The Power of 42:

Once upon a time, a hysterical stranger would approach me -- "OMG. You're Brettcajun. I looooove your blog!" I was revered as a God. Sure, it turned off boyfriends, but it fed an inner need. I'd take a pic with the quivering fan and totally take advantage of rock-star status by copping a feel. If succulent nips were protruding through shirt, I'd  always reward them with long stretched tugs.

Fame is soooo fleeting. Nowadays, I am much more likely to be approached by soccer moms. They whisper into my furry ears, "I found your blog. LOVE IT!" An uneasiness ensues. "You do? The icky gayness and obvious narcissism didn't make you scream and run for the hills?" Hmpfh.Obviously not!

Which brings me to my point. I love being 42. At this age, I have obtained wisdom. Through good and bad life experiences, my intuition and perception of others are sharp with razor-like precision. Don't attempt to lie or put on airs because I can see through all your bullshit. If you have an agenda, I will detect it.

With wisdom comes power, and it's fucking amazing! No longer am I a slave to naively trusting others or foolishly thinking they have my best interests. I seldom mince words. If you want my opinion, I can always be counted on to deliver it with brutal honesty. "That was MEAN!" Well, why did you ask? Did you want the truth or what you wanted to hear?

At my age, I am entitled to express an opinion without worry of politeness or political correctness. I am well past the phase where the goal is to accumulate friends and be well-liked. I DON'T GIVE A SHIT. I am now in the ornery phase of NOT liking people. They consume precious free time, suck up oxygen, and prevent me from enjoying a set routine I have spent years honing.

Which brings us to a shit-hit-the-fan moment that illustrates all of the above:

I was recently asked by a bar acquaintance/Facebook twink to attend a pool party. "Umm... why are you asking me?" Twink: "SQUEE! You'll have lots of fun and my friends would love to meet you!"  Me: "So, you want me to be a Trophy Daddy to show off to all your friends? The Twink's eyes flared and cherub face blushed in crimson. "There will be LOTS of food and drinks at the party!" Humm... a non-answer. "So, basically you are telling me I am a prostitute who will make public appearances at pool parties for free food and drinks?!" The once exuberant Twink was stunned into silence.

All believers shall bear witness to and be wary of The Power of 42.
-The Book of Brett 

42

Mean Cub's Seven Day Visit:

My dating life has sure become interesting. I met "Mean Cub" (his chosen nickname) while playing in an Austin tennis tournament. He attracted my attention by sporting an Adidas black and white soccer outfit with jock at The Iron Bear.

Since that time, we have done several short weekend visits lasting 24-48 hours in Houston, which is a manageable drive. This Memorial Day weekend, we decided to see if SEVEN DAYS spent together would drive one insane and the other with a murder charge.

I know what you're thinking: Brett can't even spend 7 days with a blowup doll much less a real life human being! WRONG bitch. There are no after-three-days-smells-like-rotten-fish OR gimme-space-or-I-freak-and-become-a-gaping-MEGA-bitch social disorders here. I get along well with everyone! :)

My spring cleaning plan was hatched weeks ago in anticipation of Mean Cub's visit. Unfortunately, he decides at the very last minute to come in a day early making me a nervous wreck getting the bachelor's pad cleaned up and fridge stocked. I forgave him ONLY after he offered homemade fudge he made especially for the trip.

On the farm, Mean Cub got to see that I don't live with Mama and Daddy OR live in a trailer. He noted that he felt like we were in "Mayberry". GRIN. My dogs Boudreaux and Pierre readily liked him. Heck, even the baby horses greeted him warmly when we rode around the farm on the Gator.

On Saturday, we attended the first day of the Bayou Country Superfest at LSU's Tiger Stadium. It was hot as hell, but we enjoyed seeing performances by Eric Church, Little Big Town, Carrie Underwood, and the EXCELLENT Keith Urban from 5pm until Midnight.

On the next day, we traveled to New Orleans and spent two nights in the Big Easy. We walked along the Mississippi River, saw the million dollar mansions on St. Charles Ave., and went up and down the French Quarter.

I also took Mean Cub to the usual haunts (Bourbon Pub, Oz, and Lafittes in Exile). I hadn't been out much at all in gay bars in 2012, so I was in typical Ohhh... form. After witnessing my social behavior first hand, Mean Cub suddenly announced he had no desire to go out the next night. WhattaIdoooo?! WhattaIdoooo?!

Before he drove back to Austin, Mean Cub made my house ooze of a greasy fried chicken smell, which was actually quite delicious! :) He also cooked, froze, and individually bagged a casserole in lunch sized portions so I wouldn't go hungry for the next ten days. Awwwhhh. :)

Now, back to my normal routine so that I may shed the 7 pounds I have gained since his visit! I'm... now... squishy... and it's all Mean Cub's fault! :(

Heroic Moments

A couple of weeks ago, I had a life moving experience. It was one of those moments that I will always cherish. In the state championship tournament, my team was struggling against the best in Louisiana. My team captain took the chance and played me against the eventual champion team's #1 singles player.

All this talk of being "Tennis Gawd" was going to be put to the test. I was chosen to play against an opponent who was 14-0 in league play in 2012. We were picked to be on the "Show Court", which meant my whole team and several other teams would watch our match. In all, there were 50 something spectactors watching us battle it out.

I played with confidence and hit well, but lost 6-0 in a swift first set. There was just a smidgeon of difference between our skills, but my opponent had played earlier in the day and was warmed up and deadly accurate. My only hope was to balance out his advantage with fresher legs. That I did, as I raced to a 5-1 lead in the second set and hung on to win it 6-4. I could hear the spectators buzzing with excitement as the "Tennis Gawd" just made the lop-sided match EVEN. We were going to the dreaded 10 point super tie-break in the third set.

My opponent summoned up a hidden resorvoir and came out the gates fast with an 8-3 lead. My whole team continued to root for me, but I could tell they saw an inevitable loss looming. I did not quiver and buckle under the stress. I cooly won 8 out of the last 9 points to STUN my opponent 11-9 in the super tie-break. He was shellshocked.

While my team was whooping and hollering with shouts of "MVP! MVP!", I was first greeted by an old man with a strange look on his face. "You just beat my son". I didn't know quite what to say, so I sheepishly replied .. "I'm sorry about that!". He reminded me that this was the first loss his son had experience all year. The old man smiled proudly and extended his hand to congratulate me.

I was next approached by a beaming tournament official who said, "I watched the whole match. What a comeback!". Delirious teammates quickly greeted me with big smiles, high fives, and an ice cold Bud Lite. It was a crowning moment of happiness (for me) considering all the struggles and adversity I faced this season.

I capped off the tournament the very next day by blasting a 20 year old 6-0,6-1 to yet more high fives and accolades. In the end, my team finished in a three way tie for first place at 4-1. Unfortunately, another team was crowned tournament champions due to having more individual match wins.

I was still proud of my team and most importantly... myself. Being benched during the regular season for losing in league play lit a smoldering fire in me. I was so focused in righting the ship and being a strong asset for the team. Against the best of the best, this underdog came through. I will always tearfully remember that moment for the rest of my life. :)