Blah Hambug! (or just a big, deep sigh whenever anyone says "Happy Holidays" to you)

Happy Holidays Everyone! You may have been caught up in the dizzying swirl of last minute shopping, the barrage of cheerful yuletide music, the endless holiday parties and the mandatory hangovers they bring.

I, however, have not. I haven't exactly been screaming BAH anything from my windows, or thanking a young handicapped child, who was lovingly called "Tiny."

But, I did succumb to the barrage of cheerful yuletide music. Just yesterday, I bought Mariah Carey's "All I Want For Christmas Is You" for .69 cents on iTunes. (I love a good sale!) And while I'm on the subject of music: John Denver and the Muppets is the essential Christmas album. Hilarious and yet has heart. (Kind of like me, you say?! Oh you!)

Back to my point, though, I have just not been in the mood this year. I saw the Rockefeller Tree in NYC when my friends came to visit. And for the first time ever, I didn't really care.

I didn't even put my Christmas tree up until late in the season.

It was a lot of work putting it up this year ... but it was worth it! 

And my tree really has added something to my place. Whenever I think of the Christmas season, I look over at the tree. And every time I end up looking at those martini glasses and realize how dusty they are because I never drink martinis.

I also have a Snoopy snow globe that plays their Christmas song. I put that out, too. To complete the look, I have left my holly berry wreath up year round on my apartment door so I have something festive to come home to instead of a dull door.

The decorations are set. I think it's rather smart of me that I won't have much clean up come December 26th, or February 6th (which is when you probably take down your tree).

I didn't send a Christmas card out this year, and a result of not sending, I received my fewest cards ever in return this year. I was incredibly impressed by the people who did send this year. I think it's an honest-to-God awesome feat to send Christmas cards. The coordination of the task! Buying stamps alone should win you some kind of prize. I haven't bought a stamp since probably 2010.

I did, however, finally get around to posting my yearly Facebook Christmas Card. This year was the 3rd Annual! It is a vintage picture I find online on some site, and through my 20 minute search, I choose just the right image. Each year, has some perky 1950s female archetype wishing you a happy holidays, but always through gritted teeth.

I would post all 3 of them here, but I am sure it would be considered a copyright infringement of some sorts and I would spend the New Year locked in a place without windows. And since I am delicate flower who needs sunlight, you should just pick an image of a 1950s-type family or woman, and imagine something sarcastic. Every year, it's a hit!

Next year, I may just really stick it to Hallmark altogether and just post an a picture of me and some cactus. Nothing says the holidays like the desert!

I guess my feeling isn't BAH ... it's just BLAH! Apathy toward the holidays. It always comes and goes in an instant when you look back. (except for that week between Christmas and New Years. God, just bring it already!)

The holidays do not have the same meaning from when you are 6 years old and it's the most amazing day of the year (besides your birthday). And really, that's true about most things. When you're "tiny," everything seems special and magical. Summer was this incredibly long, epic season of warm months and now, it's Fall before I blink.

I miss the child-like wanting for a snowy Christmas. If it snows this year, I will just worry about driving my rental car safely down I-95.

I miss craving Egg Nog on November 20 something (whatever day after Thanksgiving is). When I look at Egg Nog, I think ... well there's one way to an early grave and how many calories is it if I just look at it?

But, if it will make you happy, I can run down the street in my night gown, yelling about some three ghosts that came to visit me. How I learned the errors of my blah ways and how I won't make fun of anyone named Dickens ever again. You may wonder what fun medication I am on. But when I ask the newspaper boy to tell me what day it is, you will understand.

Love,
Greg

Flakes ... And I Ain't Talking Snow

Snowflakes are special. No two are alike, I am told.

Gay Flakes, though, well... they are all the same. They may look different, but trust me. They are all the same.

Now, keep in mind: Gay Flakes is not the name of your latest and favorite brand of breakfast cereal. (Although it would probably would be quite tasty and would probably have a useless toy in the box.)

Gay Flakes are actually a quirky, little breed of men. (And I do mean little. ZING!)

Gay Flakes are a group of men who you may have a great first date with, only never to hear from them again. Don't confuse these men with Straight Flakes, where you may have had a subpar date and they forget to shave before the date. Gay Flakes are more dapper. It must be all that shiny packaging in the cereal aisle.

Gay Flakes are that smiley, happy, flirty, cute, group of guys. They say great things. They create and hold conversation. They talk the talk. Great talk. The walking of the walk, well... not so much.

We all know the type. You may even be this type. And it's ok. I am sure there is a support group for you.

However, the truly disappointing aspect of these flakes is that we will never see or hear from them again. They disappear. Much like snow. And perhaps, like snow, they have melted away? The beauty of the snow fall, which only lasted a few hours, has come and gone. Some snow plow came barreling down and pushed them all away.

I'd like to say that's true. It's not. Gay Flakes are not affected by weather. (Although, when summer comes, good luck finding a Gay Flake who isn't in his speedo and away on Fire Island. ZING!)

Gay Flakes are simply a breed of men who just LOVE you on the first date. "Oh, we have to do this again! Are you free tomorrow?!"

"Um . . . sure . . ."

And then the text the next day. "I'm going to have cancel - I feel like crap and I'm getting sent home from work..... I'm so sorry!!!!! :("

Sick. The "I'm sick" line. I used that when I was 23. We've all grown up since then. But, whatever, I take it in stride.

He's not a Gay Flake. Not him. He's perfect. He won't melt away.

He even wrote after the initial text that, "I will make this up too you." Sure, he doesn't know the proper use or spelling of the preposition "to." But, he can't be a Gay Flake. He may not be smart, but not a flake.

But he is. The texts become fewer and fewer. "He's just sick," I say.

Now, at this point I have had one too many Egg Nog boilermakers (I'm not sure if this is such a thing, I just make stuff up.) But, I am so determined that he is not a Gay Flake at this moment, that I will say anything to myself. "Men really are great. This guy is proof." This is my "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus" time.

Sure, Christmas is coming, and this is the time when all gays hibernate and commingle with any male they can find through March, so my chances of finding a live one to date for months on hand have to be good, right?

Sadly, I was never a good hunter. I didn't bag a live one this time. Besides, I never looked good in an orange hunting vest or a John Deere hat. Sorry, Ashton Kutcher.

With my hunting skills deteriorating by the minute, I was blindly aware of the reduced interest from him in the texts. He makes a plan to see me on Sunday, but the follow up is rather lacking.

"When? Where?," I say, much like a lost Red Riding Hood. We agree on Sunday, but the details are still firmly lacking. I hold hope. The first date was extraordinary. Without going into detail, his flirtation was felt all the way from three counties over.

Finally, I ask on Saturday, "are we still on?"

To which the text message replies, "Yes!!" What an energetic and non detailed answer! But I take the enthusiasm of the agreement and run with it.

Sadly, "yes!!" was the last I ever heard from this little Gay Flake. He melted. Or was sucked into that black hole we heard about on the news. Either way, Gay Flakes burn bright and fade fast. So, appreciate them for the novelty of their smiles, their earnest view, their eagerness. Don't fall for it, though, because they will likely be gone just in time for another hunting season to begin.

And I'm huntin' wabbits, next time.

Hiding In The Soup Aisle Isn't Easy, But Someone Has To Do It

When you have had as many dates as I have, you start to see them over and over. 

And not in the good way.  

These are the men you ran away from. The ones where you made an excuse to end the date early. Or worse. They did it to me. 

So, needless to say, it's ... unpleasant ... for both of us to run into each other again. It's like being forced to see a really bad movie all over again. "I paid $10 for this?!," I ask no one, only to buy a ticket for the sequel. 

In New York City, it is surprisingly true that if you do not want to run into someone, you will and you do so on multiple occasions. It is an actual fact. Why? I have no idea. There are only 8 million people here. You think we would have other places to go. But, instead, we all have our patterns and daily routes we go. So, you could end up seeing the same people on the subway or a coffee shop with some frequency. 

I seem to only see people I don't want to at times when I am doing the most NON-ROUTINE things. I have seen an old coworker that I loathed once while buying paint in Home Depot of all places. Or once while running to catch an Amtrak home to Massachusetts. Both times when this happened, I pretended that person did not exist and that they were not really in my peripheral vision, even though they were. 

I always find it to be the best ... revenge isn't really the word for it ... but maybe it is. I just find it to be the easiest, yet best way to handle those moments. It's safer and healthier. 

You don't like me. 

I don't like you. 

Let's pretend we each don't exist. 

However, on both occasions, these loathsome people were looking directly at me. Just my luck! 

Why can't people have the good common sense to ignore someone they despise? Maybe it is a bit WASP-y of me to behave that way, and if so, then hand me a dry martini, a summer home in Connecticut, and a Ralph Lauren cable knit sweater. 

To be honest, I am not normally the type of person to stuff all my feelings into a drawer and keep it there. I am nothing if not ... expressive. However, there comes a time in life and relationships when you realize, it is just best if we never discuss anything ever again and we should never look at each other ever again. And then we can all be happy. 

Now with dating, it is so much worse. For all the reasons you can think of. These are people  who on some level actually know you. 

I am going to share a little story about James. And James (for the sake of the blog) is his actual name. (HA!) 

James and I dated for a little while. He was amazing. On our first date, he passed by a flower stand and wanted to buy me a bunch of flowers, and I said, "No ... no. You don't need to." And then he ... didn't.

I only mention it because it's funny in a sense. When someone says no to PRESENTS, they mean yes.  That is the bleepin' rule when it comes to a "no." All the other times anyone says no, they mean it. But with presents? WE MEAN YES! (This is possibly Rule #405 or actually Rule #2 of dating. Look it up!)

Anyways, James was great. He brought me 3 roses for 3 perfect dates on our 3rd date. Can we say Heaven? We did. He said he couldn't believe we were together and he wanted to be with me for as long as I would have him. He worshipped our time together. He seemed to want instant relationship. That's right! We became lesbians. And it was great. I had never been happier to be a lesbian. Who knew!?

We were even planning for him to meet my family for Christmas. FREAKIN' CHRISTMAS, people! My mom was asking what kind of gift to buy him. And we were even planning a possible birthday trip together to Paris for me next Spring. The world and the calendar were ours for the taking. We were the envy of no one, except for my friends who wanted to see Paris before I did. 

A fun little detail to our relationship was that he would text me every morning. Suddenly, one morning there was no text. And I knew. Later, I received a text at 10 a.m. It was the classic "let's be friends" dumping. It went from Christmas talk to let's never talk again. 

No? 

You think he wanted to be friends? 

Well, do your friends return your text? 

So, yea ... he never did. 

And so, I assumed later that day, he must have been poisoned by his afternoon latte, or he fell into a well and Lassie didn't get there in time. Either way, he was never to be heard from again. Until he was heard from again. Or, should I say, seen again. 

Until ... he got a freelance job at my company. 

YES! He did! He took a job at my company and the building space we occupy is only 4 floors. Did he not think I would bump into him? Well, I did. 

In retrospect, I could have reacted better. And would have, had he let me know he was working there. In my classic (and classy!) response upon seeing him near the elevator as I left a meeting space, I said, "You have to f-in' be kiddin' me!" Just so you know, in the moment I did use the f word. I am just being polite here. 

James quickly dashed into the elevator and moved to the side of the wall so no one, including me, could see him further. I wish I could lie and say that part didn't happen, but then again, I also wish I didn't use the f bomb by the elevators either. Oh well. 

James left the company soon afterward, I think. 

You would think that would be the only other time I would see him then, right? In a city like New York, the BIG Apple? Well, you're wrong. 

The second and only other time I have seen him post-text dumping was while shopping in a Target for hurricane supplies. YES! A FREAKIN' HURRICANE! While I was buying bottled water, bread, peanut butter, and cans of soup, I saw my ex. 

And. He. Looked. Awful. #bestrevengeyet

He appeared to have gained some weight in his midsection. He was no longer tanned. He was in sweats. He was in the frozen foods section, buying (I kid you not) microwave pizza. If the hurricane knocks out your electricity, good luck with that! It was the epitome of sad, if you ask me. 

Best of all, he looked like a Walmart shopper, which was especially sad because - don't forget - we were in a Target! 

Now, you may wonder, so I will just say it. I know how to dress for Target. OF COURSE, I looked adorable. 

Hurricane Sandy, we were told, was no joke. So, on Friday night, I got a good haircut. And on Saturday, while doing errands, I had on a striped nautical tee, some cute slim navy chinos, and my Cole Haan blue and brown saddle oxfords. I. Was. Adorable. 

So, like the ever-good WASP. I walked right past him, although this time I did kind of a sideways glance. I said nothing and did not react, but I wanted him to know that I had seen him. After all, he looked horrible. If this hurricane was coming for me, I wanted to at least have a slight YAY feeling before it came. 

For once, upon seeing an ex, or an old coworker, or someone I loathed, I finally had a YAY moment. It quickly left me when I realized this was a guy who had hurt me, and all those feelings came back. So I did what any good New Yorker would do in this situation. I hid in the soup aisle and called my friend. Thank you, Campbell's! 

But, I reacted in the best way possible. I feel like I did, at least. I didn't ignore and yet I didn't curse to the high moon in an office. I let it all happen, but I let him know I wasn't ok with him being anywhere near me. And I looked good. All in a day's work, I'd say. 

Love,

Greg

I Want To Go "There"

Don't ask me why, but I have recently been watching old episodes of Grey's Anatomy. For those that lived under a rock during 2005, it was and (kinda still is) this awesome TV show about Meredith Grey, a TV doctor who was a damaged but lovable girl. She had an up and down love affair with Dr. McDreamy (who was and is still is dreamy or McDreamy, if you will). And the show was just so tortured. Every episode is one big life lesson. Now, I may not completely be like Meredith, nor do I have fun friends like Izzie and George who also live with me, but I can relate.

I like shows - I think we all do - where the person isn't quite "there"yet in their life. We root for them. "Oh ... if you could just find that perfect guy and get married. Oh but not just yet! Of course! Now his ex wife has come back!"

Somewhere, in my tangled life, I have had loves who were lost. ALL of their ex wives came back. I'm kidding, of course. Yet, I can relate to a character who has the family issues (whatever they may be), the love issues, the money issues, the dump your coffee on your lap issues. It's all just popcorn and good times for me to watch because, after all - hey sister, I have been there.

I have even liked it when friends of mine, after being in a relationship, come back to the single world. "Hey, let me catch you up on what you missed." It's almost like I get to refresh their memories on past episodes of a TV show.

The thing of it is, though: I want to get "there." By the way, "there" is this imaginary place in life that every American has created for themselves. It probably involves life, liberty, a car, a McMansion, perfect job, perfect spouse, perfect mistress, perfect vacations, 6 pack abs and tons of money. For me, "there" is something different.

"There" is partially about money. (I mean, this ain't circa 1960 Russia.) I want enough money where I never have to worry about buying yet another pair of shoes if I really want them. I like shoes and I want to buy more. On that front, I am almost "there." Almost. Still got some time on that one, especially since I began to show an interest in the Cole Haan Air Colton Saddle Oxford line. A Burgandy shoe with black croc saddle? How much? Um.... ok!  Again, not quite there.

"There" would also include a nice man. Any man. A pulse. But he has to be around ... like ... all the time. Again, we are waiting on that one.

And finally, "there" would include my own place. I hate a land lord. I hate making small talk with someone I would never talk to. Not unless we are prisoners in a Guadalajara prison. Why Guadalajara, Mexico, you ask? Because! I'm dramatic! And I hear the jicama there is just to die for!

I also really want to own my own place because I hate my bathroom and I hate my kitchen. Those are my 2 favorite rooms after a bedroom. Wink!

Anyways, my point is: I am not "there" yet - and I bet you are not "there," either. That's life. That's TV, too, I guess. And while we don't have a McDreamy (damn, he is handsome!), we have another day to live or another episode to watch. And both usually involve something happening that we have to do or overcome. So, we will probably never be "there." Unless, you are one of those really annoying perfect people that just has EVERYTHING she could ever want (while secretly hiding your pill addiction.) See! Even you need to go "there."

Love,
Me

I Am So ... Lucky

I Am So Lucky. It's all I can think about this week. I survived a hurricane, one in which devastated vast parts of my local area and the Eastern sea board. My work building has been without power all week, and just blocks away from that building, there is still has massive flooding. Subways are getting back to being operational. Wall Street, after 2 unprecedented closed days, is back to business even! (Those greedy little mongers!) It's all getting back to normal. .. slowly... but surely. Because that's what we do. Life moves on.

I have to admit right now to you that this blog post may not be of the laugh-out-loud, hysterical nature. It probably isn't the time, nor my mind set. I do want to point out straight away, though, that life does move on. So, I should try to bring the humor back, but ... it is hard for me right now.

A friend of a friend knew the 23 year old couple who died while walking their dog, killed by a falling tree. Children drowned. Children died from a tree while they had a sleepover. I mean, there are MANY stories about the tragedies, even of the non fatal kind. And that is hard news to watch in the morning -every day this week - while I drink coffee. It isn't the morning news you want to wake up to. In fact, it numbs you.

I woke up the next day after the storm feeling immediately grateful. My eyes opened and, I have to admit, I was surprised. I saw my alarm clock. It was on! I walked my apartment and checked the walls. I looked at my street and there were just a lot of leaves and branches. But everything seemed fine. Only it wasn't.

You see, on Sunday, we were all advised to stay inside. The wind was picking up and the sky had been oddly grey - almost vacant in a way. Sunday, I was home alone. Not much to do. I swiffered floors, I made meals, I snacked, I read a little, I took a 3 hour nap. It was all pretty ho-hum. Monday, our office was closed and the storm was already clearly on its way. By that afternoon, you knew if was time to stay inside. It was dark for sure by 6 and you could see the wind, but by 7 p.m. - well. that was when I really relied on the golden stuff.

What "golden stuff," you ask? Oh just the ol' standby = whiskey! And Bourbon, too! Having now admitted this, I'd like to thank the good people at Knob Creek and Tullamore Dew for getting me through that night especially.

I live alone. I went through the hurricane alone. And so I drank. Not heavily... but enough. As I had told my father when he called that night at 6:30, "Dad, I'm gonna get pretty schnockered." Dad liked my idea.

A good friend, Stephanie, was the constant texter, asking me if I was ok. We had an entire conversation throughout the night and it helped to keep me partially sane. I watched a James Bond movie, an old silly Roger Moore one. A movie I knew would take my mind off things. Facebook was another welcome distraction. I needed to not think about what was happening outside, because to be honest, I was scared.

I live on a tree lined street. The news warned me all too often about trees throughout the day. Trees were certainly blowing. Yet, it was the street light directly across from my window that concerned me far more. From my couch to window view, I could see the street light swaying back and forth. I assumed this is when those 60 mph winds were visiting, but who knows really? I was on my 2nd healthy pouring of whiskey and ginger. I wasn't taking chances. If shit was gonna go down, I was gonna be nice and buzzed, if not sufficiently ... "happy."

I think I even had a vodka something after some whiskey, too. It was 10 pm at that point - why not? My plan all along honestly was to drink just enough so that I could fall right to sleep soundly. I didn't want to wake up in the middle of the storm. I didn't want to hear more noises. I was afraid.

I was afraid because I was alone. Why was I alone?

I was afraid because I could hear things on the roof. Oh why did I have to live on the 2nd floor?

I was afraid because I could hear cracking noises and it almost sounded like it was in the walls. Was my wannabe row house gonna break off, or worse, crumble (like the one in Chelsea did)?

I was afraid because that stupid tree outside is so close to my window in my living room. Will it smash in?

I knew if the roof held that at least I would be ok in my bed. There was just an alley way next to my bed room and no trees or seemingly big objects. But, I am sure, so many go to bed thinking they are fine, only to discover not so much. I was just hoping and telling myself I was ok.

I wasn't worried about electricity or water, or food. Sure, I bought several cans of soup as well as peanut butter and bread (exciting menu!). I bought a semi-decent amount of water for 1 person for a few days. I charged my phone the whole time, even while using it. I did the little things I thought I should. And I live in Brooklyn and I am further inland. I wasn't coastal. So at the end of the day, I figured I would be probably better off than others - and I was right. Fortunately for me.

And that's when it all hit me the next morning. Fortunately for me.

I am so lucky. And whiskey and bourbon companies should really donate to charity for all the advertisements I have said over the past few days. It got me through and into a safe sleep that night. But so many had so much harder of a night than I did. I can only imagine what families are going through. And I feel stupid for getting stir crazy in my apartment on Sunday, Monday and Tuesday. So what if I didn't get to go for a run or have some exercise? I had a home, power, heat, internet, electricity ... blah blah ... I had my life!

The numbers are climbing in the death toll and I really have, for the most part, just stopped looking at the news (as ignorant as that might be). I just have turned myself off to it. The two things that have caught my eye is the amount of charity work people are already doing and the controversy of the NYC marathon this weekend.  

It's amazing. People in this area alone and elsewhere are volunteering and donating money, materials. It just shows you the good that is out there in our fellow people.

And consequently, people are upset the city is still holding the race this Sunday. Now, I understand that people feel it takes away from the tragedy, not to mention the perception that resources would be diverted. I could point out that my understanding is the NYC marathon raises money for charity annually. I could show how people travel and have paid for trips to NYC from all over the world already. I could explain how local businesses in all boroughs really can benefit from the customer base. (You know a runner is coming into your bodega for a gatorade or something to eat. It will happen.)

I could go on and on about many points like that - and some would have their counter points. However, you can't deny this. The NYC Marathon is an event that celebrates life - and only someone who has been to the NYC Marathon can truly understand that it celebrates life. I have seen a person with no legs run the NYC marathon. I have seen elderly people run it. I have seen cancer survivors run it. I have seen firefighters in uniform running to honor one of the fallen. People run this race to give purpose to life. If you think it's just a stupid race and there isn't anything special about that day, then you need to get your head out of your ass. Pardon my Irish!

Having an event that celebrates the best about being a New Yorker, that celebrates surviving, that celebrates remembering a loved one lost - this is a good thing. And every day we have on this earth is a gift. And if you DON'T live that day - every day - and push on and make it count, THAT'S when you're disrespecting those who aren't here to celebrate. We should honor the losses by celebrating the day we have today and the possible gains we could have in the future.

Because that's what we do. Life moves on. Life has to move on.

Love,
Greg

They Stayed Together For 40 Years And I Don't Like A Person Past The Entree....

Today is a gorgeous Fall day. The leaves haven't quite changed yet in Brooklyn. They are a faded green with the beginnings of brown. It's been the kind of weather that I love, where it isn't cold yet, but you can wear a scarf or a jacket if you want. And yet, I can still wear flip flops to do errands in my neighborhood. I love Fall.

It is October 6th and, in roughly a week, my parents will have their 40th wedding anniversary. 40 years! I haven't even been around for 40 years. (I Am So Young - like so young - so very young.)



I can't fathom a relationship that long. I admire it. I greatly admire it. I have such respect for it because I comprehend that it wasn't ever easy. Far from it. There is so much that can be said about it that is so specific (and I won't divulge it) but I just have to smile and say that: regardless of life, my parents found a way to be in each other's life for almost half a century. You can't knock that down. They have had a relationship, a home, children, pain, joy, and experiences together and it blows me away.

I look at their relationship - and I would even add friendship - from a single person's point of view. Being perennially single has given me a unique view on coupling. I sometimes fear it. There has to be a complete trust in another person. When my mother has been hurt, my father hurts. I don't know if I could be strong enough to endure another person's pain and I think that says something about me, but also my parents.

While this could be a love letter to my parents, it would only serve to embarrass them (perhaps only my mom; my dad doesn't embarrass easily).



Instead, I will take the point of view of my single self. I have had friendships that have lasted from grade school to present day. (I am looking at you: Danny and Tami.)

And I also have friends from high school to now. (Hello, Melissa and Stephanie!)

And it gives me a great sense of pride and love. So much so, that I even used their real names and not used fake names, as if they were the characters of Charlie's Angels! Because Stephanie would definitely karate chop me. (But FYI - I'm totally the type of friend who would be Charlie. Mysterious rich guy, speaker box, sexy detective agency? Yeah, I am Charlie.)

But I am still missing the longevity of a lasting relationship. I meet people. (I'm not a total shut in,)



No, really! I'm not a crazy cat lady! Because I'm allergic.

Although, I do have a big love of candles....hmmm, ok I will rethink the candles (but they smell so good!)

It's just that my parents met and stayed together somehow near each other for 40 years. I have 3 dates with someone and one of us usually realizes: "I want to get away from you!"

How do you maintain an actual interest in another person for years upon years? YEARS? DECADES!!?? Good GOD!

I realize that I am young....ish ... but the chances of me meeting someone and making it 40 years is probably a future I won't have to consider. Unless I meet him today and I live beyond the age of 73. But, with the combination of my dating luck, my actual clumsiness, and prolonged drinking abilities, I am thinking I will be around to the ripe old age of 34.

Now, I'm not saying that the end is near.

.

I just think I probably will find my "soul" mate later in life. Possibly when we have all given up on six pack abs and six packs altogether. Wine is a more adult beverage, in my opinion.

And I hope I can stimulate his interest and our relationship for decades, too. I just need to figure out how. From my understanding, it seems to be the cumulation of experiences (vacations, children, health scares, money issues, home worries and life losses) that seem to bond couples most.

If I could meet a real estate agent who helps me with financing while also helping me to adopt a baby all while we suffer an earthquake or something, I might be able to land that husband. In the meantime, I am going to keep trying at it the old fashioned way: dating. Wish me luck!

Letting Go and Hanging On For Dear Life

I try to be a very positive person and, especially on I Am So Gay, I try to show all the positive aspects of life, even when someone is asking you to make lemonade. (Seriously, I just buy my lemonade. Who makes it these days?)



But, there have been several moments in my life recently that forced me to finally stop and realize that things are changing. And not necessarily for good. The hardest changes for me usually are around losing people, which has happened recently.

People break-up and friend dynamic changes. People move. People quit. Or people just say, "get away from me, you strange, curly haired guy I don't know." (Admittedly, only people I don't know say that to me.)

But, it's a profoundly sad thing for me when I take stock and realize that my soap opera's cast of characters are getting the boot. I mean, I'm Erica Kane, or possibly that old guy with the mustache on The Young and The Restless. Regardless, you know I am sticking around. Yet, this season, my sassy set of other characters are traveling or moving to exotic locales like Asia, or the more desired location of - you guessed it - Big Stone Gap, Virginia.



Two of these friends are actually leaving by choice for new life pursuits and I wish them the best. Their contracts maybe didn't get renewed on the show, but I am told it is by choice they are leaving New York. They are individually positive and fun people to be around, so it was not fun to say good-bye. It's hard trying to make something positive when you just want to be a big baby and throw a major melt down and scream NO! NO! NO!

(In a Sarah Jessica Parker voice...) So, it makes me wonder ... as we age, and as I age more importantly, how many more cast rotations (willing or unwilling) will I endure? How many good-byes do we have to say?

(Back to my normal voice)

I have lost some friends or relationships in my life that were definitely unwilling to go but I had to cut that cord. And I think it's ok for that to happen. You get to a point in your life where you have to say: this person isn't good for me and they need to go! RIGHT NOW!

Some friends will always be amazing, but some will be a huge drag on yourself. For example, I had a good friend who for the sake of the blog we will call, Why Me. And Why Me always seemed to have problems she couldn't handle on her own and needed constant reassurement. (Yes, Why Me is a girl's name. Look it up. All the baby books are gobbling it up since Angelia Jolie named her 17th child, Why Me.)



Anyways, as a dutiful friend to Why Me, I hung in there and tried to always be there for her and give her sound advice. The thing was: she was also a bit of a turtle when it came to life. She never came out of her shell. And you may guess from reading about me, I am OUT of my shell, so to speak. Being shy has never been a huge concern and I am usually willing to try anything once. Why Me was a bit of a mismatch as the years passed. It was really starting to be a weight on our friendship. If someone isn't on the same stage as you, it's kind of hard to have a show. You have to be willing to do things and be on the same level as your friends most of the time, otherwise what is there to share and celebrate?

You just get to a point where you have to phase people out of your life and the reasons always vary.  The ending of that friendship is always the example that comes to mind when I am having a challenging relationship. I took stock of what was good and healthy for me, and ultimately it was a relationship that wasn't healthy for me, so I got out of that. I stayed in it because she was like family. Your friends become a family that you just weren't born with and - better yet - you even get to choose them!

And it was then that I realized in a real way that I choose my friendships and my path in life. You can let go to some and death grip others because they are way too special to you. Consequently, they may want to let go of you. And while that sucks royally, it's part of life and you have to accept it.

Relationships come and go. Or just simply and sometimes wildly change.

My parting thought is that you have to endure the good-byes to allow for more hellos. And while some of the good-byes I have had recently were good, one of those good-byes was literally heart breaking because it was a bad relationship and I had to walk away from it.

I have faith in myself, though, and in the life I have created, that I will be ok. People may not stay in my life forever. The fact that I am (as obnoxious as it sounds) my own best friend gives me this solace.

So, as I say good-bye, be ready for a hello. It's a new door and let's open it.

Like Me On Facebook ... Or Something Better Than That?

https://www.facebook.com/Iamsogayblog.blogspot?ref=hl


That's my link. Search I AM SO GAY on Facebook and like me? Like me? Be my 53rd like?

Oh, won't you like me?

I hope you do.

Sun and Then Some Clouds

Yesterday was cloudy. Unlike today, it never became sunny. I ran 8.5 miles on a hazy, grey day. I came home right before a massive downpour drenched Brooklyn. I was still home when a tornado touched down in Coney Island. Ironically, I wanted to lay on the beach on Coney Island on Saturday, but that would now have to wait. Today had some clouds.

Weather is life. Weather is daily, forever changing, yet a constant. Weather - just like life - is freaking scary, too. I mean - a tornado?! On a beach that I have gone to for several weeks this summer?! That is also a 20 minute train ride from my house?!



Yeah, life and weather can be scary. Yesterday, when I saw big, charcoal clouds move very quickly across the sky around 6 p.m., I got a little scared. I lit a few candles. It's not winter solstice yet and it should have been sunny out, but I had to light me some candles and turn on the lights. Like a little old lady, I was fearing the worst. All before dinner time.

My week had been a lot like this. Sun - and then some super bad clouds. My first blog post talks about this. And just when I was going to touch upon this very theme and write a really awesome story - more clouds happened.

It all first started last weekend when I was in Ocean City, Maryland. I took the "I Hate You" bus down to visit my "I Love You So Much" friends in DC. (It's a complicated relationship.) I spent the night prior to our trip in DC before we drove to Ocean City.

Now, DC to Maryland. Pretty easy, right? Yep. Except we went through Delaware by accident and had to go back to Maryland. And I wasn't even driving and everyone was sober. DC to Maryland via Delaware? Who knew? Well, it was eventful. I chalk the incident up to the fact that we were enjoying each other's company so much and weren't following the signs that said "Dover - 30 miles." But I digress.

After the driving hiccup, it should be smooth sailing, right? Nope! It was super cloudy and humid - no sun to be found. But, best of all -  the black flies decided to celebrate my visit and stay awhile, too. I am not a huge swimmer, but I stayed in the water for roughly 90 minutes because it was the one place where black flies won't go. Who would have thought that black flies and Greg would have a fear of water in common? Scientists maybe, and also my friends, but that's besides the point.



Ever the ready traveler, I went upstairs to our condo and made lemonade out of lemons. (Not literally.) If I couldn't relax on a sunny, calm beach without being a landing pad for huge, stinging insects, then I was going to read my book and drink wine. I mean, this was Labor Day weekend after all and I am a vigilant American. I celebrate each and every holiday properly.

Labor Day - drinking.
Columbus Day - discovering.
Halloween - eating.
Thanksgiving - eating.
Christmas - coin toss. Drinking or eating. Or both.
Valentine's Day - eating.
St. Patrick's Day - wearing green. Ahhh! Just kidding - I'm drinking.
April Fool's Day - hiding.
My Birthday - doing every single thing I want to do!
Flag Day - stealing everyone's flags.
Independence Day - drinking.

I am supremely patriotic, as you can tell. If I missed a holiday, feel free to comment on the blog below and I will tell you what I do on that day. (Fun Fact: Groundhog's Day - Eighteen more years of winter??? BLAH! Drinking!!)



Now, the rest of the weekend turned out mostly fine, except for the thunderous downpours that occurred on Sunday night and parts of Monday. While there were a lot of clouds, there was also some sun. And that is the part of the journey to reflect on. The sunny parts.

I found joy and peace - even on my own terms. If I couldn't have it in one place, I found somewhere else to. The wine and the book on the couch of a condo were each great and relaxing. I didn't think about work. No labor on Labor Day, I always say. I was all very Zen and smiling.

I went back to NYC on Tuesday morning, went straight into work, and for the most part, was smiley and super happy - even to start my shortened work week. I love me some four day work weeks (although they always seem longer than a five day work week).

Later on in my work week, I heard some terrible news about a member of my family who had passed away on Labor Day. I found out just after having a great morning. I was able to do an early morning run. I was endorphin high, it was a gorgeous day out and then bam - huge BLEEPIN' cloud. My family member was gone and it was a profound loss for so many.

Life is like that: one minute good, next minute bad. This is all very simplistic for me to say, but I learned early on how to understand death and sadness. When my grandfather passed away, I was in the fourth grade. He was the first person I ever really knew who died and I couldn't understand it all. Why do we get old or get sick? Why does God put us here, only to take us away? Shouldn't life be so much more than that? This was some pretty big stuff for my tiny, fourth grade brain and my parents asked the priest at school to help. Father Graves actually did answer all my questions pretty well and took me seriously. I eventually understood the whole "Circle of Life" thing, years before The Lion King sang it to me.



I think I learned early on that life was not a game. We do play for keeps, but the time here is limited. It's best not to be spent on stupid crap. (Although, watching TV is not stupid crap. I don't care what any parent organization is saying this week. TV is time spent with someone I love: Patrick Dempsey.)

My point (and why I keep cracking silly jokes) is that life can be total crap. You can get lost - in life or through Delaware, but there are more ways to get to your destination. You can have things attack you and even if you can't shoo a fly, you can find your own way out of the problem. Your day can literally be ruined, but there is still you at the end of the day.

This is what I continue to learn. There is still me. I have all the power in a situation, even when it is a problem well beyond my control. I still have control over me: how I react and how I live.

I like to think - and hope - that I will always be able to continue to find the joy in things, the humor when things seem their most bleak, and the reason to go forward. It is really hard when you are just going through your days like anyone, and trying to make the most out of today. But, I hope I continue to do this. I hope each and every person I know does the same thing.

I Am So Gay (and so are you for reading this), but I Am So Not Giving Up. I will fight the clouds. Because I love me some sun.

Love,
Me

I’m 33 … And Hungover

I like to think that I am a responsible person and I make responsible decisions. But I don’t always. Often, but not always. And I made a bad choice last Sunday. I decided to be Capt. McRummy of the Rum Liberation Army. I freed “gallons” of rum and poured it into my freshly blended watermelon juice. It was delicious. And strong. And the rum fought a mighty battle and was victorious.

It looked something like this.... except with rum, instead of beer.  

This part of the story would be enough to say… “Yeah, Greg – you are dumb!” And you would be right. But, it gets worse.

Rum and watermelon isn’t my usual drink of choice. And I am pretty sure it was a brand of rum I had never heard of. But I also was Lt. McWinetown before I became Capt. McRummy. So wine, then rum, and I was feeling – woo hoo!

But, don’t forget now… I said this all happened on a Sunday. I did this on a Sunday.
Yep! I had to work the next day. Now, I am sure my “legions” of readers are all 22 and can bounce back from keg stands at lunch on a Wednesday. I, however, cannot.

Monday morning came and came early. I was up at 5 a.m. Why? I have no bleepin’ clue. My wonderful body decided that I needed all of FIVE hours of sleep and I should be good to go. “Start the day!,” it bellowed into my hollow soul.

With that, I laid in bed for awhile and tried to fight that “I am incredibly awake” feeling I inexplicably had. My body almost forgotten my night of fun it seemed. So, I woke up (slowly) and made coffee. And it was the worst coffee of my life. In my marathon “rush” to get the coffee made, I must have decided to go light on grounds and heavy on water. How do I know? Well – because it tasted like the world’s prize-winning edition of coffee-based water. Scientists could marvel at how awful and weak it was. And this was on a day where I needed a coffee like my mother needs a hair dryer. (Seriously, the woman needs a hair dryer or she will ruin you. )





So, I was drinking useless coffee and trying to assess the situation and I realized suddenly … I am not feeling so good. Like, really … not … good. Not ... good.

To my credit, my stomach was incredibly unhappy with me, but it held fast. It asked for ginger ale and carbonated beverages and I supplied it. Aspirin was a novelty joke addition to the problem. The Aspirin bottle just stared and laughed at me. “Listen old man, I ain’t gonna get you out of this.” Aspirin can be a cruel bedfellow.

Ginger Ale was fortunately much nicer to me. It’s probably because only 70 year olds and I are the only people buying the brew. So, Ginger Ale knew to be kind to me to maintain our continued business relationship. (FACT: Ginger Ale is the only soda you will ever see in my fridge on a regular basis. However, find me an old timey glass bottle of root beer and I would drink it.)

Well, I digress. After taking the aspirin, it all occurred to me. I am so unbelievably old.

It’s cute to be hungover when you’re 25. It’s a badge of honor. Oh look at that crazy, young lad. He really knows how to party. But, hungover at 33 is just sad. It means you are stupid.

And your body doesn’t know what to do with it all. My body woke up and said, “Bleep you! Bleep you! Bleep you!” (My body is a huge swear word user. I, however, curse only at church or funerals.)



So, my body finally came to life TWO hours AFTER being physically awake and only then decided to start hating on me. And by hating, I mean – it decided to make me feel … headache filled. And stomach rumbly. But headache filled, above all else.

Now, have I told you I live in NYC? And have I told you I hate subways? Oh good. Well, being 33 and hungover and living in New York is the equivalent to watching the speeches at the Republican National Convention. You want to scream out loud and say, “Why, God? Why?”




The noises a subway can make. The noises a jackhammer makes on the street. The noises people talking to each other make. Can everyone SHUT UP? Nope! Because New York is allegedly the city that never sleeps. Though, having been to Las Vegas, I think there is room for argument.
For you devoted readers, you may realize that this little story is a continuation from my last blog. I had three parties in one weekend, and the toll finally occurred on Sunday.

This hangover is not to be confused with the Bradley Cooper movies. (I know. Bradley Cooper totally stole my look. It’s fine, though. I will steal his underwear in retaliation … someday.) While hangovers are unnecessary and useless, nothing comedic happened.

And I was ok, aside from some amusing texts to my friend. For the sake of the blog, we will call her Lolita. It’s a play on her name, and makes her sound like a Russian spy. At least in my head.
Lolita consoled me for my drinking mistake, my Sunday mistake, and all the mistakes I have ever made in my life. It wasn’t quite priest-level confessional, but it was two friends making each other laugh. I cried how old I was and she told me that she snort laughed out loud on her crowded bus, which comforted me immensely.

I did learn a lesson, though. I always know when to say no. Nancy Reagan taught me well. (I also style my hair and clothing from her, in addition to her love of gay male hairdressers.) But, I really should have kept being Lt. McWinetown and not “upgraded” within the ranks of the drinking army.

The bigger lesson was: maybe three parties in 1 weekend is too much. I went from zero to hero too quickly. It is better to space out the friend love, and maybe just 1 party a weekend really is my speed due to my advanced age.

I am glad I tried the experiment. For having the experience and not missing the meaning. Or whatever Mark Twain once said. I don’t think I missed the meaning, though. Not this time.

Love,
Me

I Find Solace That I'm Not The Only Single One

So, I feel like we have gotten to know each other really well over the past 2 months of this blog. Well, you've learned all about me. I know nothing about you! (Way to keep secrets, dear "friends!")

One thing you may have noticed is that I am single. And that's OK.

It is. It's OK. I essentially feel that if I continue to be perennially single but feel truly happy, then it's OK. Don't get me wrong: I would LOVE to have woken up next to a guy this morning and every other morning that follows. But, if it doesn't work out, then I'd like to think I will continue to find happiness from within me.

I was at a house party last night. A lovely house party. And there were friends my age there. Some younger and some just a few years older. The good news (for me) was that several of them are single, too. I have gone to other parties and it's just couples, couples, couples. I get it. You put a ring on it. But it can really make me dread and then detest the party I'm at. Everyone is holding hands or staying right on top of their spouse. Why? I don't know. Maybe they're afraid she will run away (like Katie Holmes) if given a moment's freedom.

All I know is these parties make me feel like it is" Greg"the lone wolf" time. (And yes: I BLEEPING HATE NEW YEAR'S!!!)



In some ways, I do feel like I have a loner side. Which, to know me, is a bit shocking. On paper, I seem like an extrovert. But, I'm not. I don't like public speaking. I have huge insecurities of saying the wrong thing, and to make matters worse - I do that often. (Like the time when I made a new friend a ball game this week. She happened to be in the closest seat near me and we made small talk and laughed. I then told her she was brave bringing her three boys out to the game. She replied, "well ... one of them is my daughter.")



So, yeah, sometimes the loner track may not be a bad thing. I enjoy my quiet time. I also just enjoy literally quiet time. Some people don't know to appreciate quiet and their librarian lovers resent them until the day they die.

I, however, just enjoy being on my own sometimes. It took me a long time to get here. It didn't happen overnight.

I used to go crazy if I wasn't scheduled every night with some friend. I always had to have something going on. This weekend: I had 4 social obligations to go to and literally made me pause. "That's a lot," an internal warning system alerted. "I will have to drop one of them so I can have time for myself."

But - just as a test - and also because it's the end of the summer, I decided to try to do all 4 things. And I am on the last day and I am looking forward to today's party (where I will undoubtedly embarrass myself and/or say something hilarious and awkward.)

At last night's party, there were several beautiful women and men and like I said - they are single, too. We are all athletic and really fit. The men and women are straight. So, if this was the "Real World" House, guess who was the "diversity?" THIS GUY!

But, it made my head crazy. They're gorgeous and from what I have seen - also stable. They are funny, smart, have great jobs and are easy to talk with. People from the opposite sex should walking on hot coals to get to them. These people clearly are getting it on in some way with someone. They just can't be "single" single. So, I - of course! - asked everyone loudly, "WHO ARE YOU BLEEPING?" (For the sake of the blog, I used a naughtier word. But, I like to keep the blog pure and innocent. Wink!)



By the way, if game shows were really big on TV right now, I am sure there would be a show called, "Who Are You Bleeping?," and Regis Philbin would be hosting it. But, I digress.

My question made people undoubtedly blush, and the question had the force of a rubber ball. Someone lobbed it back to me. And, yes, dear readers, I can take the medicine I give out. I am a big girl and I can walk the walk. (I can seriously walk. Tyra Banks ain't so fierce to me!)

So, I told the recent story of someone I have had some dates with. It drew some sisterhood and laughs. Yet, people were still quiet about their lives. (Except one closer friend. She leaned in and whispered that she's got something on the horizon. Which is awesome!)

My point to all of this is: if you can't talk about it all, and laugh about it, then what's the point? Half the reason I will say yes to a date will be for the experience. At the very least, I think, I could learn something about the city, see a new restaurant or place, and have a memory. Dates allow us to become stronger, smarter and - in my case - funnier!

I am OK on my own, but I also don't want to be on my own forever necessarily. So, I take a chance and I go with it. But, don't be quiet about it. I understand some privacy is important, but roll the dice and talk about it, too. Sometimes the best way I have coped from a bad date was laughing about it with my friends.

Men come and go and even friends as you age can come and go, too. It is having the experience and then finding the humor that is really important. You have to be able to pick yourself up, have a chuckle and grab the dice again. It's Vegas, baby! You be on a winning streak, you may be on a losing streak. But, take a free drink from a surly waitress, have a party with your friends, and roll the dice.



Love,
Me

OkCupid Is Just OK ... Online Dating Is Even Worse

I have been online dating for years. Thanks, Al Gore! You created the Internet and then some idiot thought we should meet people from it.



Well, we probably shouldn't meet people from it. It's a bad idea.

For one, they usually don't look like their picture. Or their age. Or even their father's age.

For two, they act like a computer. They have no bleepin' logic or reason. They certainly don't act like people, that's for sure. Even less so, when you decide to meet them! They lack all kinds of social skills. And not because they are stereotypical computer nerds. No, those days are gone. The men out there are computer savvy yet normal looking. They may wear glasses, but they probably don't play with their Star Wars toys. Having said that, though, they simply just don't know how to talk like a normal person.  TALK TO ME! ASK ME A QUESTION!

Instead, it's like forcing things out of them as opposed to getting someone to just converse. I didn't realize online dating and asking questions would be like a criminal interrogation.

"WHERE ARE YOU FROM?"
"WHY DID YOU ROB THAT BANK?
"WHAT IS YOUR FAMILY LIKE?"

For three, they don't listen. They hear what they want to hear. When I said to one dater that I live far in Brooklyn and would prefer to meet somewhere half way between my house and his, my online counterpart suggested a bar down the street from his apartment. Evidently, one block from his house is "half way" from his place to Brooklyn. And guess what? IT ISN'T!




It's all very simple - shouldn't it be?

No - it isn't. In addition to worrying about my looks (as well as theirs), I have also have to worry about educating others. I have to be a master negotiator. I have to be a superior talk show host. I have to spin plates and juggle. Well, maybe not that, but you get my point.

In many ways, dating is exhausting (a topic I have discussed and will continue to discuss). But, doing it on the web is even more tiresome. You have to be a bigger detective. Is this person real? Safe? Attractive? Honest? Stable? Funny?

And guys on the web are stubborn. In person, everyone can be a bit more relatable. (God willing!) But, sitting miles apart and on a computer screen, guys can be even more distant. On purpose! They will not answer your latest email (even if they like you!) because they were "busy." It doesn't make sense, but online dating allows them to be distant and they embrace like a true man would.

"Work was C-razy," said one idiot.
"OMG, this week has been awful. Sup?," said one insane asylum resident.



And Sup is not a word! So, I am back to being an educator. Fantastic!

The truth is: I hate gay bars. I'm not a big fan. So, online dating is probably the more ideal option for me in this modern age. I will probably have to stick with it, if I continue on this "single, party of 1" path.

So, thanks Al Gore! Let's just hope I meet someone who talked better than you than the 2000 election. I really don't feel like another 8 years of Bush-speak.

Love,
Online Dater

I Am So Gay ... (but I'm just not THAT gay!)

I was out with some old friends two weeks ago. Doug and Robyn. (I would normally give them code names - for the sake of the blog, naturally. But, you simply cannot give Doug and Robyn code names. They ARE Doug and Robyn.)

I played tour guide and gave these out-of-towners their very first glimpse into Brooklyn. They saw Brooklyn Bowl, the Brooklyn Brewery, the Promenade, TWO bridges, and Park Slope. It was fantastic. It was the perfect day and evening.



Over dinner, we laughed and ate until our little stomachs got bigger. And we talked and talked. The thing I like most about Doug and Robyn is how real they are. You can really go there with them, you know? You can say the dirty joke and they are cool. You can talk about people and have honest conversations about yourself. Best of all - it's a judgment free zone. (God, I hope!)

The point of conversation, though, that really got me was how we talked about my blog and how I am gay. But I'm just not THAT gay.

This was their words. Greg is gay, but it's not like he's ever been THAT gay.

Yep, I'm a gay mother-lover, but I'm a normal dude, too. Sure, I like men, and shopping, and the occasional soap opera. (Seriously, the new Dallas was awesome this summer.) But, I like other things, too.

I drink whiskey for god's sakes!

I can still quote lines from the movies: Old School, Wedding Crashers, and Anchorman.

I dig James Bond flicks, and really any kind of spy crap.

One thing Doug and Robyn also referenced was: Baseball.

I actually like baseball. I don't watch it non-stop like they do. (The straights just LOVE their baseball.)
But, I love physically going to games and I actually even understand what goes on during them. Especially that seventh inning stretch. I LOVE me some relaxing time!



There is just something really fun about being in a real baseball park. I like the energy from the crowds. The music, the cheering, watching bases load and the visiting team get 3 runs at once. Being surrounded by cute and not so cute men. And to cap it all off, I even drank beer that night! Need proof?I mean - look what I ate!!!

I had 2 beers in ONE week. At the Mets' outfield, and at the Brooklyn Brewery just days before. Not only did I go to an actual brewery with Doug and Robyn - but I drank the beer, too. I was more of a Nurse Parker that day, but come Baseball Night: I drank my Bud Light like a champ.

I Am So Gay. I'm just not that gay!

Sure, I can drink beer! I just don't guzzle it. And also, hello? A burger and fries? Sure, they were from Shake Shack and I did have a Bud "Light," but I was still all man that night.

And I kinda like that about myself. I can be the best of both worlds.

Yep! I can.

I will wear my navy suede oxford shoes and my rolled cuff shortie shorts, with a nautical striped tee. But, don't try to mess with me on the subway! I got my shizz!



The thing is: I know who I am, but it's not ONLY who I am. There is so much more to me than ONE thing about me. And the same goes for you. You may be gay, you may be straight, but I bet you act like a normal person. Sex doesn't define you (and if it does - there is a shrink you should call).

In the end, we can realize that just because we're different - it doesn't mean we can't enjoy the same things. Because we can. But, I will still be sipping whiskey over a Bud. I'm not that straight!

Love,
Me

You Can't Always Get What You Want ... But You Get What You Need

I am sorry. Sorry I have been away so long.

Between work craziness, fundraising and baking for a charity, going to a Mets game, visiting family and general fatigue.... I just haven't felt up to writing. It's a tough life being a working, dating, running, family-loving man.

However, said recent family trip unlocked that elusive writing itch. Yay for blog time!

Nothing like surviving a family trip and then wanting to wanting to write about it.



The thing is: I do love my family. I was able to look at one family member and see that I shared the same nose. The very nose I don't like on myself - I saw on another, and liked it. It made me smile.

Other family members and old friends made me feel love that feels like a warm blanket. When you go home after some time has passed, it's comforting and yet odd. Everything can feel familiar and new at the same time.

Your parents will always want to do things for you that no one else in their right mind would want to. They will always love you and always say loving things. Usually... (wink!)

My father (in a quick, quiet moment) made me feel better about something that someone else made me feel bad about. Ironically, it was this very blog, and how I express myself so openly.

Only your family can see you for who you are at your base level and then cut you down at that very same base. And, in that very same day, only your family can pick you right back up again.

The lesson my father taught me, though is: you can't please everyone.

I liked it. I can't please everyone. It's a bit freeing. Screw the haters. I will take the lovers!

I will have my critics. I will have fans. (Forty-nine fans on Facebook as of this writing!!! Who wants to be number fifty??? Like I Am So Gay on Facebook today!!!)

SHAMELESS PLUG!!!!



Yet, it's hard to soak up the fact that not everyone can be happy by the things that I do. I am - despite all of the rumors on the gossip magazines - a good person. I didn't break up Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston. I didn't even break up Robert Pattinson and Kristen Stewart. I mean ... I did introduce her to that director and I did buy her a case of wine... but that is NOT my fault.



No, despite all the haters, I actually do good things. And I am pretty much always nice to people. So, what the hell? Why isn't what I do enough? Why is it NEVER enough? You can do a nice thing, but you better do another 10 minutes later, and another, and another. You must constantly go out of your way, and perform above and beyond. And yet - you still won't make everyone happy.

Because some people just aren't happy. And no matter what happens - they will never be happy. And I feel sorry for those people who get something but want something more.

Just enjoy the thing you have today. Bask in it. Enjoy the moment. And don't stress about the next.

Yep. You can't please everyone. And I am done trying.
But, thanks to Mick Jagger, I will get what I need.