Just Say It.

I wonder about the things we don't say.

I wonder about the things we don't tell each other - right then and there. Right in the moment.

When you let that moment go by - that lost opportunity - is there any way to ever get them back?

In the case of my grandmother, there never will be.

Grandma, as she will forever be known in my heart, was beautiful. Inside and out. I got to know her when she was truly great. I was the youngest of 14 grandchildren in her life, and a few years after me, she had already become a great grandmother. She was retired, settled down, and was just perfect for the Grandma role. She played the part well.

Those 14 years I spent with her were the really great years, in my book. The dramas in her life had mostly subsided or maybe I was just ignorant to any current dramas. Regardless, the years I had were just a dream.

She could say anything to me really and I would go along with it. I would say no to my parents, but if Grandma asked, well . . . "OK, Grandma!" (That would drive my Dad nuts.) Grandma just asked nicely. It was her voice. How could you say no to someone like her?

She taught me to draw and I like to think that she gave me that very first spark of creativity. She used to draw figures of women and she would sketch clothes. Is it a surprise to anyone that I somehow manage to work in fashion in New York?

I am crying as I think of this. I like to think that she would be proud of me. Lord knows, I was not a great art student (though I sure did try for years) but deep in my very soul, I wonder if she had dreamt of being in the arts, especially fashion. So, I like to think that in some small way that she is looking down on me during this period in my life.

This is all in my head, by the way. I could be completely wrong. This is the perspective of childhood memories and - in the end - it's all I have of her.

Grandma made the best pancakes - ever. No recipe, no measurements. Just a little of this and a little of that. My mother has tried to replicate it but, you see - she married into the family. It's not in her DNA. Her mom used Bisquick. (The audience collectively groans.)

So, you can't blame Mom for not getting it just right. As the years have passed, it seems closer and closer to being like Grandma's but, it's doubtful it could ever be exactly the same. To Mom's credit, she definitely perfected the Chicken and Dumpling recipe, so we really have to pick our battles. The Chicken and Dumplings that my Mom makes are a must!

Grandma, if she knew you were coming over, would have pudding in the fridge. I can't help but think of her whenever I see butterscotch pudding. It's sad that its not the most popular flavor of pudding on menus. It's clearly the best.

She used to have glass containers on her counters. In one of them, were pink mints. I believe the brand was called Canada Mints. The flavor: Wintergreen. It was the treat for the road before Dad took us back home.

Clearly, my stomach and memories of Grandma go hand in hand. I am pretty sure it's true for everyone.

I can't make the Chicken and Dumplings. I can't make the pancakes. I can't draw very well. But I can remember her.

I can still remember her home, some of her furniture, as well as the entire layout of the first floor of her Kelly Green home. It was a simple home and because she was special, her home was special to me.

One of my last memories of her is one of the most profound. It happened to be the time in my life when I knew I was probably gay or seriously questioning it more and more.

You have to remember the time. It was around 1992. People just didn't talk about it like they do today. It just wasn't discussed. It was supposed to be hidden. A major gay character on TV was not the norm. I don't think there was even a gay guest star on a very special episode of Blossom. Usually, if they were on TV, it wasn't in a good way. They had AIDS and were dying.

Even the actors on TV weren't out. George Takei was light years away from telling us that not only was he gay - but also very, very funny. Thank GOD times have changed, right?

Anyways, I think Grandma got the sense that something was weighing me down. Always the cool customer with me, she was super casual about it. We were in her living room. She was in Grandpa's gold recliner and I was on the big printed couch. (Grandpa had passed away a few years before but, in my book, that was still his chair.)

She brought up an old story about my cousin Ricky, when he was just a teenager (By 1992. Rick - as he is now known to people - was already married, in the Navy, and living in Hawaii. Side note: It is coincidental that the actor from Silver Spoons, Rick Schroder, and my cousin Rick chose both to drop Ricky in favor of Rick. Side, side note: I still think of my cousin as Ricky and still say Ricky.)

Now, Ricky was the only other male cousin we had around back then. My Uncle Buster had 5 girls. And my Aunt Joyce and her 6 kids were not close to my family. So, on this one side of my family: I had 5 older girl cousins and my sister. Man, was I screwed!

Grandma might have sensed whatever was bothering was a male problem, like how Ricky had trouble with some neighbor kids. I don't remember the whole tale. The gist was: the other guys in the neighborhood were trouble. I think Ricky (yep, still calling him Ricky) eventually told Grandma the problem and he may have even solved it on his own. What was important, especially to Grandma, was that he came to her and they talked it out.

She was opening the door for me to do the same. God, I wanted to! I wanted to scream out right there. I held the cushions of the couch tightly, not sure what to do. I wanted to blurt out, "I think I like this guy. What should I do?" I wanted to ask her a bajillion questions. But, I thought she wouldn't understand. Maybe I would get in trouble. And so, I was polite and basically said something like a thank you. "OK, Grandma. I will."

I never did. She died before I could ever tell her. It was at least another two or three years before I felt I could tell anyone my secret. It was almost a decade before I could tell my parents "I Am So Gay." (wink!)

I know on some level she knew. At the very least, she knew something was bothering me and I needed to talk it out, so to speak. To this day, it makes me sad when someone says they don't feel they can be themselves due to a certain situation or person. As a kid, I was always worrying about being myself.

If I say this . . .

If I like that . . .

But, I grew up. I found the confidence to find myself and live my life.

It's the never knowing about the conversation with Grandma, though, that is hard to think about. I don't like the never knowing. I am like my mother in the sense that I ask too many questions. We both have to know everything. (Mom  - if you are reading - this is a bad quality of ours, so cut it out! And I will, too.)

I know that I should move on from this "never knowing" feeling, Today, I live a life, where I say what I am always thinking and what I am always feeling. I have always done that since I came out. It was my own secret little pledge that no one else knew - until now. I had spent my early youth not saying what I thought and I told myself to never do that again. Don't lose out on another opportunity, like the one with Grandma.

So, I can't help but wonder just this last time . . . what would she have said? What would I have said? How would that conversation have gone down? I like to think it would have been the most special and important talk that we ever could have. And - no matter what - that talk we did share was special. It set me on my path to being the open person I was meant to become. 

Most importantly, I also would like to think that she would have loved me no matter what.

In the end, I am sure of that. She will always in my heart love me - just for me. 

My Beauty Regimen ... Don't Laugh!

It's true. I am glamorous.

It takes work. So much work, in fact, that I have a beauty regimen.

As a style icon (to myself only), I find it invaluable to ensure I look my absolute best at all times. So, I thought it would be helpful to no one if I composed a little list of the top ten things we all should be doing to ensure we look our absolute best.

1. Big hair. The bigger, the better. Go all Texas if you have to. At a formal occasion, the person with the most volume in their 'do, always gets that extra attention from a gentleman. If you don't believe me, just drool over this picture from me in high school.



What a ladies man!

And look how happy and alert I am!

So, I think I proved my point.

When in doubt, go big!












2. Great skin. Now, this just doesn't happen overnight.

You gotta work at it. You have to hydrate. And I am not talking about water.

When people ask me what is my biggest secret to looking so  young, I always say the same response. "The alcohol in my body has preserved me for years to come."

And it's true. And of course, water is great, too.

Now, my second biggest secret to great skin is: the home facial. Any over the store counter brand will do. The picture on the right is a muddy mask thing from Kiehl's that I love. And when your face is so dry and the stuff is just cracking and you can barely move your mouth, it's ready to wash off with a nice, cold wash cloth. 

The other thing I like to do every other month is to get a real facial by real professionals. And when I say professionals - I mean: students. That's right! I go to facial academies all over New York, where (for the bargain price of roughly $50) you can submit yourself to the least relaxing hour of your life.

When I got the extractions done on my T-Zone (ugh, the blackheads on my nose!) I thought the student was going to crush my eyes in as she put her entire palm of her hand on my upper face while she was working on my nose. Who cares if your eyes have trouble opening again? You look great!

3. Moisturize. Ain't nothing worse than seeing dry elbows on a person. Grab a bottle of your favorite Bath and Body Works body lotion and go to town. If you want to use a cheaper or more expensive brand, it's all a preference. But, whatever you do, don't go cheap on the application. Use generously and often. Basically, just sleep in a tub of aloe.

4. SPF. Just trust what every TV doctor has told you. Don't listen to anyone from the Jersey Shore cast. If your dream is to grow up and be Snooki or that guy who went to rehab, by all means, chase the rainbow, my friend. Otherwise ... lube up come sun time.

5. Cut costs whenever possible - do it at home! Just like my home facial. It's more fun and you learn something, too.

Cut your own hair? Sure!
Color your own hair? You're worth it, L'oreal!
Clip your own nails? Of course!
Wax your own legs? Easy!

Why pay someone else when you can do it incorrectly and more painfully? No pain, no gain, I always say. Just think of the gain to your savings account while you are bleeding all over your bathroom floor. It will plaster a smile on your face like you have never seen!

6. When in doubt, go generic. Those name brand products are just a waste. I love my Top Care shaving foam more than life itself. Sure, between my disposable razor and a $1.29 large can of foam, I will permanently have a chin of rough stubble. But, isn't stubble in? I know beards are - and that trend could end now, thank you!

I'm getting off topic. But, seriously, spend a lot on shampoo and no one notices. Spend a lot on your shoes and people will envy you for decades!

7. Floss. Good god, please floss! This is more for you than it is for me. I already floss. But you!  Seriously, sitting across from you in this meeting and seeing your spinach is killing me. Literally. Killing. Me.

8. Cologne. I'm a big proponent of over spraying. Just go nuts. Pretend you bought a never ending bottle. "Irish Shower" yourself to a new you! Because it's better people remember a good smell than a bad smell. And if you didn't do laundry on that t-shirt and it's the third time this week you're wearing it - and it's July - spray on some body spray! Spray on, playa'!

(The caveat here is: you bought a good brand that goes with your skin. If you're wearing the Abercrombie & Fitch cologne - well, all of humanity is now doomed because of you. So, maybe don't over spray. Just sayin.')

9. Shower Daily. Am I the only who does this if I am going out of the house? Just askin' here. Maybe my mother taught me right? But, if you're staying home, stink it up. If you're introducing yourself to the public, then give us something to work with. Smell good. Look good. Win=win!

And my 10th and final biggest beauty regimen tip is the most important:

10. Hair Removal Systems. Hair should be on your head. Yep, that's the only place. You don't need it anymore. Really. If you think about, it's just decoration up there. When we were less evolved, say 60 years ago and living in caves, we needed hair. It kept us warm. But, now we have heat and airplanes to take us to Miami whenever we need to.

So, whatever your hair growth issue is: take care of it.

We should all feel very passionate on this subject. Our political leaders should pass national and local laws.

And, as you age, hair appears in more places than it did since puberty. It's nature's never-ending joke.

  "You're aging, hahaha! Sincerely, Nature."

So, Nature sent us the note and you need to have multiple hair removal systems on hand. You will never look better.

OK - folks! That's it. We're all set to venture on the town looking, smelling, and feeling great. Now, if only I can get people to stop wearing Crocs, we'd be all set!

Date Night!!! (with myself) .... so, yeah, judge away, Judgey McJudgerson

That's right. You heard it correctly. I am going on a date ... with myself.

I've written about this concept once before - how I had spent the better half of my birthday alone and had an awesome day. All in the span of 24 hours, I went to see the Book of Mormon (a show I dreamt of seeing), I got a facial, I shopped, I got an awesome cocktail and seafood lunch, and I saw the Guggenheim (another place I dreamt of seeing.) Basically, I rocked that day. I rocked it real good.

And I do that often. And I see nothing wrong with it.

Yet, when you tell people that you are squirreling away some fun time all on your own, some people look at you with the "oh, that's just sad" face. In fact, today I was actually told, "Oh, that's just sad."

Now, I was on a literal date with another guy when I was asked what my weekend plans were. I was on a date. It showed (at least to me) that not only can I get dates, but I also enjoy them people besides myself.

I had to be honest, though. "I'm having a fun date night with myself!,"I said, with all the excitement of a child on Christmas.

His head tilted. Never a good sign.

I immediately remedied the situation with what I thought was a gangbusters response. "Well, I got this great deal online. I got a ticket to the new Broadway show The Big Knife. It has Bobby Cannavale. You know, that cute guy from Boardwalk Empire? He's been in a bunch of stuff. I think he was Will's boyfriend on Will & Grace. Anyways, it's about Old Hollywood and seems fun, plus it came with a free wine and cheese plate and it was only $39."

Well, his response seemed to be the same. "All by yourself? Oh, that's sad."

He didn't get. He just didn't get it.

I could have been speaking kindergarten level English (which is basically the only kind of English I am able to speak) and he still wouldn't have been able to wrap his brain around the idea of doing something fun alone.

Now, I am no scientist. (It's the truth. I never got the science degree, nor the math degree, nor the I make a lot of money someday degree.) But, I think there has to be some kind of scientific study that shows the benefit of doing something alone.

I am not recommending we all move away from civilization and become loners in the Kentucky wilderness. (Just think of all the whiskey!) But, I do think - from time to time - it's good for people to experience doing things on your own.

I am a long distance runner. I run half marathons. Let me tell you: that 13.1 race is ALL you. It's mental. It's a game. It's a journey. And all the training you did and knowledge you have are there for you to remember but, in the end, it's your two feet and your determination that get you over the finish line. There may be people cheering for you. There may be a friend running with you. But, it's still you doing the one foot in front of the other thing and no one else. No matter how fast you run, no one can run it for you. You're the one crossing that finish line. And it's awesome when you finish - because YOU DID IT.

I think it's important to do things all on your own. It's confidence building. It's a great learning experience.

I learned how to do so much in life because I moved to NYC without knowing a soul. It was sink or swim. How do I get to work? Well, if you think someone is going to explain the subway to you - I have some news: they won't. You're on your own and you figure it out. (Although my cousin Mary and Patty will attest to: I still don't know and don't want to know how to hang things on a wall. They end up crooked or with extra holes in the wall. So, I give up on that one thing. Someone else can do that. I'll bake us some cookies instead.)

I also find that when I am alone, I make friends. I have a face that people just find friendly. Do you agree?

Yes?

Oh - you're just saying that because I have wine.

(Well, the wine does help everyone involved to be more friendly.)

But, I cannot tell you how often I am alone and people just come up to me and start talking.

- Waiting in line (Any line. Anywhere, really).

- At the dentist's office, but only at the dentist's office. For some reason - not at the doctor's office. Maybe because everyone is sick. I'm not sure.

- On planes. On buses. On trains. Sometimes, I would just like to sleep, but OK, fine - let's talk about your job and how you hate it. I guess I am cheaper than your shrink.

My point - and I have one - is: there is nothing "sad face" about me going by myself to see a Broadway show that sounded decent. I guess people who are married or are in a long term contract with their cell phone provider can't understand this concept. Maybe because they are legally obligated to follow all rules and attend social things with a plus one.

I've never played by that rule. I'm a rebel.

I can go it alone. And I can have a great time.

So, cheers to me, I say. I'm going to have my wine and cheese plate tomorrow and watch a celeb do some acting stuff. Giddy up, Bobby Cannavale!

And if you want to judge Bobby and the night I have planned, by all means: go ahead. It just means more wine and cheese for me.

Being Strong and Getting There

I don't remember when I first started championing the little guy, but I didn't realize I was doing such a thing until I was 17 years old. I went away for a school weekend leadership retreat thing and there were all kinds of surprises and activities. One of the surprises was that our families wrote us all notes. Of course, they were the typical mushy kind of letters. "We're so proud" kind of letters.

The truly surprising one was from my grandmother on my mom's side. She mentioned how I always argued for the little guy. She was proud I guess that for some inexplicable reason I always defended the other point of view. In my head, I always was just saying my point of view. The right point of view, might I add. But, she was right. In an argument, I will usually defend the person who is either incapable of defending themselves or ill equipped.

We should be for welfare. We should be for health care for everyone. We should be for charity. We should be for those things which can help those who need help. And yes, there will be those who take advantage of these things, but as I have gotten older, I have come to notice there have been those who are very fortunate who also take advantage of perks and tax shelters, and free tickets to shows or sporting events, etc. and etc.

My point (and I do have one) is: I argue for those less fortunate because I always considered myself the little guy. I am gay - and growing up when I did - that wasn't necessarily a good thing. I was bullied and teased and taunted and made fun of my entire young life.

I have big ears, so as a child, I was called Dumbo. ( I didn't get the joke. I had seen the movie, but I thought they were calling me fat, which was odd since I was an extremely skinny child.)

I was evidently gay at a very young to most kids except myself. So, the kids in the 7th grade called me, "Grimace." (Again, I didn't and actually STILL don't get the joke. And again, Grimace is kind of a round shaped fella, so should I take it as a sign that maybe everyone did think I was fat?) It was eventually explained to me to stop being happy when the 7th graders came over to high five me and say Grimace.

In high school, L.D. Platt used to pull on the tab on the back of my oxford shirt every day in Freshman Algebra class until one day I cut them all off - much to my mother's complaint. I was tired of being yanked daily, but more importantly, I was tired of Miss Duquette thinking I had epilepsy.

In Study Hall Freshman year, George Sotirion, Marco Milbier, and some other guy picked on me one day so badly that I put my head down on my desk and sobbed loudly. The teacher did nothing - way to go, Teach! And then the kids pitied me. I think they felt a little ashamed. Bobby Jo Murray told them off, I think. But, it didn't really change how they felt or what happened. I wasn't cool and I was the kid who cried in class.

There weren't all bad times. Ned Sullivan, my neighbor and fellow student at St. Matthew School, was two years older than me. He was taller and lanky and took the bus with my sister and I. We all waited at the bus stop every morning. On one particular day, Ned was calling me names, like he did often, and I just lost it. My older sister didn't stick up for me - no surprise there - and I was sick of his crap. So, I wailed on him.

I was a nerd who liked to take all his books home with him. (Especially Social Studies! To this day, I still love Social Studies, and world cultures and history. All of it is awesome, and might I add, they usually are the heavy books!) And a book bag with all these heavy books had made my right arm and shoulder quite strong. Plus, he didn't know what was coming and I was (and still am) a quick attack. I dropped my book bag off my shoulder and swung it right across his face and gave him a nice bloody nose.

Mrs. Sullivan, his mother, gave me lots of finger pointing and yelling. I, however, do not remember ever being punished for it. I was so proud. My sister, on the other hand, told me to shut up when I tried to be happy about it. To hell with her!

I learned a lesson that day. If you speak up or stand up, things may change. Ned never bothered me again. And I always kept a full back pack, just in case.

It wasn't and still isn't an easy lesson to follow. There were lots of days where I was still picked on. Even in college.

My first group of roommates Freshman year once left our dorm room and stacked all the chairs from the study lounge in front of it. They also wrote some unkind things about me and where my father worked on the dry erase board. They didn't like me and they wanted their friend from the football team to be their roommate instead. They had all met weeks before school started, so I was doomed before they met me. Then they met me and they still didn't like me. I threw the chairs down the hallway. Someone else could pick them up. I made a lot of noise. And a few days later, I was out of there. But, it wasn't a fun time.

I disclose all this rather personal stuff because I do think it's helpful. I think there is something to learn by sharing these thoughts and experiences.

And with that spirit, I am making a list:

1. Fuck 'em! (I know - I don't like to curse on this blog usually, but it's the best word for the job.)  If you meet a jerk in life, don't let them stop you from being you or doing what you want to do. It has been the overarching theme of my life. I have lived my life - my way - and anyone else can be damned. My life isn't necessarily the most amazing, but it's been mine and no one else's. And I wouldn't have it any other way. So, fuck 'em!

2. Be you. Yes, your humor may be quirky, you may smell, and you may believe that the moon god Zorba is the savior for us all. Who cares? As long as you are being yourself, then it is truthful. Being true to yourself and how you think and believe is all that matters in life. It is the one thing in life we can afford. I cannot stand people who aren't true to themselves and just follow along. I definitely stand out at times in certain social circles and sometimes I am embarrassed afterwards. But, I have only regretted the times I didn't say what I knew in my heart to be true. And with that - the Zorba religion thing is really expensive, so you've been warned.

3. Speak Loudly and Carry a Big Stick. I don't mean a book bag full of heavy 6th grade reading material. I mean, self confidence. Believe in yourself. Believe in your heart. You will find that a confident voice directly confronting someone who is a negative force to you will have some impact on the situation. I don't go after just any situation. To be honest, I still try to avoid the situations where people are just saying nasty or rude things just to get a rise out of me. I don't understand why people say things that they know will just make the other person uncomfortable. Those things are not worth my time or their time either for that matter. But, if someone comes after me directly, you better believe I've learned to stand up for myself.

These small things are BIG things. They aren't easy. I had to learn this over many years. It didn't come naturally to me. My parents raised me to be far too polite. FAR too polite. I didn't really have someone who did the standing up for me kind of thing. I learned over time that the only person in my life who was going to be standing up and speaking out was going to have to be me. And sometimes in life you just can't be the "nice" guy. The "nice" guy can get his oxford shirt yanked.

I'm not saying you do the yanking. I'm saying you be you. Speak up. Say when something isn't ok. I don't like the way you are talking to me. I don't like the way you are treating me. It's not right. It's not good.

Stand up for the little guy. Stand up for yourself.

I Like 'Em Older

I like 'em older, I must confess. When I look back, I always have. The older, the more attractive to me.

I must be from another time; that I belong in another decade. I miss the 1920s. I miss the 1950s. I have always felt a little lost in modern times.

Don't get me wrong. I do love my iPhone. I do love my coffee maker. I do love air conditioning.

In the end, though, I have such a longing for the older times and I seem to relate a little bit more to them. I used to love listening to my Grandma tell me stories about "downtown" or someone she knew and a party she went to at a house on Bay Street (as if I knew where Bay Street was exactly.) She told me about working downtown at the big department store. It all sounded like a glamorous era, even if it surely wasn't. Times were probably tough, but there was such a golden angle to it. It just sounded nicer than it is now. I could almost picture myself right there with her.

So, it makes sense at least to me why I am simply drawn to those that are older. The older, the better.

Well, not too much older. Just maybe 50 years older than me, or maybe more.

At the very least, I am looking for something before the LBJ era.

That's how I have always felt about older ... things. Yes, things. What did you think I was talking about?

Some people may call them antiques. That word sounds kind of sad to me, though. I just like to think of them as older things. Things with history. Things that tell more of a story than you or I could tell.

For example, there is something exciting for me about a box of old postcards at a flea market. And I have had that feeling since I was a teenager.

The only box most teenage boys would get excited about would be a box of old Playboys. But I was different - for many reasons, one could say. For one, I knew as a teen that I would never, ever, ever like Playboy. My apologies to Hugh Hefner.

But, I just love that you can look at history in such a small way. You're looking at the past and it's right now. They have old stamps and dates. People even wrote stuff on the back. And often, it's pictures of places lost long ago. Hotels that are now demolished. Amusement parks that were bought or abandoned. Lakes that lost their luster. But not then. Then, they were beautiful and something to see and write about.

For about a year now, I have been looking for an old telephone. It has to be black. It has to be rotary. I'd love an old early 1900s telephone. You know the kind? The kind with just the ear piece and has a stand.  I would settle for a 1950s era telephone that has a hand set that is so heavy you have to weight train before deciding to use the phone.

The interesting side note to all of this: I don't even have a land line. I have a cell phone. I want the old telephone because I like old things.

The other interesting side note: I will probably buy both kinds of phones because I won't be content with just the one. I want both kinds.

It's strange about me why I like 'em older. But, don't judge. It is because I love the past.

I love Downton Abbey. It's awesome. And no one can ever say any different. Period.

I love biographies and memoirs of all kinds from Grover Cleveland (yep, I read it cover to cover) to Rob Lowe (because he is beautiful). Oh, Rob Lowe. I couldn't resist you.

I love CBS Sunday Morning. In today's episode alone, I learned about former president Ulysses S.  Grant, and a luxury liner from the 1950s called the S.S. United States, as well the Volkswagen Beetle.  (Side note: some friends either love the show or mercilessly make fun of me because I allegedly am a 90 year old man in my TV choices. It should be noted that I have watched Murder, She Wrote, Father Dowling Mysteries, as well as the occasional Perry Mason TV movies, so these friends have some valid talking points.)

I remember stars from old movies and get excited when I see them on something I have never seen. If I see Ernest Borgnine guest star on a TV show, I will scream out his name as if I just solved the Scooby Doo mystery. "Ernest Borgnine!!!," I will scream to no one. Old Hollywood and all of its starts are just the coolest to me.

I love black and white photos.

I love old cocktail glasses. Did people really drink such little amounts of alcohol back then?

I love Miami Beach hotel architecture, Monaco Grand Prix posters, and the Chrysler building.

I make my friends in DC take me to at least one memorial when I visit. The Jefferson is my favorite.

I love hard cover books, and anyone who says a Kindle is better is wrong. Period. Hold a book, feel the paper. See the art work. The Great Gatsby cover is just as memorable as the words on the page.

I love Louis Armstrong and his song, "We Have All the Time in the World."

When I travel to a new city, I like to buy post cards that say "Greetings From ..." whatever city it is I am in. It's both kitschy and classic.

And lastly, when I do travel, I usually go somewhere historical and/or educational. I was in Bermuda last month and I saw two former British forts.

I long for history and I hope I leave a little behind. Ironically, I am writing on a laptop and posting this to the internet, where it can never be touched or maybe later found at a flea market as part of someone's old leather bound journal.

The irony is especially biting because I desperately want an old style black typewriter. It shouldn't be one of those 1960s color ones that comes in its own case. Those are awful. This should be like the ones old reporters or secretaries used in a screwball comedy with Katharine Hepburn.

So, see - I am a little bit modern. And I do like newer things.

But, I still like 'em older.

Cancelling Your Relationship and Renting A New BF

Sometimes, couples last forever. Like George and Barbara Bush. Silly example, but true. There they are: up in Maine, or maybe down in Texas - who knows? The fact remains, though: they are still together and have been forever.

And some couples take awhile to get there. Ronald Reagan had a wife before Nancy. Good ol' Barbara Streisand had been all around Hollywood before going down the altar later in life to the dashing James Brolin. Even Brad Pitt had multiple (and multiple) pit stops along the highway of love until he landed at the destination known as Brangelina.

(Side note: it's a gross name, and I am totally Team Aniston.)

(Side, side note: did you hear the news that Mike Tyson was on his way to hookup with Robin Givens - his then ex-wife - only to discover she was in bed with Brad Pitt at that exact same moment? That's the kind of low brow, celebrity gossip that is hilarious and awesome and should always and yet never be talked about endlessly.)

I digress: some couples last. And some don't.

Sorry, Justin and Cameron. Sorry, Ben and J-Lo. Sorry, Taylor Swift and whoever you're using this week.

Some couples are for a limited time only. Expiration Relationships, if you will.

That's how it was . . . with me and Netflix.

Netflix had been so amazing. So dependable. So sweet.

He wears red. I love the color red.

He was on time. Every time he said he would be, there he was.

It was all so easy.

I would even brag to friends how amazing it all was. I would want something, and within a day or 2, I had it. Hours of entertainment. Because of Netflix, I was able to catch up on Lost, just in time to watch Season 3 and finally know what everyone at work had been obsessed over.

That was all in the beginning stage. But, oh... how times changed...

By last summer, clearly the relationship had been taken for granted. He started asking for more of me and not in the good ways. It was always the same with him: he needed more cash.

"Why do you need more money? Are you strapped? Did something happen at the office?," I asked. Netflix wouldn't answer entirely. Something about postal fees increasing, but his excuses seemed like ploys. He seemed shifty, uneasy with the relationship, about what we had started together.  The worst part was that he wasn't able to perform like he used to.

His service had been getting slower. Sometimes, I only saw him once a week because he would be delayed, even though his office was just over in Queens.

I stopped trusting him and I cancelled my mailing relationship with him. We were now limited to only streaming.

He should have taken it as a sign. I mean... I had Captain America on my DVD queue for months before I finally got to see it. Captain America? Are you kidding me? I used to be able to see those movies when they were released right away, but now I had to wait... and wait. Waiting a "very long wait" was not what I had hoped for when we had started out.

Well, I was done waiting. I was done with all of it. But, I waited to make my move. I wasn't ready yet to be on my own. In a way, I still needed Netflix. It was still comforting to come home at night and know he was there, even if it was only streaming videos. It was something and, for the time, it was enough.

Over the Christmas holiday, though, something had changed. I started hearing of Amazon Prime. I had shopped on Amazon. It's great. And what? I can get a year of free shipping and all the same movies and TV that Netflix has? Well, clearly this was a potential suitor who meant business. I was interested.

In the end, I made my decision. But what I didn't realize, until the very day it happened, would be how hurtful my timing would be. How insensitive. I never thought of myself as a Brad Pitt, but in the end, I did manage to be so callous.

I ended my nearly 6 year relationship with Netflix ... only 3 days before Valentine's Day.

It was thoughtless on my part. I had been so caught up with making sure my decision didn't affect the next month's billing cycle that I didn't realize what I had done.

Netflix took it with dignity. He didn't ask any questions. He didn't prompt me with any attempt to stop me from my mouse clicking ways. He let me make the decision and he took the classy way out. He was the bigger person here clearly.

Later that evening, he simply wrote an email stating the below:

Your Plan Cancellation Dear Gregory, As you requested, we've cancelled your Unlimited Streaming plan. This change will be effective 02/27/2013.

I appreciated the clean break he allowed us to have. My only regret was how I had let it drag on. I had been unhappy for awhile and I waited to find something better.

It's a life lesson I am taking on into the new relationship with Amazon Prime. If this whole "free shipping fast while giving me lots of movies and TV to watch" doesn't work out, maybe I will go back to Netflix. Maybe I won't. All I know is: in the next relationship, I won't settle. When I order a movie, I know I will get it or I will move on. I expect more.

And I have Netflix to thank for that.

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