams
13. "It's in Your Eyes" Sloan
14. "Try Me Again" Trisha Yearwood
15. "How Long" Ace
16. "La Grange" Z.Z Top
17. "Sister Golden Hair" America
18. "La 2eme Chance" Autour de Lucie
19. "Up on Cripple Creek" The Band

Yes, I realize that many of these songs are not love songs (hell, "Try Me Again" and "How Long" are break-up songs).  Some of them, like "Willin'" aren't about love at all (and we all know what "La Grange" is about).  But, the love songs there are sweet: "Not Saying Goodbye," "It's in Your Eyes," "You Turn Me On."  One of the songs was in french (as if he'd understand that).  And who knows why I put "Up on Cripple Creek" in the mix?

He loved it.

It worked like a charm (So you might wanna give the mix a try...)

Today something bad was happening to him.  He was hurt.  He left the office midday to head home and be alone.  I talked with him briefly on the phone, and he sounded terrible.  When I got home this evening, he shared with me the news of trouble back home for a friend.  I listened ... just listened.
Afterwards, we headed to the office.  He was positioned at his desk on one wall; me at my desk facing the other wall.  I began to write this post, listening to the mix that I had given him.  I had already formed the essay all out in my mind. 
Shortly into the slow easy waltz of "I'll Take Care of You" by the Dixie Chicks, I turned around in my chair.  "Stand Up." I told him.
He did.
I walked over to him and held him while the song played.

When we pulled from the embrace, he said: "You are the best thing that has ever happened to me."

I snared him with music.  By charming him with love songs and showing him a little about myself in the not-so-love songs.

I held his face in my hands and whispered: "i know..."

Hopscotch Days / Dodgeball Days

Dang, I love being gay. It’s so cool. I love it when I hear people say “That’s so gay.” They have no freaking clue. But please … keep saying it people. You are entertaining me to no end.
I’m lucky beyond belief. Recite. OK. It’s like living with your brother and getting to constantly raid his closet for new fashions. The house can get batchelor-dirty, and we both shrug. The front yard looks incredible with hydrangeas, petunias, and begonias; the backyard looks like a blasted cow pasture. Meh ... I'll take care of it later...
It's like that, living with another gay guy. And I do mean guy. I've lived with a couple of fussy queens before. Not so much fun. But I do admit that I love living with this guy.
When we first moved in together, I was a little taken aback. He's former military (Navy) and super-clean and super-industrious. He cleaned like my sister, cooked like my mom and ironed like my Maw-Maw (but all with a bit of a swagger).
One Saturday, I was feeling particularly sluggish, so I announced, "I don't feel like doin' nothin'. "
He immediately replied, "Well. Don't"
What?!
I let it sink in. And I didn't do anything but play all day along.
I don't always do that, but occasionally a Saturday of nothing but nothing is incredible!



There are no less than three cards from him on my desk at work: one sappy one, one cute one and one perfect one. I really don't know how he found it. In describing his youth to me, I gathered that he was a similar type of kid as I was: skinny, a bit nerdy, not very sporty, and inherently good. The perfect card shows a couple of young boys: one redhead, one brunette; both dressed in plaid shorts outfits with suspenders and bow-ties standing against a wall. The caption reads: "Some days are hopscotch days; some days are waiting to hit with the dodgeball days."
I know I can handle either with him at my side.

Sick With The Male Blindness

Saturdays used to be extra-special for me. I would have a wonderful woman all to myself. I would arrive at her house early. Whisk her away from her sleeping spouse and head out to the farmlands west of Houston. I would spend all day with her, just laughing, singing and chatting. I fell hard for her. Her dazzling smile, thick long raven hair, pure fair skin, and beautiful deep green eyes were captivating. She still stays in my heart. She'll always be there.
We used to bike together. Not just she and I, but three of us. I, the raven-haired beauty and her gorgeous spouse, a sassy redhead. I had fallen for the redhead long before. I couldn't help but. With her flaming dark amber eyes, larger-than-life persona, and mouth that would have fit better on a retired sailor, she had slammed me against the wall years earlier. I wish I could say that I'm over my crush on her, but that will never happen.
As the brunette grew in strength and speed in biking, the redhead lost interest. She biked socially. So the idea of trying to keep up with the brunette and The Queer, or falling behind and biking alone, was not appealing for a Saturday. Besides, it infringed on her jammy and Lifetime Network hours.
So, biking was down to the brunette and me. And I fell in love. With the slow pace, wide-open spaces and the serenity of the countryside. And the brunette. But obviously not in the way that some people would think.
I got to know her. We shared a lot of thoughts, ideas and history of ourselves. We laughed at completely ridiculous things: baseball caps, reversed biking helmets, Superman (those "you had to be there" moments). We could turn anything on his head and snicker like seven year-olds.
As the brunette grew in strength and speed in biking, she began to pull away from me. Regrettably, I let her go.



There's a biking term. "Male Blindness" Defined as when a guy watches a beautiful female riding away and stares intently, making him too confused to see straight when it's his turn to follow.

This past weekend, she completed the MS-150 bike ride from Houston to Austin that is held each year to raise funds in the fight against multiple sclerosis. I believe that this is her sixth (maybe seventh) ride. I did the ride with her for two years: once with her redheaded partner, once just the brunette and me. We still laugh about our misadventures (the seedy motel with free porn, the manic on the bus ride back to Houston, the PMS monster yelling at the volunteers - more "you had to be there" moments).
I've been friends with these two for about 14 years now. They jokingly refer to me as their "husband." I call them my "wives." Because while I said before that she pulled away from me and I let go, I was only talking about biking. C'mon ... Y'all. Neither one of these incredible women are ever gonna get away from me.