Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Hurricane Isaac Heading Here:

Update #2: Warning SALTY LANGUAGE!

Friday, August 17, 2012

Best Bed Buddies 4 Ever:

If you are curious, the relationship with Tony from Austin is progressing well. Sure, there are bumps and bruises along the way, but we always rebound stronger than before.

We are extremely compatible in the you know what department. He's very affectionate, loves cuddling, and eagerly matches my high you know what drive. What endears me the most is that Tony ain't a frigid bitch. If I suddenly decide to flip him on the side and spoon with him at 3am, he doesn't scream bloody murder. Similarly, when I am jarred awake at 5am because of you know what, I just lie there and accept it because I shouldn't have slept nude wore a slinky red dress. Neither one of us complains or feels compelled to call Tori Amos's RAINN hotline.

However, finding common ground with our dueling personalities has been a bit of a challenge. For example, my PERFECTION has been an issue. I was raised in a disciplined environment where the parental units doled out punishments like kneeling down on concrete or shell rocks for an hour, whipping the shit out of us with belts, and screaming "SILENCE!" if we dared speak at the dinner table. We were to be seen, not heard. Fear of Dad reigned supreme, but it was a necessity I now realize.

My Dad had four kids in his early twenties and four jobs. He was rarely home. My parental units had no choice but to raise us as North Koreans. We were not showered with love or given praise. No Siree! It was more like -- "You dummy! Gawd dammit. Whattya mean you don't know how to do XYZ?! Are you stupid?! Have you no common sense?! I guess you'll be a ditch digger when you grow up!" I'd bow in my rice paddy hat and take the browbeating. "Yes, Father. I'm sorry. I have brought great shame on the family. I will do better."

So, when Tony (aka Mean Cub) told me early on I needed to do something about my belly, I wasn't phased one bit. Without any emotional response (weakness), his concern was duly noted and I took care of it. I have brought great shame on you. I will do better.

On the other hand, any critiques of his lifestyle choices get met with an impenetrable wall of resistance. Have any of you DARED tell an Italian, Hispanic, or Italian/Hispanic Mix Mutt what to do? DON'T! No matter how sincere your intentions are, you'll be screamed at -- "I'm sorry I am not perfect like you!!" Doors slam. Walls get kicked. You panic and search for the nearest emergency exit as they go full cray cray Rob rage on your ass!

Then there are sexting issues. It's perfectly okay to peek at your boyfriend's cell phone while they are passed out. Hey, if he doesn't passlock his phone, then he was asking for it. Right? You are amazed at the sheer number of flirty pics and strong sexual innuendos exchanged with HOT friends. What's this? Oh, every text to your BFF is a scathing bitchfest against mean things I, the douchenozzle boyfriend, just said or did. GASP!

God has a sense of humor. All the righteous indignation fades away when, to your sheer horror, your boyfriend knows your passlock code! OH SHIT. Of course, my flirty texts are abundant... I am a Gemini. Yes, I DID text more flirty pics than you did because... well... look at me! I have a porno bod. Wouldn't it be a waste not to share with the poor squishy bastards out there? It's... my... do good charity work. I am totally full of shit. Sorry. :(

YEAH! Relationships, especially between two men, are FUN FUN FUN! :) Despite the bumps, I think we are progressing in a normal and upward trajectory. With Southern Decadence, the trashy New Orleans festival, a mere two weeks away...  things are about to get even more interesting. If we can survive a weekend together with 100,000 gay men, then we can survive anything. (crossing fingers)

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Validation is a Two-Way Street:

There is not a week that goes by where I am not ridiculed for checking-in to the gym or a tennis court on Facebook. It's always by the same type: a fat and slothful queen engorged with lard. I am 42 goddamn years old and put in the hard work, but must always bite my tongue so as not to offend the one that just offended me.

I say, "SCREW THAT!" I am tired of being silent in the face of those ridiculing me for doing what they should be doing. I don't check-in as some sort of validation because I am insecure. I check-in because I am proud of my healthy lifestyle choice. I check-in to demonstrate my hard work ethic. I check-in to let you know that if we were somehow magically teleported to a Mortal Combat arena, your Golden Corral chocolate fountain/cotton candy machine eating ass stands NO CHANCE.

You may be thinking... "Brett... just let it go... unfriend them if it bothers you so much." I am NOT a quitter. Quitters walk away. Fighters confront their nemesis and deliver 10 x's the hit point damage. We deliver R E A L I T Y so that douchebags think twice before criticizing those who are HOT while they are... ewww... well them!

From here on out, I will return my own VALIDATION to every Facebook Troll knocking my healthy lifestyle. Whenever they check-in at the next buffet, I will be there to go "Really?! Shouldn't you be eating carrot sticks?!". The next time they check-in to their favorite watering hole, I will comment "What a disgusting lush! No wonder you can't get up in the morning and workout! GROW UP." Validation will be served back.

Hmm... am I overreacting? I sometimes have that problem. ;)