Average ... Maybe Not

After a long day at work, it's great to come home to a house full of life.  The Man is here with dinner on the table.  The two dogs are outside, getting their paws muddy with more than a little help from the rain that has carried on for the better part of the afternoon.  One cat is crashed on the bed.  The other is following me around like a puppy, but whining loudly for attention.  I give her a little, and then she jumps up to join her brother and curls up on the bed.
Sounds as if we have the average household.  In my mind, we do.
Just The Man and I plus our four pets.  I would say "kids," but they're animals (c'mon folks).  The Man and I enjoy each other's company, a lot.  How many couples can say that after four years together, but every time I look into his eyes, I see the rest of my life reflected back to me.  I proposed to him earlier this year.

Sound as if we have the average household.  And in my mind, we don't.
The average household is not made up of a gay couple and their pets.  Furthermore, I get more than a little frustrated about the fact that he and I cannot just run down to the justice of the peace and get hitched (my style) or plan a big elaborate wedding ceremony and after-party (his style).  Our friends ask questions like "Why do you need your union validated by marriage?"  Or say things like "Don't worry.  The tide will turn one day and same-sex marriage will be adopted in the States."  When?  When I'm 64?  I reside in a state that will be one of the last in the Union to allow gay marriage.  Texas is not exactly the most liberal of the great 50.
I can't wait forever.  Maybe same-sex marriage is for the next generation of gay and lesbian couples.  I'd like to get in on the action.
When I first proposed to the Man, we immediately started looking to have the wedding in Toronto.  We had visited the city the year before and fell in love with it.  We caught a Blue Jay's game.  We toured the city in a double-decker bus (a bit cheesy but total fun).  We ferried over to the islands that skirt the harbor of the city and biked around the paths, around the parks, fountains and cottages.  We enjoyed it so much that we talked of getting married there and then relocating to the city (much to the chagrin of our family and friends).  We've pulled back from those Pollyanna dream (much to the delight of our family and friends).  With winter approaching, we gave it a second look...we live in Houston, and Toronto is COLD during those winter months.
So, we'll have to wait to truly be an average family.  I guess that's good in a way.  Right now...I can feel as if I am part of an above-average family.

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.”

"It's Been a While..."

Hello All.  I took an extended break after a strong start at blogging.  When I began back in the spring, I posted almost daily.  But something stepped in, and I had to take it easy.  It was a mandatory interruption.  My insanity kicked in.

Now, I’ll try not to make light of my situation, but levity is a part of my base personality.  So I am quite sure that I will not properly illustrate the gravity of the affliction.  Even using the word “affliction” is starting off this essay on the wrong foot.

About 14 years ago, I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder.

Many people when they read this may automatically think “Oh…he’s crazy.”

I’ll not argue that.

Other people who read this may think “Oh…he just needs an excuse for bad behavior.”

I do over-apologize for myself when I have finally realized how my mania is draining the energy from my family, friends and co-workers.  To some, Bipolar Disorder is sometimes lumped into the same group of suffering as TMJ (temporomandibular joint) Disorder and CTS (Carpal Tunnel Syndrome).  Kinda the fashion disease of the moment.

And here I sit, writing off my absence from blogging on my hypomania.  Well, actually I’m not.  My life got extremely busy and almost unmanageable in the past couple of months.

And when that happens, people may think, “He must be off his medication.”  Well, I can’t lie and say that has never happened.  I do have a big ego and have gone off my meds when I thought I had the disorder “under control.”  But it ultimately always wins. 

This time I did not go off my medication.  My hypo-mania reared its ugly head when I

·        Had a bad cold and coughed all night (unable to get good rest)

·        Took cold medicine that worked against my “normal” medication

·        Had a number of unusual stressors in my life

This time, fortunately I was not hospitalized.  That has only happened to me once.  And I hope, never again.  That one time left a bad taste in my mouth; I was in the Harris County Psychiatric Ward for three weeks.  Scary, but not as bad as one would imagine.  (I guess I need to watch “One Flew over the Koo-Koo’s Nest” sometime to get a better perspective).

I won’t go into much detail now of that time, or I run the risk of getting wordy and dull.  You can expect a full post on the history of my initial diagnosis some time in the future.  It’s much more interesting than my daily struggle with the disorder.  And yes, it’s a struggle:  just like weight issues for the bad-body-image group, or sugar for the diabetic group, or cholesterol for the troubled cardio-vascular group.

I get to take medicine that dulls my sex drive (and I enjoy sex), watch my alcohol intake (and I love beer), and I have to make sure that I am getting at least seven hours of sleep each night (and I’m a night-owl).

But enough of that.  I’m just popping in to try and re-establish my writing groove.  I’ll try to get back to my daily observations with this post.  I enjoy writing them. 

So in terms of my insanity, I can’t really change it.  I’ll just quote Popeye.  “I yam what I yam.”

You've Got a Lot of Explaining to Do, Queer

“Explain yourself.”  You may have heard these words is an accusatory tone.  You may have heard them shouted.  You may have heard them from someone you hurt.

Me?  I just heard them matter-of-factly from myself.  So here we go … and I’ll try to keep it brief.  If you do not need an explanation from me, you know that we are already in trouble.  If you have read any of my essays, you know as well.  If this essay is an introduction to me … RUN!

Just kidding … but I will try to keep this succinct.  (I haven’t talked about my lengthy absence from writing… I’ll explain that later in another post). 

• I am sentimental (I’m crazy in love with the perfect man).
• I am crazy (I’ve got the papers to prove it … so, there!).
• I am strong (I’ve been through the death of:  twin sons [when I was 20] and mom [when 21].  It I could live through those, I can handle anything).
• I am smart (My dad – the smartest man I know – told me at my age of 18, “’Queer,’ you are smarter … more intelligent… than I’ll ever be.” … WOW).
• I’m fun (I sure have a lot of friends … I guess that I must entertain).
• I’m wise (really?...)

Well, I don’t know this yet … but I hope to find out.  Now for anybody else but for me.  I would hope that I would be wise.  The wisdom for living my life as openly as I can.  The wisdom taken from years that have passed.  The wisdom of raising an incredible son to adulthood.  The wisdom for honestly communicating in the now and knowing that the past is what got me to this point in time.  I would hope that I could share some wisdom.

So, I’m sentimental, crazy, strong, smart, and fun.  If you ask others in my life what I’m about, you might get helpful, manic, grumpy, sweet or furious.  It’s all possible

A strangely narcissistic essay, but I was once told that if you could recognize it, it was only “narcissistic- tendancies.”  Whew…

If this is an introduction, “Howdy!”  If this is not an introduction, it’s just an explanation, “You're welcome.”

So I’ll stop … Brief?  I don’t know.  You decide.

M’aiq Is From Mars; Ophelia is From Venus

I have never read the book, but about fifteen years ago Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus was published.   I do know that the book spoke on how we Earthlings are expected to feel and act according to our gender.  The ideas presented in the book created a bit of a craze, the theories that illustrated some of the differences between how men and women operate:  men are about abilities and working alone, while women are about feelings and co-operating.  People latched a hold to the ideas and ran with them.

 

The Man and I have four pets (pretty crazy, I know).  Even crazier … I had all four pets before he entered my life.  And when the invitation was extended,he decided to move in with me, regardless, … really.  Even with all my ‘indoor’ animals.  Amazing.

All six of us live pretty well together, even though we all have distinct personalities.  Our dog Luke is the wildest of the bunch.  The Man says that he has Attention-Deficit Disorder.  Luke is excitable, energetic and focus-less.  Each morning when The Man wakes at some ungodly hour (I think it’s 5 AM or even 4 AM – if it’s a “gym” day), Luke does a “Tasmanian Devil” spin all the way to the back door in front of the man.

Our other dog Casper is the quietest of all the animals in the house.  Casper, in principle, does not belong to the Man and me.  Casper is Luke’s dog.  I got Casper as a companion for Luke, hoping that he would settle Luke down.  That did not happen.  Our Casper is a sweet, mild-mannered, quiet and slim dog, who appears to move on tip-toes.

Our cats, M’aiq (pronounced “Mike,” or as I say it, “Mi-iiike”) and Ophelia (one lone household female) came from the same litter.  M’aiq is a large long-haired all-white male; one of the most beautiful cats that I have ever seen.  Ophelia is a smaller short-haired gray and white tabby, beautiful in her own right.

Which brings us back to “M’aiq from Mars; Ophelia from Venus.”  M’aiq likes his alone time.  He actually broke out of the house (to our horror) a couple of years ago.  We imagined the worst, but he soon materialized, and we coaxed him back into the house.  M’aiq is all about himself.  He’ll come to us for attention and insist on it more often than Ophelia.

Ophelia, when feeling a bit neglected, will meow loudly and simply jump in one of our laps, settling in for some petting.  Or she’ll seek out M’aiq where he is lounging and cuddle up with him.  It never happens the other way with M’aiq seeking out Ophelia.  And my biggest clue about the Mars/Venus theory … Ophelia helps groom M’aiq. 

She spends a lot of her own time licking and cleaning his fur. 

Sweet. 

M’aiq never returns the favor. 

Typical male.

But I’ll stop here.  I mentioned all of our pets earlier (not just the cats) for a reason.  Our male pets, the two dogs and M’aiq, are somewhat independent (well, as independent as pets can be).   While Ophelia is a bit more dependent, demanding more attention and on most nights, sleeping with The Man and me in the bed.

Luke and Casper clean one another.  When the lazy Queer has put off giving them their regular bath, Luke and Casper lie on the floor and lick one another.  So which one of the dogs is from Mars, and which one is from Venus.  I would naturally think that Luke is from Mars and Casper is from Venus.  But no… Luke is the co-operative one.  Casper is much more about getting the job done (he scares away all of the backyard squirrels; Luke just wants to play with them – I can tell).

One of our close friends always talks about the dual nature of everyone and about how each of us has both male and female energy.  So I think I’ll just buy that.  I mean, seriously … we are living on Earth.  Whether you come from Mars or Venus, we are all immigrants here.

Defending the FB

Much has been said recently about the privacy concerns for Facebook users.  Worries over identity theft, scams, and invasion of privacy.  Horror stories of stalkers, hateful creeps and just people that you really didn't want to talk with again.  I mean, with all the technology today, it's difficult to keep a single move concealed.

Even as recently as last night, in my "Live Feed" where all the updates from my friends are published, I surprisingly saw on one of my friend's updates "John Doe likes The Man with The Biggest Dick in the World."  Well, that's very nice of you to share, John, I thought.  But my curiosity got the best of me, So I "clicked" on it, and was brought to, not a typical Facebook group page like I expected, but to an entirely different separate webpage outside of Facebook.  On this page was a picture of a man sitting on a chair against a bright red background.  He was dressed in tight leather, which was clinging so closely to reveal his claim to fame.  His face was obscured.  You could "click" on the picture, but the first thing I thought was "virus."
A little later in the evening, I saw one of the co-workers of The Man come up with the same "like" in her live feed.  Might be a bit more embarrassing for a young lady than an old Queer like me.  Had this happened to me instead of my friend or The Man's co-worker, I would have probably laughed myself stupid.  (It still was kinda funny when it happened to my friend).

Now, this is a very bad beginning for my essay.  Because I'm going to tell you how Facebook has enriched my life.  Simple things.  I can see that my sister had a great day out at the lake with her family, when she posts new pictures on Facebook.  And she's 250 miles away.  I can "Like" an everyday observation from a friend who is on assignment at a university in north Africa.  And he can, in turn, comment on my relishing watermelon on these days when the temperature is rising.  I can be knocked for a loop at the discovery of an old friend that I haven't seen in person or even talked with in 20 years, who may have been removed from my life by distance, conflicting priorities, divorce ... well, just life.  And wonderful memories come back.

Sometimes, it's fun when you have a twisted sense of humor.  And especially with a confidant that shares this. The brunette and I are constantly "de-friending" one another.  That's simply done by either of us removing the other from their friends list.  When the other discovers it, we send a new friend request.  So it shows up in any of our friends' "Live Feed"s as "The Queer and The Brunette are now friends."  I'm sure some of the friends we have in common think "what the hell?" seeing this message pop up every couple of weeks.

I've even used Facebook to settle an old hurt.   One of my high school classmates called me "Queer" at a party back when we were teens.  She was right.  But nobody was supposed to know!  She saw me for what I was.  It got pretty ugly with my friends defending me.  We left.
I kept that inside for years.  Anytime this woman's name was mentioned, I would snarl.  And then one day last year, my sister said, "You know that picture of you and me that I posted yesterday on Facebook?  Jane Doe
said he thought that you look great."
"Jane Doe!"  I was shocked.  "Are you friends with her?  Don't you remember that party..."
"T.Q." she sighed.  "That was thirty years ago.  Don't you think she's forgotten that...?  Maybe you should, too."
I didn't say anything.  But I was thinking alot.
I kept my eyes open.  And then one day, Jane Doe commented on a post from one of our childhood friends.  I commented something along the lines of "I agree with Jane!"
Jane responded something like "Thanks, T.Q., I'm right about 50% of the time."
I sent her a friend request.  She accepted.
We now comment regularly on each other's lives, trivialities, and achievements.  I provide words of support when her husband is about to head out on the road for work.  She comments on the nice flowers I get from the perfect man I have.

Privacy?  I've got nothing to hide.  Facebook?  This stuff is worth it's weight in gold.

(Lock photo by Walknboston;  Pot of Gold photo by Jonas B)