Give. Thanks.

I first posted this back in Ott-Eight,  and decided to edit it a bit and repost it today, to kind of remind me of where I was then, what I thought then, and what I wanted out of life; the more things change the more they stay the same.

Not to brag, but I've been told that I am an extremely polite person. I was raised on Please and Thank You, Yes Ma'am, No Sir, and I still act that way today.

True story: I was selected for jury duty back when we lived in Miami and when they were questioning us in the courtroom, it was my turn to stand. Well, it was a narrow aisle, so I put my hands behind my back, and as the judge and the lawyers began to ask their questions, I always answered Yes sir, No Sir.

The judge stopped for a second and smiled. "Are you in the military?" he asked.

"No, sir" I said. "I was raised by a military man and a Southern woman."

True story: A few years before that, while living in California, I was in a grocery store buying a birthday cake for a co-worker. I asked if I may please order a cake. May I please have a name iced onto it? I pleased and thank you'd my way through the ordering process and finally the girl left to go in the back and finish my order. But then, just before disappearing to that back room, she turned around and said to me, "I think you are the most polite person I've ever waited on."

I smiled and said, "Could you just shut up and ice my damn cake!"

When all else fails slip into sarcasm. That's my motto. But I digress.

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, probably because there are no gifts involved, except for the gift of time; time spent with loved ones and friends; the gift of thanks. This is a day of thanks for Americans; a truly American holiday, like 4th of July, but one we celebrate not with picnics and beer, firecrackers and sparklers, but with a meal we share with loved ones, friends and family.

I have so much to be thankful for this year.

Yes, the usual family and friends and health and happiness, blah blah blah, everyone says that. But I am also thankful that we are an America on the verge of a new day, when we are all, even those of us under the LGBT balloon, considered more equal than we have been in the past.

Fourteen years ago, Carlos and I couldn’t be legally married anywhere in this country, and here we are now, married, legally, in South Carolina and 34 other states and the District of Columbia. I never saw that coming, but I am so thankful for that.

I am thankful for the years I had with my sister — and missing her every single day — because of the things she taught me, and continues to teach me. I am thankful that I could see her, and feel her, alongside my Mom as Carlos and I stood in a courtroom and said, “I do.” I could feel all that love, and for that I am always thankful.

I am grateful to her four daughters, all of whom she raised so well that when Carlos and I told them we were getting married, they all responded, “Now he really is our Uncle.”

I am thankful for my Dad. He didn’t ask for a gay son, but he got one; he didn’t know what to do with a gay son, but he did the best he could. And, when the time came to marry Carlos, and we decided to go west to Washington to do it, it made my Dad’s day. I think he was more excited than we were, more proud that we were doing it. I wish every gay person could have a Dad like mine, who sees that change is good, and sees that not everyone is the same — even in your own family — but who loves you all just the same.

I am thankful for cold mornings and blue skies.

I am thankful for small dogs and cats because, well, I'm bigger than them and I will always beat them. Just channeling Joan Crawford and Christina at the pool.

I am thankful for......Carlos. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about how lucky I am to have him; even the days when he makes me insane …. More insane? … I realize I’d rather be driven nuts by him than not to have him at all. I am thankful for the smirk he gives me; I am thankful for the look of horror on his face when I bust out in a showtune; I am just plain thankful. I don’t know where I’d be, or who I’d be, if I hadn’t met him all those years ago.

I am thankful to my Mom, especially today. Thanksgiving was always her holiday; cooking for her family was my mother’s greatest joy and a great gift to all of us. I am thankful that I can keep that tradition alive, and can see my Mom in that.

I am thankful for leaves changing color and drifting to the ground on a breeze.

I am thankful for music and pets and soft blankets and breathing and speaking, and having a voice when I speak.

I am thankful for thinking being feeling loving living.

For Life.

And all it encompasses.

To Life.

Thanks.

Mr. and Mr.

I remember as a kid — a not-yet-out-but-knowing-I-was-different kid — telling my mother that I would never get married, but I would have a maid to take care of my kids.

How things change; as I remember that story, I think it was my first shot at coming out — as a six-year-old, I think — because, even then, I never thought I could get married, would be allowed to get married, but I always thought I could have children, if that’s what I wanted.

Years later, years later, after meeting Carlos, falling in love with Carlos, and moving three-thousand miles to be with Carlos, I still never thought I could get married, and,  while I like children — deep-fried with a side of ranch dressing … I kid — I knew I didn’t really want children.

And now, fourteen year s after that, I realized I could get married — perhaps not in South Carolina, yet — and that I would get married. We both wanted to do it, and we planned it a couple of times, but it never seemed to work out; things happen, life happens.

I wanted to get married on our anniversary, October 17, because, and he’ll hate me for saying it and then he’ll quickly forget I said it at all, Carlos is bad with dates; I figured the last thing he needed was another “us” date to recall.

So this year, this past summer actually, we decided to go for it. We’d planned a trip to New York City — one of our favorite spots where equality has landed — and planned a week of sights and shows and drinks and just plain fun. I called my father and told him the good news; he said he was so happy for us but that he wouldn’t, couldn’t come, because he doesn’t 'do' big cities. I thought, Oh that’s okay, Dad and let it go, but every time we talked about it, he’d always say that same thing.

And then it hit me: I’m an idiot.

My father was saying how much he wanted to see Carlos and I marry; he’d seen my brother get married, he walked my sister down the aisle, and he wanted to see Carlos and I marry as well.

New York was out, and Bellingham, Washington was in.

The only difference was that in Washington we’d have a three-day waiting period from getting the license to the actual I do’s rather than the twenty-four-hour waiting period in New York. But, it meant that much to my Dad, and it meant that much to me to have him there for this big life event, so it was worth it.

So, Washington there we went; up to Sumas, in fact, a literal hop and skip — no jump because it’s that close — to the Canadian border. Dad’s house is about thirty minutes from Bellingham — a smallish beautiful city along Bellingham Bay — and that’s where we went last Monday to fill out the marriage license.

One hiccup? I’d forgotten Monday was Columbus Day and, as I tend to do, I was freaking out that, if the government buildings were closed, we might miss our three day window to get married on the 17th and since we were leaving on the 18th to come home, we might completely miss this chance. 

Damn that Columbus and his bad sense of direction; had he made it to India, we wouldn’t be taking a day off in America!

Luckily, though, for whatever reason, all government buildings were open, and off we went for the license; the first step and it was a snap. Sign here, show an ID, and hand over some cash; bing bang boom, done.

Then it was off to lunch with my Dad and while driving we wondered about the three-day waiting period. I told Carlos it gave people a chance to make sure this was what they wanted to do and he replied,

Yeah, three days! Because fourteen years isn’t long enough.

I almost drove off the road.

But the wait was on; we spent time with my Dad; we spent time touring the area; we spent time making sure we had the rings, the jackets, the kilt, the shoes, the address, the judge’s name. I guess we did need to three days.

By Friday we were ready and anxious to get this thing done. Since the only person we know in Washington is my Dad, and we needed two witnesses, my father asked a friend of his to join us. I’d met Casey before, and liked her, and, well, witness this already! Casey brought along her boyfriend Tyler, so we ended up with a spare, you know just in case.

At four-thirty we ran into the Bellingham Courthouse — through security … do I really need to take my belt off — and upstairs to where Judge Henley was waiting for us. Then it was short trek down the hall to an open courtroom, followed by a few instructions, a quick chat …

Judge Henley said the ceremony calls for the use of the words ‘spouse’ or the use of the words ‘husband’ and asked what we wanted to do. Carlos and I said, in unison, Husbands!

Anyone can have a spouse, we wanted a husband.

I don’t remember too much about the actual ceremony, really. I remember giggling a little and giving Carlos a side-eye during the richer-poorer part because I thought he’d say, Hmm, poorer? Maybe not so much.

And I remember getting teary-eyed listening to him repeat his vows because Carlos can be very serious and he rarely gets weepy; but he stumbled over some words, and his voice cracked, and my eyes watered, but we made it through.

A quick exchange of rings — again, that’s them up there on top — and it was kiss the groom.

Kiss.The.Groom. Who knew? Bing bang boom, married.

Afterwards, my father took the wedding gang out for dinner at a great restaurant along the bay, where we could watch the sunset over the marina, and drink a little and laugh a lot, and just let it all sink in. My father, some new friends, and my new husband.

It was all so simple, really, and yet such a long time coming; from the days when that little kid never thought he could get married to last week when a  much older kid realized he could, and would, and did.

Fourteen years down, the rest of our lives to go.

Wedding Week Repost: Shake The Etch-A-Sketch

As we are now winging our way west to tie the noose, er, knot, I have decided to do some reposting for the week. 

This particular post first  appeared Wednesday, December 03, 2008 just a scant few weeks after I'd started this blog. It's a little piece about me, who I was, how I met Carlos, and how this all started.

So, without further ado ....

Shake the Etch-a-Sketch

We all do it; follow that line we set up for ourselves. We plod a course, the straight and narrow some might say, and then walk that line toward a particular destination we've imagined we want. And every so often we twist the knobs, and set out on a course of curves and newness, moving in a direction we hadn't thought of before, but it's a slow curve, not dangerous, you can still see where you're going. We might not like it, but we can always go back.

But what about shaking the Etch-a-Sketch? What about saying, screw that line, damn that curve. Let me hold on tight, both hands, and shake things up.

See, I was an Etch-a-Sketch person. I followed the line that I thought I was meant to follow. I didn't stray too far off the path; who am I kidding, I never strayed off the path. But then it hit me, follow the path, that straight line or that gentle curve, and where are you going? Toward another straight line, one more gentle curve? What was that all about?

My first shake was telling my parents I was gay. That was a big shake at the time, although now it seems more of a 'so what.' But I thought it was a big deal because I didn't have a real life reference point on what it meant to be gay. What were the rules? Was there a uniform? Did I have to pay dues? What was it? See, in my family there were no 'funny uncles' or 'aunts in plaid' that I could see; that I could say, "Hey, I'm like that, so it must be okay." The only gay men I knew were the limp-wristed types on TV shows and in the movies. They wore ascots and paisley jackets, were sarcastic and alone. Terry-Thomas? No, not me. Uncle Arthur, I was not....at least I didn't think so.

So I shook the Etch-a-Sketch and came out. No one died. No one fainted. My family didn't disown me. I lost a few friends, but then I think they weren't really friends to begin with if "I'm gay" causes them to disappear. I'm gay.....Poof.....you're gone. It's like a homo David Copperfield. Now, of course, I was gay and yet I still followed that straight line that had been set before me; I'll save you the horror of joking about me following a 'straight' line. It's been done.

Then about eight-and-a-half years ago, I gave the Etch-a-Sketch a gentle nudge. I got a computer.....yes; I was late to the game...one step behind. But I got a computer and then started looking around the Internet. I was on AOL and went into a chat room--Gay Lifestyles, I think it was called. It was a fun chatty room where you could be gay, where you could step off the line a bit because no one really knew you.

Then I met Carlos in that chat room. And we started to online chat. The lines jogged a bit off-course for me. We began to call one another; he was in Miami, I was in California. Then I bumped the Etch-a-Sketch and told Carlos I wanted to meet him. He was thrilled and plans were made for me to fly to Miami in July. JULY? IN MIAMI? Oy! What was I thinking?

But I bought the tickets and readied myself to take a sharp turn. I've split my life into Old Bob and New Bob. See, Old Bob would have bought the tickets to Miami, told everyone he was going, and got on the plane. But then when it made a stop in Houston, Old Bob would get off the plane, find a Motel 6, and spend the week there. Then he'd return home and tell everyone that Carlos was 'okay.' The trip was 'fine.' I'd ignore Carlos' phone calls and stay off the computer. I'd go back to following that line.

But New Bob didn't do that. New Bob flew to Miami and met Carlos and spent a wonderful week in Florida. New Bob fell in love with Carlos and cried at the airport when he had to go home. New Bob's Etch-a-Sketch was shaking. And it was okay; twists and jogs in the oath weren't anything to fear.

A month after I came home, Carlos came to California and we did Meet The Family. I was so happy to have him there; so happy that my family liked him; my friends, too. But then he was gone home again and I wondered what would happen next.

It wasn't but a few weeks before I hurled the Etch-a-Sketch across the room and chose to follow the path I chose, not one that was arbitrarily set out for me. Carlos and I made plans for me to move to Miami. I sold a car, some furniture, some knickknacks; I got rid of my apartment and quit my job.

Every once in a while, you gotta Shake the Etch-a-Sketch.

Random Musings

So, the other night we were sitting in the living room and, as usual, MaxGoldberg likes to sit by Carlos. So he jumped in Carlos’ chair and sat for about a second and then jumped over to me, where he stayed for about a second, until jumping back over to carols for another second before … you guessed it … round and round.

So, when he went back to Carlos, Carlos told him to stop running around and sit still; and then he told MaxGoldberg that he wasn’t going to pet him. And Max stood there staring at Carlos until Carlos finally  looked away.

I said, “My god, you two are the biggest babies!”

And Carlos actually said, “No, Max is a baby.”

Then he turned around and refused to look at MaxGoldberg … a cat.

To the folks — mostly rightwingnuts and lard asses like Drug Limbaugh — who constantly berate the First lady on her appearance: grow the f**k up.

I mean, you’re nothing but a bunch of schoolyard bullies whose little teeny heads would explode if a Democrat ever said anything negative about a Republican First Lady.

Seriously, grow up and shut up.

So, Ricky Perry wanted to fire someone because she was arrested for DUI, and she refused to quit and then he decided to cut the funding for her office and found himself arrested for abuse of power.

Hmm, wanting someone to quit, and they don’t, so you cut the money off to their job and other’s jobs is an abuse of power? Even I knew that Ricky.

So, here’s to Governor Smugshot who just shot himself in the foot for the 2016 Presidential election. Asshat.

We’ve been watching Under The Dome this summer, after having seen the first season last year. It’s kind of what I would call Lost: Under Glass. That same kind of story; but it does have some nice man candy.

Mike Vogel [left] has been on this blog before but he is very hot, and has the kind of ass you could … use your imagination.

Eddie Cahill [middle] is just plain cute, with a twinkle in his eye.

And this week we met Max Ehrich [right], who plays a computer nerd. There is just something about a cute nerd that burns up my motherboard.

Just sayin’.

The other day I was chatting with my Dad on the phone and we were talking about everything from politics to rainforests to furniture. And then we started talking about Carlos and I getting married and my Dad said, “You’re doing it in New York?”

I said, “Yes.”

He said, “Well, I won’t be there. I don’t do big cities.” 

And he doesn’t; he and my mom used to live in an area of California called Blue Canyon — ninety minutes or more from anything you could call a city. Then they moved to Toledo, Oregon, hours away from a city.

After my mom died my dad moved to Sumas, Washington, in the far North West. It’s close to Bellingham, but Bellingham is a big town or small city.

But I digress.

After hanging up I started thinking. Sometimes you don’t really listen to people and you miss an important fact. When he said “I won’t be there … “ I missed the little glitch in his voice that seemed to suggest he wanted to be there. And then I thought about how my Dad was there when my sister got married and was there when my brother got married and, even though for a very long time, we never believed I could actually ever get married, I knew he wanted to be there for Carlos and me.

Cut to the chase: we’ll be getting married in Washington state rather than New York because we want Dad to be there.

Good on Mariela Castro, the daughter of Cuba’s president Raul Castro and niece of Fidel Castro, for making the first recorded vote against the government in a show of support for LGBT people.

The proposed update to Cuba's expansive labor code included explicit protections based on sexual orientation, but Mariela — who was behind the sixth International Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Trans and Intersex Association for Latin America and the Caribbean Regional Conference held in Cuba earlier this year — said that because it didn't also specify protections for people based on their gender identity and HIV status, it was inconsistent with her beliefs.

It is thought to be the first time that a government bill has been voted against.

Brava chica!

So, a few years back I saw a picture of hot model, hot gay model, Josey Greenwell, He was all over the internet and all over Pride festivals, singing and performing and being, well, openly gay. In fact, for a time he was publicly dating model Rodiney Santiago, former boyfriend Reichen Lehmkuhl.

Then suddenly he was gone; no Pride performances; no modeling jobs; no Rodiney. And no Facebook page and no more Josey Greenwell fan pages; even his Wikipedia profile was scrubbed clean.

But now he’s back … as Nate Green, straight country singer. And he wants to be seen as straight anywhere and everywhere and apparently even deletes any gay comments about him or any comments that say he is really Josey Greenwell and really gay.

And now, in interviews, he denies being gay or even being Josey.

Uh huh. Josey, honey, the gays never forget a pretty face, especially one that tries to re-closet himself.

The Archdiocese of Cincinnati has issued a call for all Catholics to refrain from participating in the Ice Bucket Challenge because it funds an ALS study that uses embryonic stem cells. 

People should suffer because, well, stem cells.

To date, however, the challenge has raised some $31,000,000.

Speaking of Carlos and me getting married, he was in downtown Smallville this afternoon and stopped in a jewelry store to look at wedding bands. The woman in the shop began showing him what they had, and then she asked that question:

“Your fiancé? What kind of ring does she want?”

Without hesitation, Carlos said, “It’s what kind of ring does he want.”

And the woman said, “Oh, okay, Here’s some other ones you both might like.”

Smallville, you never cease top amaze me.