Every Sunday morning, I call my parents. It is our agreed upon time to talk once a week. They can call me during the week, but only if it's something serious. This rule was lovingly enacted to prevent my mother from calling me during the week to ask if I still used Degree deodorant - "because it's on sale this week." (This is just an example. Other examples include: "what was your friend's name who went to that school in Boston?" and "when do you come home again?")
I know. I'm cursed with terribly loving parents. Life is rough.
The Sunday chats, as they are known, have grown increasingly important over the years. Some weeks, I leave more concerned about my parents' fate than ever before. (They clearly need a babysitter over there.) Some weeks, I leave more refreshed and feel more loved than I ever have before.
The Sunday chats are what you could call a 'good with the bad' kind of thing. For example, it depends on how we all slept the night before. It could be real rough if one of us gets on the phone before he has his coffee (Ahem, me. Ahem, Dad.) It could also be less than fun if someone is sick, feels a sickness coming on, or saw someone at work sneeze. But, having said that, it can also be totally funny when the jokes get cracking. (This week's best joke: My mother was worried about me taking a sightseeing bike tour, saying I hadn't been on a bike in quite some time. I asked her is she had ever heard the saying, 'it's like riding a bicycle," much to my mother's quiet laugh. I know what you're thinking. The jokes get pretty wild!)
These chats started some time around when I had moved to the Washington D.C. area back in 2002. They would happen in frequently as I worked in retail and had a constantly changing work schedule. Eventually, in 2006, I found office work in New York and the chats found their regular home on Sunday mornings. This would be the time my parents where news would be shared, concerns over each other voiced, and always ending with the same question: "So, what are you doing today?"
After at least 7 years of steady chats, I started to reflect upon them. I wish I had recorded some of them. I wish I recorded all of them. It's a diary entry in the purest form: simple dialogue.
My parents are, in a sense, my friends. They know most things about me (mostly because I am a terrible liar.) They know my fears, they know my goals and they know my passions - all because I share them. Unabashedly.
Often, though, the calls digress into their petulant son pushing them to change. A few years back, I won the battle for one of them to get a debit card, which Mom now loves. ("It's saved me so much because I don't have to ordering new checks!," Mom recently said.) Granted, they only got the Debit card/ATM card because they were going to Ireland and I told them they wouldn't have to get traveler's checks. ATMs would give them cash at the daily exchange rate. And they wouldn't have to worry about losing any checks. My logic made sense, I guess. (Greg - 1. Parents - 8,954)
Sometimes, I feel like the chats have a reverse effect that way. The child parents the parent. Not in any real sense, but there have been times where I have definitely enlightened them. Dad will tell me about his dinner the night before and I will stress the importance of adding green vegetables to his plate. There's always a lot of soups and potatoes in these stories. (Dad loves to tell me about when he eats out for dinner. The man likes a restaurant and likes to talk about it. Is that so wrong?)
In a way, I am grateful to have this kind of relationship with the two folks who raised me. It's more conversational and easy. I feel I have truly gotten to know my parents as the people they are, rather than the people I think they are. Some of my friends don't have this kind of relationship with their parents and it makes me feel sad. To be my age and not have an open dialogue with my parents would feel like a missed opportunity.
I still regard them as my parents. I don't call up and say,"Hey Bruce, how's it hanging?" (Mostly because I will never use the expression "how's it hanging" ever in my life time.) Instead, these chats just show how natural they truly are. It always felt wrong to me when parents break down the difference between child and parent. There's a reason why someone is the adult. The "cool" parents when you are young weren't necessarily "good" parents. I don't remember ever really respecting those who let their kids drink "because they were going to do it any way."We had alcoholics in my family so I knew my parents were only trying to protect me. They were the adults in the situation.
Even though we are now all adults, there are things I still learn from them and will continue to do. And, like I said, it's reciprocal. What started as an obligation for a kid in his early 20s to call home and check in turned into a fun and weekly event. I still limit it to once a week. Why ruin a good thing? Besides, Mom now has email to ask me if I still use Degree deodorant.
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Dance, Monkey! Dance!
Some days, it's hard to be perky.
Some days, it's hard to be the person others want you to be.
On those occasions, you just want to throw on the baggiest of tee shirts and your ill-fitting sweatpants and call it a day. But, you can't. Because you need a job. And because it's summer right now. (They don't call 'em sweatpants for nothing!)
So, you force a smile and you put a pep in your step. And it sucks royally.
But, you manage. Because that's what you are supposed to do.
I don't, as a general rule, like to do any of that. I usually am a "say what you feel" type. And it often gets me and my big mouth in trouble. (Look for my new book out this Fall: How to Lose Friends and Alienate People . . . Part Three.)
But, I find that I am able to be genuinely happy a lot of the time because I am always honest with my feelings and what I say. I often don't censor or filter, unless needed. I strive to never say anything hurtful, but if asked how I'm feeling I don't lie and say, "GREAT!"
Having said all of this, I still have those days where I wish I could curl into a big blanket that provides the warmest of hugs. I sincerely think if everyone had a pair of strong arms at home that gave the world's best hugs, there would be less crime, wars, drugs, plagues, and overall frowny faces. People would just be happier with a hug.
It's why we sleep in beds. All that bedding. Multiple pillows. It's a giant, foamy, mattressy hug. "Mattressy" being a word and all.
Unlike my other blog posts, this would be the time where I say I digress and "but my point is."
Today, though, I am not sure I have a point. Just sharing my thoughts. We all gotta dance.
She Works Hard for the Money, said Donna Summer. So hard for it, honey. And that is what brings me to title of this post: "Dance, Monkey! Dance!" Ms. Summer may have the point, after all. People work hard. People trudge along and do errands. And tasks. And meetings. And appointments. And responsibilities. And it's all just . . .
While we don't have a gun pointed at our feet, the world does spin because people do things they (quite possibly) do not want to do.
And what if we all did what we wanted to do and stopped being dancing monkeys?
What if you just baked all day? Every day? And you shared that with people? And that was your life's work?
That could be pretty neat, right?
It's just a thought. And it's a thought that makes me want to wrap myself up in a duvet and give myself a mattressy hug tonight.
Some days, it's hard to be the person others want you to be.
On those occasions, you just want to throw on the baggiest of tee shirts and your ill-fitting sweatpants and call it a day. But, you can't. Because you need a job. And because it's summer right now. (They don't call 'em sweatpants for nothing!)
So, you force a smile and you put a pep in your step. And it sucks royally.
But, you manage. Because that's what you are supposed to do.
I don't, as a general rule, like to do any of that. I usually am a "say what you feel" type. And it often gets me and my big mouth in trouble. (Look for my new book out this Fall: How to Lose Friends and Alienate People . . . Part Three.)
But, I find that I am able to be genuinely happy a lot of the time because I am always honest with my feelings and what I say. I often don't censor or filter, unless needed. I strive to never say anything hurtful, but if asked how I'm feeling I don't lie and say, "GREAT!"
Having said all of this, I still have those days where I wish I could curl into a big blanket that provides the warmest of hugs. I sincerely think if everyone had a pair of strong arms at home that gave the world's best hugs, there would be less crime, wars, drugs, plagues, and overall frowny faces. People would just be happier with a hug.
It's why we sleep in beds. All that bedding. Multiple pillows. It's a giant, foamy, mattressy hug. "Mattressy" being a word and all.
Unlike my other blog posts, this would be the time where I say I digress and "but my point is."
Today, though, I am not sure I have a point. Just sharing my thoughts. We all gotta dance.
She Works Hard for the Money, said Donna Summer. So hard for it, honey. And that is what brings me to title of this post: "Dance, Monkey! Dance!" Ms. Summer may have the point, after all. People work hard. People trudge along and do errands. And tasks. And meetings. And appointments. And responsibilities. And it's all just . . .
While we don't have a gun pointed at our feet, the world does spin because people do things they (quite possibly) do not want to do.
And what if we all did what we wanted to do and stopped being dancing monkeys?
What if you just baked all day? Every day? And you shared that with people? And that was your life's work?
That could be pretty neat, right?
It's just a thought. And it's a thought that makes me want to wrap myself up in a duvet and give myself a mattressy hug tonight.
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Girls Just Wanna Have Fun
We all know the song. We all know the lyrics. And the prolific Ms. Lauper would agree.
And - for me - it's so true.
I recently had a stay-cation in NYC over the July 4th week and I really loved it. I didn't do too much that was overly fancy or special. I went to the beach a lot (yep - Coney Island)! I went every day from Thursday through Sunday. And by being "the one to walk in the sun," I got myself a nice tan.
Earlier in the week, the weather was muggy and hot, but cloudy and rainy and stormy. And grey. Not pretty weather to do things.
So, I went to the New York Transit Museum by myself, where I took photos of myself in different train cars through the years.
You can see the goofy self-pic. The museum, in a former subway station, is now a historical site. As such, they will not air condition the parts that were once the actual station. The only air conditioned portions of the museum was in the way back, and was basically a movie room and one exhibit. The rest of the place was pure Summer heat. Needless to say, my face is the result of losing 10 lbs. of sweat. Just look at how skinny my arms look?
(Consequently, I recommend everyone go to this museum in the blissful month of October.)
On any vacation, I like to do something a little vapid - like sun, shopping, drinky-poos. But, I always like to do smart things: educational, historical and special. So, I learned about New York traveling. I've been traveling in style since 1979, but could New York say the same?
Well, I watched a Grand Central short film that inspired me that New York could. However, I will still never forgive the City for demolishing the former Pennsylvania Station and building Madison Square Garden in its place. Look up the photos of Penn Station in the early 1900s and look at pictures of what it looks like in its modern form. Your jaw will drop at the disparity.
My little trip inspired me.
Do things. Little things. Fun things.
Everyone's life can be amazing. Every day can be filled with something special. You just have to find it.
Some days, I splurge . . . on a drink at Starbucks. That is my special thing that day. Wa-hoo! And it cost less than 5 bucks. But for that brief few moments - where you take that chance to just breathe and smile, talk and laugh, and sip on a drink with a friend - can be absolute magic.
Some days, I do truly splurge on a theater ticket. I am going this Friday to see a new Broadway show called "Date Night." I was going to "Date Night" by myself. I will let the irony sit in for a second.
I can wait.
Now, I have a married couple going with me, too. A married, heterosexual couple. They bought their tickets later, so I will still be sitting alone. At "Date Night."
But, it's fun. And I didn't actually splurge (code: spend much). I got the ticket on sale at Living Social, with an extra 20% off coupon code. Did I mention I used ebates.com to get some cash back?
http://www.ebates.com/rf.do?referrerid=M5W50P93x%2FIypJry1Er1Xg%3D%3D
Online shopping is awesome!!
I digress. My point is: I strive to enjoy my life every single day. A few years ago, I made this pledge to myself to find joy every, single day. And most days, I do.
The trick is, though, that you have to remind yourself to do it.
On a particularly stressful work day, I ran out of the office to go to a gallery I had seen on the Today show. For the cost of ZERO dollars, I looked at some paintings of Snoopy by Tom Everhart. And they were awesome, and suddenly - so was my day.
It's just about finding your simple pleasures. Some people find their happiness in food, in drugs, in drink. And while I do like my win-o, I challenge people to find the joy in a beach trip, in a museum, in a an afternoon with an iced coffee with a friend. Or in my case, in all 3. But, don't forget about "Date Night."
Because "Date Night" with my straight homies is gonna be awesome!
Some boys take a beautiful girl
And hide her away from the rest of the world
I want to be the one to walk in the sun
Oh girls they want to have fun
Oh girls just want to have fun
I recently had a stay-cation in NYC over the July 4th week and I really loved it. I didn't do too much that was overly fancy or special. I went to the beach a lot (yep - Coney Island)! I went every day from Thursday through Sunday. And by being "the one to walk in the sun," I got myself a nice tan.
Earlier in the week, the weather was muggy and hot, but cloudy and rainy and stormy. And grey. Not pretty weather to do things.
 |
| Goofy Hydration Deprived Self Pic. |
You can see the goofy self-pic. The museum, in a former subway station, is now a historical site. As such, they will not air condition the parts that were once the actual station. The only air conditioned portions of the museum was in the way back, and was basically a movie room and one exhibit. The rest of the place was pure Summer heat. Needless to say, my face is the result of losing 10 lbs. of sweat. Just look at how skinny my arms look?
(Consequently, I recommend everyone go to this museum in the blissful month of October.)
On any vacation, I like to do something a little vapid - like sun, shopping, drinky-poos. But, I always like to do smart things: educational, historical and special. So, I learned about New York traveling. I've been traveling in style since 1979, but could New York say the same?
Well, I watched a Grand Central short film that inspired me that New York could. However, I will still never forgive the City for demolishing the former Pennsylvania Station and building Madison Square Garden in its place. Look up the photos of Penn Station in the early 1900s and look at pictures of what it looks like in its modern form. Your jaw will drop at the disparity.
My little trip inspired me.
Do things. Little things. Fun things.
Everyone's life can be amazing. Every day can be filled with something special. You just have to find it.
Some days, I splurge . . . on a drink at Starbucks. That is my special thing that day. Wa-hoo! And it cost less than 5 bucks. But for that brief few moments - where you take that chance to just breathe and smile, talk and laugh, and sip on a drink with a friend - can be absolute magic.
Some days, I do truly splurge on a theater ticket. I am going this Friday to see a new Broadway show called "Date Night." I was going to "Date Night" by myself. I will let the irony sit in for a second.
I can wait.
Now, I have a married couple going with me, too. A married, heterosexual couple. They bought their tickets later, so I will still be sitting alone. At "Date Night."
But, it's fun. And I didn't actually splurge (code: spend much). I got the ticket on sale at Living Social, with an extra 20% off coupon code. Did I mention I used ebates.com to get some cash back?
http://www.ebates.com/rf.do?referrerid=M5W50P93x%2FIypJry1Er1Xg%3D%3D
Online shopping is awesome!!
I digress. My point is: I strive to enjoy my life every single day. A few years ago, I made this pledge to myself to find joy every, single day. And most days, I do.
The trick is, though, that you have to remind yourself to do it.
On a particularly stressful work day, I ran out of the office to go to a gallery I had seen on the Today show. For the cost of ZERO dollars, I looked at some paintings of Snoopy by Tom Everhart. And they were awesome, and suddenly - so was my day.
It's just about finding your simple pleasures. Some people find their happiness in food, in drugs, in drink. And while I do like my win-o, I challenge people to find the joy in a beach trip, in a museum, in a an afternoon with an iced coffee with a friend. Or in my case, in all 3. But, don't forget about "Date Night."
Because "Date Night" with my straight homies is gonna be awesome!
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
Dear George Clooney,
I heard today that you are single.
I heard that you were dumped.
The thought alone makes me tingle.
So, date me please. I'm starting to feel rather pumped.
You see, George, I know that life hasn't been easy for you. You had to really work it to make it to where you are today. You had to act in movies like Batman and Robin. That place in Italy wasn't going to pay for itself.
So, naturally, you had to date all these young little ladies. You needed some arm candy to take to the awards shows. I get it. Plus, it has been good PR for you to seem so elusive. It definitely helped you exude that romantic leading man quality in films like One Fine Day.
But, it's your time now. You can stop wasting it with those other women.
Two of them have been on Dancing with the Stars, for god's sakes!
It's time to shake things up. Get a little classy. Get a little brave.
Start dating me.
I've been right here this whole time.
And I absolutely love Italy.
Better still, I have ZERO interest in being on Dancing with the Stars. I can't dance. Plus, I would be too competitive and probably step on Cloris Leachman's feet if she started stealing my spotlight.
Just think about it.
You've given this whole mysterious, can't-tie-me-down image a good run. Now, it's time for something new. It's not like I am asking you to make another Ocean's Twelve or anything. That would be crazy.
Do something easy. Just date a dude.
The time is now.
I'm here waiting by the phone. . . call me! (sigh!)
Sunday, July 7, 2013
I'm a Coney Island Baby
Some New Yorkers like the glitz of a fancy pool at the Gansevoort Hotel. Some may even like the splash of a chair at the Soho House. At these posh pools in the city, you get sun, shade, and supermodel bodies. The staff will bring you drinks while you're stirred or perhaps shaken among the rich and richer.
As for me, I prefer the quick jaunt on the glamorous F line train - all the way to the beach. Coney Island's beach, to be specific.
Sure, I have no wait staff bringing me drinks. Instead, I bring a thermos of wine. Because I'm classy like that. And frankly speaking, I wouldn't have it any other way.
 |
| My legs: the other white meat. |
Sure, there are no supermodel bodies. Well . . . occasionally there are some fit studs walking around. But, I definitely feel like the hottest guy on the beach some time. I have no six pack and neither do they. So, I feel pretty confident on my beach days. In fact, I feel downright sexy.
I mean: just look at my picture! Definitely the hottest legs this side of the Mississippi, am I right? Well, that's all me, baby. And those Coney Island legs aren't just for show!
No! Those gams are also used to walk the fabulous boardwalk. It's like a step into the past in some ways. There is a carnival element - complete with an amusement park, an actual freak show, and even a vintage wooden roller coaster, the Cyclone, which is now a national landmark!
There are nods to the Vintage old-timey Coney Island everywhere. It's just a feeling in the air.
There are Nathan's Hot Dogs. There is a minor league baseball team called . . . you guessed it: the Brooklyn Cyclones!
 |
| Sandy? Your name should be more like Grabby! |
And yes, you'd be right. I am pretty sure he was flirting with me, too.
 |
| Don't let the semi-calm look on my face deceive you. I was scared for me bleepin' life! |
And, I would be remiss if I didn't mention the Wonder Wheel: the world's scariest ride ever. If you happen to be afraid of heights. Which I am. As evidenced, by this picture of me on the ride. You can get a swinging bird cage if you prefer, or a non-swinging. I chose a non-swinging and proceeded to death grip the bench as if that helped alleviate the problem of being suspended in air. No doubt, I have very sharp survival skills.
 |
| It's pretty, right? Don't be fooled. You can see Texas from the top of it. |
Needless to say, Coney Island is all very fun. There is literally WONDER to it all, and not just in its Wheels.
The people spectating sport alone is worth the adventure. I won't show pictures as that would be mean, but there are characters on this boardwalk, let's just say that.
Last summer, I fondly named my Eastern European middle aged bartender, Surly. She was surly towards all of her customers in a way but, I believe that with time, she came to tolerate me and my love of her frozen alcoholic drinks. Alas, the bar where she worked, Cha Cha's, was a victim to her Hurricane Sandy last year and it has since closed for good as a result. It had been a Coney Island staple and now, like so many others before, it is a Coney Island legend of the past and not the present.
And while I have found one establishment on the boardwalk serving frozen margaritas, the loss of Cha Cha's has taught me that this is an area to cherish. There is magic here. There is beach. There is baseball. There is booze. What isn't to love and hold on to for dear life? Imagine yourself on the Wonder Wheel with me and grab on.
So, my friends - the others can have their Hamptons or what have them. As for me, I'm just a Coney Island baby.
Who wouldn't be, I ask you, after seeing a view like this?
Friday, June 14, 2013
Almost 1 Year Anniversary
As I am one day away from I Am So Gay (and so are you for reading this)'s one year anniversary, I am literally filled with thoughts and emotions.
For me, starting this blog was a gigantic, huge first step.
Many years ago, I called my Aunt Ellen to wish her my support, as she had just found out she had breast cancer. It was a mixed conversation. Here she was - facing a serious health battle, which in just a few, short years would take her life - and she ended up giving me yet another gift and her loving support. While we spoke of many things (how she was feeling, what the next steps were, etc.), she cared way more about me and how I was doing. Can you believe the depth of that heart? It's unfathomable. I am too vain and self involved. I would be worrying all about me and my health, if I had been in her shoes. But, my aunt was seemingly always selfless.
What she told me that day has stayed with me forever. I can even remember where I was when she said just four simple words to me. They were meant as a suggestion, but the way she said was more like a direction. And it froze me in my steps.
Unable to move, and not sure how to reply, my aunt told me what my heart had told me for years. She told me, "you should be writing."
How did she know? It's because she knew me. With that, you would think I would have started writing right away. But I didn't. I didn't write for almost the better half of a decade later.
It took all those years since her diagnosis. I moved cities in that time. She saw me take a big step, just a different one - moving from DC to NYC for a job in the fashion world. She never got to see me write in my post college years. I did write privately. They were mostly scribbles on a pad, a journal, a post-it: anywhere when a phrase or thought popped in my head. But, they weren't formed. They weren't this.
Now, I can be a decisive, swift person. In theory.
Actually, I am often afraid or cautious. When I do make a decision, it usually has been well thought out, as I have debated it 18 billion times in my head, out loud, and with friends.
The idea for this blog wasn't simply thought out in a day. I knew I wanted to do humor. I want to make you laugh. I also wanted to maybe inspire some of you just a bit. The rest of what inspired this blog took time and now I feel like it's going in some kind of a direction, one in which is not quite there yet.
I'm not quite there with what I have and want to say to everyone, but I hope we're having fun on the journey. And that's what this is for me. I am writing about my journey finally.
In this blog - and even in today's story - you will see my look at my past. This past, though, is what has shaped my present and is what will push my future. I am writing about my life in my 30s. In New York. As a gay male. As a single male. As a hopefully funny male. And these are the bumps along the way.
I will always continue to write for those who maybe don't know that being gay is OK. Because it is.
When I write, I am writing to the 17 year old Greg, so I can tell him that everything will turn out OK. That life will have its bumps and we all find our way, even if it isn't always perfect. I hope I am reaching a few others who are young and in doubt. We all grow up. Gay, straight, or super curvy, we all grow up. Things pass. People change. You will always be great.
When I write, I try to make myself laugh. And if I don't, I know it isn't my best blog. They can't all be:
http://iamsogayblog.blogspot.com/2013/04/reese-witherspoon-is-brunette-world-is.html
OR
http://iamsogayblog.blogspot.com/2012/11/hiding-in-soup-aisle-isnt-easy-but.html
But, in the end, I write because I am hoping to learn something and maybe we will learn it together.
I write because I am single and I want people to know that it is also OK. It isn't the end. What has started as a happy accident of bad dating choices has turned into a deliberate series of conscious choices to remain single. I could have settled down years ago, but I chose my own path. (Not that anyone offered me a ring or anything. Because if jewelry was involved, I totally . . . probably . . . would have chosen the bling.)
Looking back, I hope I make Auntie (yes, I called her auntie) Ellen laugh. I really hope that she's above me - or maybe looking next to me - and that she is laughing with me. She is in on the joke.
For her last Christmas, I had bought a box of Christmas cards that had classic Christmas sayings, but there was an obvious double meaning. Auntie Ellen got the card that said simply, "Merry And Gay." Or something like that. But that was all it said on the outside. No cutesy Santa or Snowman. Just a big ol' gay Christmas card (with something sweet written by me on the inside). And I know it brought her a few laughs over and over as she looked at it, across the sea of traditional Christmas cards to see 1 BIG GAY ONE.
So, I don't know what the future holds for this blog, but I know this: I will keep writing. It's been the best thing for me personally. This is my passion. And making others laugh is also my passion. I like to crack a joke. Some will be zingers, some will be losers, but hopefully we will keep laughing together for many more years to come.
Thanks for reading and being apart of this first year - this journey.
Keep smiling.
Thanks,
Greg
For me, starting this blog was a gigantic, huge first step.
Many years ago, I called my Aunt Ellen to wish her my support, as she had just found out she had breast cancer. It was a mixed conversation. Here she was - facing a serious health battle, which in just a few, short years would take her life - and she ended up giving me yet another gift and her loving support. While we spoke of many things (how she was feeling, what the next steps were, etc.), she cared way more about me and how I was doing. Can you believe the depth of that heart? It's unfathomable. I am too vain and self involved. I would be worrying all about me and my health, if I had been in her shoes. But, my aunt was seemingly always selfless.
What she told me that day has stayed with me forever. I can even remember where I was when she said just four simple words to me. They were meant as a suggestion, but the way she said was more like a direction. And it froze me in my steps.
Unable to move, and not sure how to reply, my aunt told me what my heart had told me for years. She told me, "you should be writing."
How did she know? It's because she knew me. With that, you would think I would have started writing right away. But I didn't. I didn't write for almost the better half of a decade later.
It took all those years since her diagnosis. I moved cities in that time. She saw me take a big step, just a different one - moving from DC to NYC for a job in the fashion world. She never got to see me write in my post college years. I did write privately. They were mostly scribbles on a pad, a journal, a post-it: anywhere when a phrase or thought popped in my head. But, they weren't formed. They weren't this.
Now, I can be a decisive, swift person. In theory.
Actually, I am often afraid or cautious. When I do make a decision, it usually has been well thought out, as I have debated it 18 billion times in my head, out loud, and with friends.
The idea for this blog wasn't simply thought out in a day. I knew I wanted to do humor. I want to make you laugh. I also wanted to maybe inspire some of you just a bit. The rest of what inspired this blog took time and now I feel like it's going in some kind of a direction, one in which is not quite there yet.
I'm not quite there with what I have and want to say to everyone, but I hope we're having fun on the journey. And that's what this is for me. I am writing about my journey finally.
In this blog - and even in today's story - you will see my look at my past. This past, though, is what has shaped my present and is what will push my future. I am writing about my life in my 30s. In New York. As a gay male. As a single male. As a hopefully funny male. And these are the bumps along the way.
I will always continue to write for those who maybe don't know that being gay is OK. Because it is.
When I write, I am writing to the 17 year old Greg, so I can tell him that everything will turn out OK. That life will have its bumps and we all find our way, even if it isn't always perfect. I hope I am reaching a few others who are young and in doubt. We all grow up. Gay, straight, or super curvy, we all grow up. Things pass. People change. You will always be great.
When I write, I try to make myself laugh. And if I don't, I know it isn't my best blog. They can't all be:
http://iamsogayblog.blogspot.com/2013/04/reese-witherspoon-is-brunette-world-is.html
OR
http://iamsogayblog.blogspot.com/2012/11/hiding-in-soup-aisle-isnt-easy-but.html
But, in the end, I write because I am hoping to learn something and maybe we will learn it together.
I write because I am single and I want people to know that it is also OK. It isn't the end. What has started as a happy accident of bad dating choices has turned into a deliberate series of conscious choices to remain single. I could have settled down years ago, but I chose my own path. (Not that anyone offered me a ring or anything. Because if jewelry was involved, I totally . . . probably . . . would have chosen the bling.)
Looking back, I hope I make Auntie (yes, I called her auntie) Ellen laugh. I really hope that she's above me - or maybe looking next to me - and that she is laughing with me. She is in on the joke.
For her last Christmas, I had bought a box of Christmas cards that had classic Christmas sayings, but there was an obvious double meaning. Auntie Ellen got the card that said simply, "Merry And Gay." Or something like that. But that was all it said on the outside. No cutesy Santa or Snowman. Just a big ol' gay Christmas card (with something sweet written by me on the inside). And I know it brought her a few laughs over and over as she looked at it, across the sea of traditional Christmas cards to see 1 BIG GAY ONE.
So, I don't know what the future holds for this blog, but I know this: I will keep writing. It's been the best thing for me personally. This is my passion. And making others laugh is also my passion. I like to crack a joke. Some will be zingers, some will be losers, but hopefully we will keep laughing together for many more years to come.
Thanks for reading and being apart of this first year - this journey.
Keep smiling.
Thanks,
Greg
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Please Don't Touch Me With Your Hair
Please don't touch me with your hair.
I mean, I'm sure you washed it.
Actually, now that I am thinking of it: how do I know that? It's just an assumption. A hope. A belief in your general sense of duty that you clean yourself (head included) daily. But, from what I am told about women, they don't wash their hair every day. Something about how it's shinier if they don't. And also there's a preference to wash hair in the evening because it takes so long to dry or something. Which means if you washed it last night, it's been on your dirty pillow all night.
And I've seen the Dateline NBC when they used the black light to show us what is on hotel pillows, so I can only assume that your pillow is likely worse than the good folks at Marriott.
So, I am going to take it back. I don't think that you have washed your hair. I am not THAT trusting of an individual and frankly speaking, you're a little casual with your hair flipping.
Here I am: reading my book my book on the subway (like a smart and responsible individual caring about the environment by using mass transit) and I get whacked in the face with your hair, which has been God-knows-where!
Where is a transit cop when you need one?
I feel violated.
 |
| Bonjour! Some say I have perfect hair, mon ami! |
I am a self aware individual. I have size 11 feet and if I step on a person's foot on the train, I apologize sincerely. But you - YOU - just whack innocents with your Rapunzel-like hair day in/day out and laugh it off with your friends.
Since this is a democracy, you get to grow your hair to whichever catastrophic level length you choose, while I keep my hair nice and trim. Some have even said my hair is perfect. "What a nice hair cut, Greg!," they exclaim.
You might get the same praise if you go a little more to the shorn side.
And I'm sorry for so personally attacking you. Because you aren't the only one who is committing this crime. It really has gone to epidemic levels.
Why - I can remember just last week when I was on my way to a nice Saturday night dinner with some friends and I got a mouthful of hair. I was casually minding myself at the bar and waiting for my friends and - BAM - violated by someone long haired. A girl, no more than 25, threw her hair up in the air to look flirty (and let's face it: trampy) to her male companion and whacked me right in the face. Evidently, not only are "long hairs" completely unaware of the tight social spaces we face in large, metropolitan areas like Brooklyn, but also the very split ends of their hair are so dead they cannot tell when they hit people.
It's a cause for concern!
I've thought about alerting local authorities, the media or perhaps a support group, but in the end, it's me - a "short hair" - against a "long hair" world.
Just don't mind the person with a face mask on a subway. He isn't a criminal. He is just simply avoiding the "real" criminals out there.
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