Narcissus

I was called a narcissist the other day after posting this collage i made of pictures of me.


The pictures were meant to show how I have changed over the years physically. I've worked really hard over the years, the last 8 especially, to build my muscles and try to get bigger. I've eaten a lot. I've taken supplements, I've had so many protein shakes I could crap MetRx bars. I've worked out. Hard. 4-5 times a week. With a trainer twice a week designed to help me gain weight and build.

I have a 6'-4" frame. I've been this tall since age 17. I shot up so fast in my teenage years that I would wake up with charlie horses in my legs and stretch marks on my hips. I was taller than my 5th grade teacher. My body had a really hard time keeping up with the bone growth and as a result i was rail thin. SKINNY. I was this height and weighed 175lb. Take a look at the picture in the upper left-hand corner of the collage. That's how skinny I was.

I started working out probably around age 27, three times a week and just figured it out as I went along. I actually managed to get up to 215lb or so after 2 years. I remember the first time I was going down some stairs and felt my pectorals bounce a little. lol... it was really  exciting milestone for the former beanpole.

I stopped working out when times got dark and drugs came into the picture. that derailed any physical (and mental) development and I actually lost weight and went down to 165lb, skinnier than I was in high school. That's the upper left picture where i am in the white T-shirt. I needed to clean up and get things back on track. at the end of 2004 with the help of my family, I did.

One I sobered up and got back to the business of life, the weight started coming back on...but it wasn't all good weight. Take a look at the pic in the middle row second from the left. I started getting thick in the middle. I never had that problem before and seriously had no idea what it was like to eat better. But I learned and started trying. I started seeing my friend Jeff in a professional capacity as my personal trainer, 2-3 times a week... and I just tried. I tried hard and consistently.

After several years, my weight was up. my old clothes were tight in the arms, chest and thighs, and I was apparently turning heads that I didn't know I had any power to turn. I started feeling, now and then, maybe I wasn't that tall gawky stick with the bad posture crying from being made fun of. maybe.

Photographers have shot me a lot lately (See the bottom row of the  collage). I have been so completely flattered and honored to be asked to be shot, to be published, placed on posters. It's crazy. I quite honestly don't get my appeal. That's fine. I don't have to. I find the attention EXTREMELY flattering, much undeserved, totally baffling, and honestly, really love it.

 Narcissus is describes as this:
Narcissus was a hunter from the territory of Thespiae in Boeotia who was renowned for his beauty. He was exceptionally proud, in that he disdained those who loved him.Nemesis saw this and attracted Narcissus to a pool where he saw his own reflection in the water and fell in love with it, not realizing it was merely an image. Unable to leave the beauty of his reflection, Narcissus died.

I am not in love with myself. I am not enamored with myself. I do not have an inflated sense of self. I am not self centered or self obsessed. I don't stare at myself in a mirror. I am very happy with how I look yes. For the first time in my FUCKING life, I feel good about myself, and this little shit, who I never got a good vibe from anyway, has the balls to fucking say something like that to me. I am pissed. His opinion doesn't matter, but it doesn't mean I wasn't affected by it. It cut to the core. It hit that nerve that was hit when I was made fun of for crying. When I was made fun of for being so skinny. When I was made fun of for having really long legs and a short torso. It hurt a lot.

My self esteem is in tact thanks to all this self work I have done, not only physically, but also mentally and spiritually. I was a fucked up human being and I needed help. I got it, I worked on it, and I made myself better so I could be a positive functional member of this society, and try to look damned good doing it. lol... But my self esteem is fragile. It's new and it's easily squashed and that comment though thoughtless and bitchy reaching for a laugh, really tested me.

I'm still angy but I'll get over it. I always do. If I take a picture of myself and post it, it's because I think I look cute, or cool, or stupid, or funny. It's me just having fun. Get the fuck over it and look at yourself in the mirror instead of me.

Friends

I got a nice note today from a friend who lives elsewhere asking how I was, and that I seemed a little down lately in my facebook posts. That note alone picked up my spirits. that gesture made the difference in my day. It always surprises me in both good and bad ways what one little sentence, what tiny little thought can do to a whole mindset.

I've kind of had several friendships implode lately. One I blogged about before. There have been a couple other cases - one was a deliberate built-up resentment that got thrown at me and my partner for something that we didn't even know bothered him - tardiness. Apparently it bothered him a lot. enough to not only respond to some inquiries we made about missing a bday dinner we didn't know about, to be informed we were deliberately not invited because he didn't want to have things ruined by us being late and making a big deal of it when we got there... ??? So we were not invited due to tardiness... Really? A note saying "please be on time" wouldn't work? Or since I feel I owed this friend for hosting an event for me, asking us to help set up would have been perfectly in line, and avoided the whole issue.  The sad thing, as I see it, is there were plenty of opportunities to tell us he was bothered way before it build up  into a shit brick he decided to throw at us. He has every right to invite whomever he wants to whatever he wants and is under no obligation to include me or my partner in anything....It just could have been handled differently. but to me it seems like the friendship got thrown out the window and hit us in the face.

Another friend has just drifted, which happens. People grow in different directions. I'm okay with that. It doesn't make the loss hurt less, just more understandable.

My life has always involved change. I went to a private nursery school, then public kindergarten, then Catholic 1st grade, then public 2-5th grade where i forged more permanent friendshilps. That  changes when my 6th grade was a merger of my school and 2 other elementary schools ( a function of the Lower Makefield Township school system). We then moved after 6th grade from Pennsylvania to New York and I went to another school for 7th and 8th grades. I was bullied and harassed there, and begged to go to yet another school, to which I went to a Catholic high school where everyone was new, and I finally found my group for 4 years. After graduation I went to college in upstate NY for 3 years, ended up falling in love and moving to Dallas, where I went to college another 4 years.

The reason I listed all that is to show that my whole upbringing was change, transition and moving from group to group of friends. After that I had my lovely 12 year hellhole (blog post 1) where all bets were off. After that ended and life started over, I've been searching for consistency and stability. But that still seems to elude me. For whatever reason, transition happens every few years with my friendships. We drift apart, we have a falling out, whatever... I can't help but think that this is just a continuation of a pattern that I may or may not be influencing.

I don't know. I've thought and thought about it but have no answers. All I know is that I wish I had an old friend who had been in my life for a long time. Facebook has helped re-kindle some relationships with those people I used to be around in other situations. Mostly it's done nothing, but there are a couple examples where I stay in touch and have let a new friendship start to grow. Still, I want someone who knows me from before, from earlier. who remembers things about me, not because I told them about it, but because they were there.  I don't have that.

When efforts to build something toward a longer term friendship fall apart, or gradually drift apart, it gives me that feeling in my stomach where you just found out you were fired, or some relative died. It's not good and I don't like it. I try to look at it as God weeding out the people that don't belong in my life to make room  for people that want in.

It still fucking sucks.

Thank God I have Peter. My love. the man that shows me how strong and beautiful I can be. the man that treats me like the greatest prize he's ever had (usually ;-) ) and hopefully I do the same for him. He fills the void of best friend  that I had. He's the best thing in my life, and I love him more than I thought I could ever love again. and for that I am grateful.

Drugs and Pride

A friend died recently, drug related. Wasn't a close friend, but someone I was very fond of. I am in recovery and faught my own battles in the past and when something like this happens, it makes me angry. Not at the person that died. they obviously had their personal battles they were dealing with and they dealt with them in a way that caused them to die. I don't get angry at the drug. the drugs are just innocuous substances. objects. I get angry at the gay society. Angry that the culture promotes this type of behavior...encourages this kind of behavior... they sell glass pipes in the adult stores... "PNP" has become a well known phrase....

Officially I know that this is all condemned, there are organizations, facilities and 12 step programs to help those who want it. They helped me. I wanted it. But that was not something easily realized. When I go out, I smell poppers on the dance floor, I hear snorts around me. I see the meth zombies and the ecstasy glaze. Sure it can be fun. It was for me for a while... but the fun ends. the party ends. Lives end.

I'm sad, of course, for my friend. 39 year old MBA - dead. I have an ex boyfriend, a successful Doctor - Dead. My first relationship - Dead.

That's not normal. Not since the AIDS apocalypse have so many of our gay brothers been dropping dead left and right....

whatever it is - internalized homophobia, self loathing, depression...all this "partying" has its roots in some psychological condition that we as a culture do not talk about. I have a friend that is constantly waffling between entusiastic joy and desperate paranoid sadness. Drugs. The joy is the second half of the week and the weekend. The sadness is Mon through Wednesday.

Why can't this be adressed on a larger level? I know plenty of people that have stopped, that are better, and that are trying to make things the way they should be both in life and in their head. i'm one of them. But these are stand alone, statistically low examples.

Why do gays want to destroy themselves? Where's the "pride"? Pride festivals to me seem like excuses for people to get fucked up, and for vendors to sell shit. It's a drunken flea market that I don't attend. I WISH it was a solemn, politically and socially minded rally, with speaches and topics... Not Molly Ringwold on a float promoting a Lifetime movie where she plays a lesbian (which was the case for the latest Pride in West Hollywood). I want to see Dan Choi. Hell it's LA, I want to see the star of the Big Bank Theory, Neil Patrick Harris or Zack Quinto or hell, ONE GAY CELEB in this town SHOW HIS FACE for the cause not just fucking do a photo spread for People Magazine with his partner and their newly surrogated or adopted babies trying to show how fucking NORMAL gays are.

SHOW how angry we are. Show how serious we are. Show how unique we are. REALIZE how sick we are to constantly self destruct.and eat our own.

I'm a happy man with a happy life and an amazing partner now. I donate to Planned Parenthood and my local NPR station. I went to the Occupy LA camp to listen to their message. I used to volunteer for a PWA group when everyone was dropping like flies from AIDS. I genuinely am proud to be a gay man. Proud to have overcome my own demons and adversity. Pround of who I am.

This drug problem in our community rips all that away. It shows that deep down we don't approve of who we are. That we want to destroy ourselves. Where's the pride in that.

Sorry this post is all over the place, I just decided to write and see what came out without any narrative in mind. Comment if you agree. Comment if you disagree. Thanks for indulging me and reading my rant.

Chris

Intentions Be Damned

I started to write about a friendship that went south a couple days ago. I laid out blow by blow details and even changed the names to protect those involved. I had my longest blog entry to date and with 2 clicks I accidentally closed the window and hadn't saved a word.

I was pissed for a minute then the more i thought about it the more i realized this was, without trying to sound too grand, god doing for me what i wasn't doing for myself. I'm not the kind of person to air dirty laundry, and i was about to do just that. Happily in hindsight, i'm glad i didn't.

My world is mine to absorb, process, enjoy, unravel, and navigate. I choose to let people into it and to let them know certain things. Those closest to me know most things. those furthest (who actually still know who I am) know only what they happen to perceive. Sometimes what they perceive is what I intend, but sometimes what is perceived is no where close to who i am or what I think I am showing people, and that's where the trouble arises.

I recently was perceived by a friend to be making moves toward his boyfriend. I was also recently perceived to be and called "a party boy on a downward spiral who retreats to the ghetto" or something to that effect. I was also perceived as someone being duplicitous with those around me. Now to clarify the first one, i did flirt with a friend boyfriend, after that boyfriend flirted with me and told me it was ok and that my friend was cool with it. As for the second, well that was the result of a facebook political debate I foolishly decided to throw my two cents into and proceeded to get ripped apart by anyone who chimed in and had all my opinions dismissed and insulted.

Good times.

All of this has lead me to analyze my side of the street. To look at my own actions and see what I could have done differently. After all, that's all I could have controlled. With regard to the "friend", I could have not flirted with his boyfriend. But he's also the one who would run and talk to my partner about anything I did that he thought my partner might not no about and he felt should know... I ended up writing a lengthy letter (as opposed to a phone call where I knew I would get flustered, and say something I regret rather than what I had intended to say), basically severing the friendship, citing 3 very specific reasons, one being that my partner knows everything this friend did and then some, long before he ever did.  that's the nice thing about honesty in relationships - you tell each other a lot. I realized that he was seeing a person that didn't exist. he was seeing who he had already decided I was based on .... I have no idea what. And that's not the kind of  friend I want to have.

With regard to the political debate, I unfriended the prick. Done. I never met him in person anyway.

So in looking at my side of the street, I've realized that my actions don't always convey my intentions. Though my intentions may be innocent or innocuous in my mind, they affect others in ways I couldn't even think of ahead of time. People are going to see what they want to see, intentions be damned. The best I can do is be myself. If I am misunderstood, then the best I can do is try to help the person understand, if they are willing to hear it. If they're not, like in the case of my "friend" I had to let go, then it's their loss, but it's my lesson. A lesson that I'll probably have to be reminded of again in the future.

comfort in death

My parents last year on their 30+ day cruise around South America.

     News of director Nora Ephron's death today caused me to start thinking more than I have been about the finite lives of my family. My mother is the same age Ms Ephron was. My father is 2 years older. I'm 40 and probably in the busiest professional period of my life which makes seeing them all the more challenging. I live in LA, they split their time between Delaware and Florida. Seeing them is not an easy task but needs to be more of a priority. They're not sick, mind you. they are healthy as can be, travel constantly and are thoroughly poster seniors for active living. That's my excuse along with my schedule for not visiting. With today's death of a gifted director the same age as my parents, i'm rethinking...
     My family is no stranger to death. My father ran nursing homes and retirement communities. My mother was a hospice nurse. Death on a weekly basis. Jokes and stories about people's passing when appropriate. Amazing stories to comfort any fear. Death was always part of some conversation going on around the house so it seemed just as much a part of life as discussing weekly activities. Then my little brother died.
    Jimmy was born in 1979 with a tumor on his rib. when he was old enough it was removed, and things were fine for a little while. Myself, my older sister and my younger brother were all in grade school and were not told exactly what was going on, as we shouldn't have been, given our ages. But my parents started going away with Jimmy for extended periods of time, one of them then both of them, to Sloan Kettering Hospital in New York. When they went together, we were sent to live with neighbors or family members depending on if school was in session. It took a village, and luckily we had one, to keep life as normal as it could be for the rest of us.
     In November of 1982, we all went to the city and stayed in the Ronald McDonald House while Jimmy's condition worsened. We were supposed to go with the rest of the kids to sit in the booth with Michael Landon (Little House was really popular at the time) for the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, but early in the morning the phone rang, and my father and sister left. When my brother and I got up, the women who worked there told us that we couldn't go and to wait for my parents to get back, so we watched TV. When both parents and my sister got back we all went up to the room without anyone saying a word, sat on the bed, and my father told us that Jimmy died. He and my mother and my sister and me and my brother all burst into tears and just sat there crying for I don't know how long, holding each other.
     On New Years day, Jimmy's hospital roommate died as well. She had been fighting cancer, had a leg amputated, was undergoing chemo, and was 10 years old like me. I think she had a crush on me too. I wish I could remember her name.
     That spring Suzie Calarco, a girl in my 5th grade class who had been fighting leukemia, passed away. She was a friend I had known since preschool. She also was 10 years old. She happened to be the next member of our church parish to pass away, and is buried right next to my brother, so when I go back to the cemetery in Yardley PA, I get to visit both of them.
     Now again at 32 I lost my partner of 12 years (Blog post #1) and my dog of 12 years. Still wasn't prepared despite all my childhood surroundings. That's the thing about death I am learning. You can be surrounded by it, know it, see it, study it but still never ever be prepared for it. Nothing seemed to brace me or prepare me for each of the gut punches I've felt over the years. Each one was unique. each grieving process different, and none of them ever go away 100%. Each death has become woven in to my character. each one revisits me periodically, and is different each time. I'm less emotionally volatile around them, but no less affected by their impact. I'm hesitant in relationships to a degree. I don't want to lose anyone ever again, but unfortunately that's just impossible.
     Death a part of life and I know that. It's inevitable, expected, and all too common in my life. I'm as prepared as I can be for the next one...but it'll still fuck me up when it happens. Now though, I am so thankful for my partner, and all my friends that have become my support network. I know that when the next death of a loved one occurs that I won't need to be alone like I was at 32. I won't melt down and try to self destruct like I did at 32. I will have hands to hold and shoulders to lean on. And that is a miracle in my life. Those relationships are what make everything in life better.

Anyway, no one I know is allowed to die any time soon. that's an order. and if you do, I'm never speaking to you again.

Stress

okay so this time I decided to sit down and write without any topic in mind or any point to make.

I did want to tell on myself last week when I kind of lost it at work a little bit. Stress got the best of me. I fucked up a little. I was very  VERY short tempered with a client on the phone. I nearly cried in front of my boss... stress sucks. It was one of those weeks where i felt like I was dancing as fast as i can and nothing was good enough. I was staying late, i was doing what needed to be done next, then I would realize 3 other things also had to be done before this one thing that urgently needed to be done. I literally was pulling out a few eyebrow hairs. It sucked. I got a migraine on Saturday when the week was all said and done, and my lip broke out in a fever blister.... it did give me some really angry energetic workouts though, so that's one plus.

what i realized i have to do in times like this is literally just breathe and take a step back. it's hard when all my electronic devices are beeping, phone is ringing, people are IM'ing me questions and the requests for whatever else might come in.... it can be a bit of a "calgon take me away" thing. So breathe. step back. take a break, walk around, separate from the intensity.

stop reacting.

i just need to add it onto the list. sort the list out later. get it on the list. I hate this. I hate stress. stress makes me do a bad job. whether at work or personally. Stress makes me lose focus. my brain gets cluttered. then i seek distraction. I look on facebook. I look at dirty pictures. if i was home I'd take a nap or watch TV. Follow any of those choices with a "What the fuck are you doing?" moment and it's back to the panicked reacting.

distractions don't work. they divert. they  delay the inevitable. they hid the problem. I learned that about drugs and alcohol. they don't help. they hide. they don't clear it up. they complicate. same thing with the Internet, sleep, Project Runway, The Walking Dead, Spartacus (soooooo worth the subscription to Starz)... they all keep me from my responsibility and delay what needs to get done.

once i accept whatever it is i have to do and stop fighting it by reacting, panicking, melting down and beating myself up, i start thinking again. I manage to prioritize. i tackle things in an order so that I can check the fuckers off my list. I can measure and see how far I've gone. Lists are my salvation when it comes to this shit, because my memory sure as hell isn't. It fails me regularly and I know it.

so i don't know. stress is a fucking pain in the ass. but it happens. once i identify it as the cluster fuck it is in the moment, i can deal with it, work it out and do what has to be done.

now if only emotions, family and relationships were so black and white...

...And the walls come crumbling down...or not

    So every now and then I feel like all the plates I am spinning are going to crash down, everything I've worked so hard for will crumble and everyone I love will leave. Common I'm sure.
    I'm not sure why I feel this way about my very platform of a life. I'm sure there's some deeply rooted, blame your mother (I love you Mom!), inner child reason for it but I am not actually interested in figuring out the cause of the impending doom I feel. I'm more interested in trying to frame it in such a way that it becomes my motivator. My motivator to be a great employee, to be an amazing partner, to get into better shape, to be a good soul.
    Maybe there's some internalized homophobia? I don't think I believe this but I hear a lot of people in my "self help group" reference this, but I don't think they necessarily know what they are talking about. being gay has never  been a problem actively on my conscious mind, but that doesn't mean there isn't some crap at play in the background. It's probably bigger than that. An overall inadequacy or lack of self esteem. I've fought hard to work against this despite the feeling inside and my head has followed some...but not all the way. I don't think it'll ever follow completely.
    I think why I feel this way is because there is so much I have to lose now and for some reason I don't think it should be mine. My career is taking off(I have them all fooled). My relationship is rock solid (I have him fooled too. ssshhhhhh). I have a good life (I don't deserve it)..... and on and on (just you wait. the worst is yet to come).
  My head tells me at work I'm a total hack, I'm flying by the seat of my pants, I'm disorganized, I'm forgetting something.... and as soon as a minor oops or slight fuck up happens, the walls come crumbling, I sweat lightly all day, I stress, I want a cigarette even though I quit 6 years ago, and I'm afraid everyone is watching and waiting for the worst to happen, for us to lose the client, then something happens...oh...i made my deadline.... huh...the client's happy and renewed their contract...interesting...i got a promotion.... well...just wait...they'll discover just how terrible you are at faking it all and you'll be gone. Eventually I KNOW that'll happen...I hate my head sometimes. ]
     The trouble with one's head is one can't turn it off. I HAVE to hear it. there's no volume switch. But I can try to choose to not believe it, and if I can't not believe it, then I have stress... and I have that - a lot lately actually. But you know what? I survive the day. I don't get eaten. I don't get fired (anymore), I don't get laughed out of a meeting. I don't get anything but the opportunity to do it all again the next day.  My head will always tell me what my worst insecurities are and quickly apply them to any given situation. The nice thing is that no one can hear inside my head but me, so no one else has to know. And as long as my actions reveal my intent, and not my head? then I'm alright.
I want to have the confidence to know I'm doing good. Instead of listening to my head and it's lies, and they are lies, I need to look around me. I have a loving partner who adores me - even though he gives me a hard time and chides me for how goofy and neurotic I can be, he still greets me in the morning with a smile and knowingly rubs his arm against mine in his subtle way to let me know he's there and he knows me. I look at work and I am given large clients with portfolios of work. I'm left to manage my projects as I see fit and ensure they run properly and remain in the black because they trust me. I read and listen to what my friends who are active in my daily life say to me and I know I'm doing good. I know I am as good a friend as I can possibly be...and if I am not, then I know to say I'm not to them so they can know where I'm at and be a friend to me.
    I'm a good person (yes you are), I work hard (and it shows), I love and I know that I am loved. What an amazing feeling.

oh don't worry, it'll all come crashing down.... or not. What if it doesn't?

Tattoos

People always seem to ask me what my tattoos mean so here goes:


My dead ex of blog post #1 had a tattoo below his belly button that he got to symbolize conquering fears. I have this weird illogical thing about knives, he had this weird illogical thing about spiders. We both figured it was a past life thing. Anyway, after he died and I was still having euphoric recall (that ended quickly after I stopped drinking), I decided to commemorate him with my first tattoo since he had such an impact on my life. I liked the concept of his tattoo, but wasn't all that keen on the placement, so I got a similar one on my left arm. I lived with it for a year and decided then that it just didn't feel complete. So I went to a different artist and he came up with the surrounding flowers/web idea, fitting as it was meant to be a tribute to someone, but not overtly so. He surrounded the dagger and spider with 4 black roses and a red spider web, giving the first tattoo a frame of sorts.

I waited another year and decided that I wanted something nodding to my Irish heritage, but not a cheesy Celtic cross or some crap like that. I wanted script. I started thinking that my  first tattoo was symbolic of fear. So what should I get? Fearless?  That didn't seem quite right. My partner Peter said "Courage" because it is acting despite your fears, living with them and acting anyway. Not being fearless, because no one is fearless. We all have fear, and it takes courage to act despite the fear. So combining "Courage" with script in Gaelic, i got the tattoo on my inner bicep that reads "misneach", Gaelic for "courage".

The next tattoo on my right shoulder I wanted to be something of a nod to where I grew up in Bucks County , Pennsylvania. I remembered as a kid we had a Pennsylvania Dutch hex sign in our basement, and would see them around the rural areas here and there. I decided to research a little and look at various designs...Most involved roosters, bundles of grain and things like that meant to encourage an abundant harvest. Eventually I stumbled on one that was two-fold. It was meant to ward off evil spirits and invoke prosperity. I took it to my  tattoo artist and he stylized it slightly, but it basically looks like the image I originally found. No evil so far. I'm working on the prosperity part.
My most recent tattoo is the skull and additional flowers on my lefty shoulder above the spider/dagger/web/flower combo I had for a while. Wanting to keep with the theme on my left arm of fears I want to face head on, death seemed like a biggie. Also, my partner Peter has a real love of the Mexican holiday Day of the Dead and has several tattoos of skulls and skeletons already. Again I had the idea to combine these 2 elements into the skull, as a nod to Peter, the one I'm with and love, and also as a way to own my fear of death and not be ruled by it. I could have gotten "Peter" written somewhere on me, but then we probably would have broken up a month later. That's the rule of name tattoos. Get one if you want to end a relationship. ;-)

So that's the summary of what my tattoos mean, and how I chose to get each one. I'm not sure when or if I will get another. My right shoulder where the hex sign is feels a little naked, so if I get one, I will probably add to this area. Note sure yet. I do know that each tattoo has revealed itself as the one I should get next. Each one was  clear. There wasn't a question or a wonder. It was a definite. That's probably why I still love each one, and why the next should hold meaning to me as much as the previous. I like that they mean something to me, but don't scream it out to the world when others see them.  They are for me. Not for you. And I love them.

-CL

Friendship Evolution

It took me a long-ass time to stop chasing after relationships with people. I would "target" certain people that I wanted to be friends with, or I would cling to friendships that had drifted, and pursue them, thinking that eventually the relationship would be established or saved. Here's the thing - if I was chasing a relationship, that means whoever I was chasing was running away from me, not toward me. Once I started seeing it that way, it wasn't worth pursuing those people.

I learned the hard way when a friendship/roommate I had had for 3 years just seemed to stop and I couldn't understand why. They just moved on, and now I rarely speak to that person. I was really really hurt by this. it's not like anything had changed, or I had done something to end it. It just stopped. Something clicked in this person's head and he stopped wanting to be my friend. In a weird way I was devastated, in a tangible way I was pissed. But there wasn't anything to be done, but move on.

It's interesting now when I look at this person and see who he chooses to surround himself with, and just the level of himself he puts out there, I don't want to be his friend. He's not someone I have any further interest in knowing. He doesn't like anything that I like, and his friends are not my friends. He served his purpose in my life and now that part is done. I served my purpose in his, whatever that might have been for him.

It was on my 36th birthday when I realized how to see who my  real friends were. My relatively new boyfriend (now my partner) helped point this out when I was having one of my "i don't have any good friends" moments. He pointed out who was showing up for me, and who wasn't. He said I should pay attention to the people that show up, whether it is for something light or something heavy, for fun or for comfort. See who listens. See who is interested. Not who is interesting. Whomever is interested is someone who wants to be closer, and THEY are worth the effort.

I started doing this and the friendship filter turned on. My "picker" wasn't broken anymore. I could see who was someone I wanted in my life easier. Some people never, and I mean NEVER asked me anything about me, they would just go on and on about them and their day and their problems and their concerns, and that's fine. Doesn't mean I don't like them, it just means I'm not investing time in that person as a serious friend.

I don't have this pressing need to be heard mind you (despite the fact that I am now "a blogger"). I actually don't like talking about myself all that much. But when I do need to talk about myself or something going on, I want to know who I can call who will call back. Through trial and error over the years I've figured that out. And over time it'll need to be figured out again. I don't know who will move on. I don't know if I'll move on. People evolve. Lives and priorities change. Friendships end gradually most of the time, not suddenly, and it's not personal, it's normal.And  normal can hurt.

 I don't think of myself as a particularly good friend. I think I'm alright. I do know what I am good at though, and that's listening to the ones that need me to. I absolutely love it. Love It. when people feel they  can trust me. I don't gossip. I don't violate a confidence or a trust. Their information is not mine to spread. I try to be the friend I want. And with careful scrutiny and a listening eye, those are the friendships I now have. And I'm grateful.

Fear and Loathing

First and foremost, thank you everyone who has emailed and spoken to me in person with such positive feedback for this young blog. It really means a lot to me...

Which opens the door to what I am writing about tonight...FEAR! I'm out to prove to myself the old quote "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself", and I must say that I think that ol' Franklin Roosevelt knew what he was talking about.

Back when I first moved to LA, I was ready to start over. I came out here to clean up my act and begin a new life. I had lived in fear for so many years. Fear of success, fear of failure, fear of risk-taking, fear of crowds, fear of the "hot" guys I would see (they'd never be interested in me), fear of change, fear of things staying the same...Fear of all things that involved me choosing, deciding, being accountable for my own life. I was afraid of my own decisions, my own taste. I was convinced that my ideas were bad ones, my choices were the wrong ones, and my decisions would only lead me to more problems... I got really fucking sick of myself.

So with a new setting, a new clear-headed mindset with the drink and other activities removed from my life, I started over with the determination to not make any fear-based decisions anymore. To take contrary action to what my fear was telling me. To recognize that fear is a feeling. It's not a fact. It's a sensation based entirely on expectation and not at all in the tangible, logical world.

My first set of fears was in making friends. who would want to know me? what do I bring to the table? they won't be interested in anything I have to say.... all things my head would plug into the back of my mind when I would enter a room full of possibilities. I was sad, insecure and full of self doubt. I'm ugly, I'm boring, I'm a bad person. I'm skinny. I'm naive. I'm gross. I'm too tall. I'm bad i'm bad i'm bad.... I'm... I'm not listening is what I'm doing.   I learned not to turn the self doubt off. It's actually still there. A lot, and flares up like a bad rash now and then...But I forced myself to ignore it. To ignore that twisted nervous feeling in my stomach.

I started playing the scenario forward. OK, so whats the worst that could happen if you went up and said hello? Chances are they won't point and laugh. They'll probably say hello back. AAAAAAHHHHH! Be AFRAID!!!! Ok. whew. So they say hello back..then what???!? I know, I'll say "I'm Chris" and stick out my hand, then say "Whats your name?"... and guess what? A conversation will start. It might be great. I might be awkward as hell... It might end there with them rudely turning around... ok so there. done. even if they  turn around and ignore me from then on, how bad would that be?  Was I injured? OK insulted a little maybe, but they're a stranger. It's not like my mother turned her back on me. THAT would hurt...Luckily she's a nice lady.

So I started with this basic approach of asking myself to picture the worst case reality-based scenario, and could I handle it?  Most of the time the answer was yes, especially when it applied to social fears. Most people I found WANT to be known. They want people to be curious about them. They want people to ask them about them. I mean think about it - if someone came up to you and asked about you, your day, what you like, your job, your hobbies, whatever... That's kind of nice right? Most people I have found are willing to talk when it's about them. So I started listening. I started knowing. I started learning. I started hearing ideas. And then the weirdest thing started to happen... they started asking me questions back. It was weird and uncomfortable, but at the same time it's what I wanted....here come the voices again - what if they don't like what I say? what if  they think i'm dumb? what if i have food in my teeth? what if  what if what if what if??? what the fuck? So I said fuck it. just talk. IF they don't want to listen, they can end it. And I actually started developing friendships based on this approach.

I purposely set out to introduce myself to people I was attracted to whether it was sexual, intellectual, emotional or spiritual. If they had a quality I liked, I would try to find a way to meet them. I was at a party once and there was this HUGELY muscular guy sitting there at a table with someone i knew. I was nervous as hell to talk to him. I was scared actually because he looked mean. But I sat down and my friend and I started chatting. At some point  I mentioned someone that happened to be this big guy's ex, and he chimed in, and we started conversing...He was going through a tough time, was all torn up from a messy druggy break up with someone, and was just trying to sort it all and himself out. We exchanged numbers and he actually called me the next day to thank me for the chat. I was floored. That was seven years ago and today that guy is one of my best friends in the world. We see each other at least twice a week, we have travelled together, I've been to a memorial he had for is sister who passed away, he's been to my birthdays and listened to me when all I wanted was someone to hug. I never would have had this friendship if I had let the fearful voice in my head stop me from sitting at that table that one night. I never would have known the great times, good talks and just love I feel from that man, and he from me. (Shameless plug: That man also kicks my ass in the gym 2-3x a week as a personal trainer and is largely responsible for helping me change my physique over the last 7 years - Total Precison Fitness )

Fear sucks the life out of me if I let it. Fear kills any curiosity and fuels my depression. Fear I've learned serves absolutely no purpose whatsoever. NONE. If i'm threatened, I try to take action. I don't sit and quiver and cry anymore. I did that for years and guess what? Not once did it ever work. Action works. Action brings movement. Curiosity brings revelation. Revelation brings knowledge.

We have nothing to fear but fear itself... Fuck fear.

Lyrics of Love and Hate

Indugle me for a minute... (and let me say that if you are reading this I don't expect you to watch all of the videos I have included in this post, but I'd love it if you watched one that you didn't know and left some feedback).

     For a while now I have wanted other people to love this band like I do. When they sing of love, its heartfelt, vulnerable and tender, when they sing of anger, its loud, hard and visceral. I think I love the music so much because there isn't a single emotion in them that I haven't felt over the ups and downs of my adult life. The lyrics are so beautifully crafted, challenging to sing, and clear in what they mean. I post videos on my YouTube page from them that get few to no comments.  Blue October is a "hard rock alternative" band, but to label them as such edges out anyone who might be willing to give them some attention for a few minutes. I'm passionate about this band and literally listen to at least one of their songs every day whether in the car, in the office or while I write this.  I mention Madonna not being my favorite and I get volumes of comments, commentary, and defenses for the Material Geriatric. It's almost like I should be cast out for not worshiping Madge or Gaga. Well I don't. I worship Justin Furstenfeld and his band Blue October for their sheer bravery and honesty to express all the pain joy love loss and fear he is going through.

Some brilliant examples of lyrics that make an impact on me are simple lines like:
 "your mockingbird put dents in me", talking about his soon to be ex-wife filing for custody and divorce while he was out on tour.
"I might have been gone but I never walked out" singing to his daughter.
"I watched closely as the you I knew forgot me" singing about how someone neglected him as a child.

Image from "The Worry List" video

Blogger Chez Pazienza wrote on his blog "Deus Ex Malcontent" the following about "The Worry List", their latest single off of their album "Any Man in America":
 I have to admit that this song had an effect on me -- and for reasons you'll understand almost immediately. Blue October's latest record is all about the crash of Furstenfeld's very troubled marriage, told in vivid detail -- and while I've very much moved on from my own, the songs that deal with his relationship with his young daughter do have a pretty visceral impact and likely will for any man separated by time, distance and circumstance from his child, in particular his daughter.


Blue October's "Worry List"

Because this song breaks my heart. He sings "I see the door close down behind you. I watch your face turn from glow to straight gray. I see the moon go up and it shines this glory on my face. Who would know?" about drifting apart over the years from his wife in The Feel Again (Stay)

I first heard Blue October when "calling you" was played on the radio back in Dallas. It was different and heartfelt, insecure and humble. If you  don't know it, please listen:
Blue October's "Calling You"

Next they had a HUGE hit with "Hate Me" ("I have to block out thoughts of you so I don't lose my head. They're crawling like a cockroach leaving babies in my bed") followed by "Into the Ocean" Both amazing. "Hate Me" is him begging his mother to just let him go, forget all about him because of how he'd treated her when he was abusing drugs.

My favorite songs are when hes ferociously angry and letting loose. "James" is a song about pure anger and hate toward someone. "Dirt Room" is about how revenge and how he should have killed someone for robbing his family of food and success and how we wants to "Cover you with ants bees and honey then take a picture for the cover of our album".

OK I'm finished bombarding anyone who has lasted this long with songs I love. No one I know loves this band like I do. A few kind of like "Hate me" and "into the ocean" but that's usually it.

I respect what he's doing so much. He's working out his issues with songwriting and performing. He gets strength from performing and getting the energy out in such a way so he doesn't do any damage to anyone, especially himself. I would think that gay men especially would admire someone who lets his true feelings be known and puts them out there with such energy passion and feeling... Maybe if Justin put a cone bra or a meat dress on he'd get some gay boys following him and making mega mixes out of his songs.... hmmm...

Body Issues, Photo Shoots and Fessing Up

From the Michael Alago shoot

BODY ISSUES, PHOTO SHOOTS & FESSING UP:

    I've been getting a lot of "press" lately. It started when Peter and I went to Folsom last September in San Francisco. A few weeks before I had seen a post by a photographer I like, named Michael Alago, on Facebook saying he was looking for reds / gingers to photograph. I sent him a note and a picture just to see if he'd be interested and if I could get some validation, and he responded asking for more pictures, so I sent a few more. We struck up a nice conversation and it turned out he was also going to be at the Folsom street fair, so we decided to meet for a short minute at the fair and take some quick pictures.  Now I'm not by any means in the kind of shape most of his models are. If anyone reading this is familiar with the "Rough Gods" page on Facebook, you can see what I'm talking about.  I mean I'm in good shape (after MANY years of hard work... I'll get to that), but not to my ideal (are we ever?).

From the  Boots Bryant Shoot

A few of those pictures  were posted on his 60,000-fans-and-growing "Rough Gods" facebook page. Much to my low-self esteem's surprise, it got some colorful comments and a lot of "likes". Ego stroked. Monitoring of "likes" and comments ensues.  I posted a few on my facebook page to try to stroke my ego some more and get more comments, which I did.

I kind of got a little addicted to the attention (surprise) and took up 2 offers from other photographers that had been made. One from a man who professionally goes by the name Boots Bryant. Boots likes masks and asked me to take a few pics with various masks and things like straight jackets, CPAP sleep apnea masks and knives. It was a lot of fun, different and i did it just to do it. (He also took an amazing picture of my butt that I haven't posted anywhere. :-) )...

From the Mark Flanders shoot

I then remembered I was referred to a photographer named Mark Flanders by a guy I new from the gym, who thought Mark would like to shoot me so I reached out and we did a shoot. His work was more doctored in that he liked to alter and manipulate the backgrounds, exaggerate my physique and just have some fun with it. We met at a loft and had a fun shoot and laughed a lot while his friends were there drinking and gaming, looking at me half naked posing for pictures. I had fun, and the pictures turned out kind of cool and I made a nice new friend out of the deal.

From the Jeremy Lucido shoot

I was chatting online with a guy a few months later, Jeremy Lucido, who turned out to be a photographer. I mentioned my recent shoots and sent him a few of the pics from my previous shoots, kind of fishing... He then asked if I would do a shoot for him because he was doing a Leather Issue to his magazine, Starrfucker, and thought I'd be a good fit. Again, being a little drunk on all the flattery and attention, I said yes. I worked out hard leading up to it.We did the shoot in his loft  downtown of me in leather gear trying to look mean or sly...not sure if I pulled that off but it seemed to go well and Jeremy said the pics came out great. He emailed me one shortly after that and I was really stoked. I thought it was a great pic, so I quickly sent it to a good friend because I wanted him to see. He loved the pic so much he asked if he could contact the photographer to use one of the pictures for a promotional night club event he was doing.

I put them in touch with each other and got excited to see the result. John, my friend sent me the mock up of the banner he was using my image for. He said there would be several banners and this was one of them. So excited for the attention I really got excited for the event to roll around. When it did, there were 2 posters, both with me at the entrance to the club. I thought "I wonder why I'm on both of them and not one of the other guys he's using". We walked in and BOOM! ME ME ME ME EVERYWHERE ME! People coming up to me, attention attention attention! Across the room, the was a fifteen foot tall ME lording over the dance floor... There were no other guys on the banners or posters. It was me... and suddenly I was very uncomfortable. VERY, and told Peter that I'd be happy to leave at any time. I had gotten all this attention I quietly and discreetly sought out. I can't lie, for a while it was intoxicating and ego inflating to no end. I loved it. I still do kind of. But this evening proved to be too much. We went out to the patio and sat there eating food off the taco truck having nice quiet conversations for a while before we left.

Now I want to point out WHY I sought the attention. I've been 6'4" tall since high school. I shot up so fast that I would wake up with leg cramps in the middle of the night. Growing up I was skin and bones. My frame grew faster than any other part of me. When I graduated high school I was 165lb. I started working out in my 20s and got up to 220lb. Then I lost it all again to to some excessive "partying" shall we say, and not going to the gym anymore. At 32 I was back to 165lb.

I'm 40 now. I've been going to the gym solidly for 8 years. Working with a trainer for 6 to push and push and push myself to get over my insecurities. To not be afraid to take my shirt off. To not think when people look at me they are looking because I am a freak. I wanted to be secure in how I looked. I didn't want to be "pretty" or "popular" or anything like that. I wanted to be comfortable in my own skin.  All these photo sessions, all this attention - it all helped me reach a point where I don't have to listen to those insecure voices in my head. I can still hear them, and trust me they are still there, but I don't have to give them any weight.  The only time I really listen to them is when I don't want to go to the gym. THEN I listen and boy do I get motivated.

I will always be that beanpole klutz that I was when I was young, on the inside anyway. I'll hear complements and want to believe them but won't. It's fine. I think if I started to believe them, I'd turn in to a complete asshole. I like who I am, and recently I like what I look like...even though I don't always believe what I see in the pictures...except this one taken when I was 17:

(Ignore the hair. it was the 80's.)

The Dead Ex

The Dead Ex:
     So I've been struggling about what to do with the ashes of my dead ex. He's been dead since July of 2004. I'm writing this in May of 2012. Yeah. For almost 8 years that carbon ash has been sitting in a hermetically (did I spell that right?) urn either on a shelf or in a closet collecting more ash on top of it from the particulate filled LA air.
     That sealed urn of ash has come to be a sore spot in my relationship, a symbol of old luggage I just won't be rid of, and an anchor to the past that for some underlying reason I haven't cut loose. And I I don't know why.

Me and Johnathan in the spring of 2004,
shortly before he died.

     My partner John died at age 37 from congestive heart failure. He was young, reckless and often times pig headed in his life. He was a conman, a sweetheart, an abuser, a romantic, a thief and a liar. I loved him with what I thought was everything I had despite all I knew he was. I ignored it. I told myself he was just misunderstood. No one knew him like I did. And in part that was true. He was a liar and a cheat right from the beginning. Everyone knew it from me. People told me that he was cheating. He got busted cruising for sex in a public park, he stole my ID to give to a guy to use to fly with so he could make a large drug purchase... insanity. He lied to me about why he lost his jobs. He lied to me when he told me he was HIV+ six years into our relationship about when he must have gotten it. He lied to me about going to AA meetings. He lied to me about an affair he was having with a "friend". HE LIED TO ME ALL THE TIME...but I refused to believe it.
     I was 20 years old when we met and he was the first real man whose head I turned. He was the first to show real and true interest in me. I had just come out in college not to long before and was new to the whole dating world. I knew nothing of relationships. This 12 year relationship would turn out to be all I knew of relationships. for what little better and for much worse.
    Anyway, so you can see why I feel conflicted about those fucking ashes. Some days I want to do a ceremony, find closure and release them somewhere at sea or some shit like that. Other days I want to drop them down the trash chute or flush them down the toilet. Lucky for my dead ex that urn is sealed shut and I will need a professional to pop the fucker open, because if it wasn't, he'd probably be in a land fill by now. I love him and hate him. And have yet to make peace with that...

     I've managed to fool someone new to fall in love with me. Someone whom I love right back. he's been patient, loving, undestanding and sweet about those ashes. But he's tired of being in a 3-way relationship and I don't blame him. So just as much for us now as it is going to be for me, I need to dump those ashes somewhere and, at least symbolically, be free of that luggage.

And here is the man I love now. the man that showed me how you treat another in a relationship, how you respect someone and how to really really LOVE someone as you should in a relationship. I used to think John was the love of my life... I was naive and young. Peter is the greatest love I have ever known, the most honorable man I think I've ever met, and one of the wisest people in my life.
He not only opened my heart, but he showed me what to do with it.