Cable and Heat

It took me awhile, but I finally got up the nerve to shut my cable off today. Actually, I severely downgraded it. I now have $12/month basic cable which is just good reception on the regular channels. I couldn't justify being without even the news in case of an emergency. The woman at Time Warner Cable was very nice and tried every which way she could to change my mind, but I wouldn't relent. I finally had to tell her the truth, which is that it is better for my mental health to be without cable.

On another note, it is so blisteringly hot out today I fully plan on not even leaving my apartment. I celebrated the horrid weather by taking my friend Danni to see "An Inconvenient Truth" which is a fascinating documentary about global warming. I hope to GOD they are showing this in High Schools around the country. It's horrifying and sickening to realize what we have done to this planet, and it's even more horrifying to realize how crucial it is that we change what we are doing RIGHT NOW!! The oil barons have such a stranglehold on our global policy it makes me want to puke. Greenland is in the midst of melting!! If it continues melting it will raise our sea level by 20 feet! MAPS will have to be redrawn and there will be approximately 140 Million refugees, worldwide. Check out this website to learn more: www.climatecrisis.com

Home Tour 15: Into the bell jar and out for good...

In February of 2002 I moved to this apartment building in Lauderdale, MN.

The place was a typical cookie-cutter apartment that I got without hardly a reference of any kind. They told me I could move in when I went to look at it. It was the first real apartment I had alone. It's the one with the deck, by the way. The window to the left of that was my bedroom. The place was eye level with the parking lot so it had nothing in the way of a view. The only nature I could see was a gigantic walnut tree across the parking lot. In this apartment I was fired from a total of 3 jobs (in a ROW!) went to jail once, was unemployed from March of 2003 until November of 2003, lost a cat (she ran out onto the deck and took off running on move-in day and I never found her) found another one (on the stairs in the apartment building I found Mi-Wu, a tiny kitten less than a week after I lost Myla). I experienced some of the worst desperation, depression and anxiety here. I basically hit rock bottom. I also went through one of the worst slut phases of my entire life while I lived here. When I dragged myself back from the brink, it took a Herculean effort, but by the time I moved out I had a full semester of college behind me, had dated someone briefly, had written several short stories, had dropped at least 20 pounds on the South Beach Diet, had cleaned up my license and my finances, more or less, and the future was looking up. It still is...

Home Tour 14: Duplex Complex

I lived here from February of 2001 until February of 2002. Somehow, it seemed longer.

It's a Duplex. We had the bottom half and the lead-footed owner with 2 kids and a billion centipede-attracting rose bushes lived upstairs. I lived with 2 different roommates here. The first was a co-worker named Anne and then The Nurse. This is NE Minneapolis which I now consider the armpit of Minneapolis. Everything seemed junky and trashy here. The place had one rickety window air conditioner that you can see in the picture, but it never reached my bedroom in the back. It had absolutely no insulation so we froze in the winter and burned up in the summer. This place was also haunted as hell and the owners admitted to me AFTER we moved in that the place had been EXORCISED more than once. I lived here during September 11th and sat near that big wondow in front waiting for the sky to fall. They had hissy fits when they found out my roommate and I smoked so we decided to get hypnotized to quit. I quit and never looked back. She started up a few weeks later. There was also a lightning strike that happened right in front of the building which sent a gigantic log through the back window of the owner's car. A few months later, the same car was stolen which they replaced with a truck. The car was found about a week later 2 blocks away with nothing wrong--except the back window was broken. Shortly before we moved out I blearily looked out the front window and was shocked to see an auto glass place replacing the back window of the same car. Someone had randomly thrown a brick through it. The Nurse and I were often late with rent causing us to "hide" from the owner, ate too much fast food and were general layabouts committing the sin of sloth every chance we got. We moved out at the end of February.

Home Tour 13: Winter of My Discontent

My friend Wicca let me live with she and her 11 year old daughter from Mid-December until Mid-February of 2001.

Their apartment was directly behind that blue car, in the basement. I crashed on the futon. It was tough not having all of my stuff with me especially my bed. It was being stored at my friend Scorpio's house until I could move into the next apartment. It's uncomfortable discovering the day-to-day workings of a family and I was privy to many arguments between my friend and her daughter. I also got what I unaffectionately refer to as the Hansen Family Christmas Flu while I lived there. It was one of the most miserable stomach flus I have ever had and we all got it at one point or another. I moved out around Mid-February.

Home Tour 12: The House

In June of 2000 I moved here. I lived here until mid-December, 2001.

This house is in infamous North Minneapolis, where I never felt unsafe. The gunshots were always a few blocks away, and I minded my business. I hit rock bottom while living here. I lost my job at AT&T in August of 2000 and it took me until November to get another one. To make matters worse I was living with my friend Sexy. If you've been paying attention, YES he is the straight guy that I was obsessed with for several years. Turns out, we didn't really get along as roommates and by the time I moved out, I was over him and over our friendship. He did a bunch of really shitty things to me while I lived here, and I did them right back. It's painful knocking someone off their pedastal, especially if the pedastal is the one you have placed them on in your mind. We are on speaking terms these days, but barely. Of special note is this is the first HOUSE I lived in since I was 9 years old. It had a dishwasher and central air which seemed like incredible luxuries to me. The place was also haunted as hell and I could always feel someone watching me. It was tough moving out as suddenly as I did, but it was like a huge weight was lifted in a million ways.

Home Tour 10 & 11: Gay Town

In January of 1998 I moved here. I lived here (in a studio on the second floor and a much more spacious 2 bedroom on the 5th floor) until June of 2000. The building is very close to Loring Park.

Below was my first apartment.

It was the one right above the awning with tan around it. The bathroom is the window to the left. It was a tiny studio but it was my first place. I paid $325 a month for it. It was a nice, clean building. Below is the second apartment I lived in at this building.

My bedroom was the second one from the top. I had a really cool view of the downtown skyline, but having 2 bedrooms meant that I needed a roommate. My first one was a weirdo who was a little too into Hansen for my taste. Second roommate was my friend Pete, who I more or less got along with. Third roommate was Sarabellem's brother who I really didn't get along with, especially toward the end. I learned a lot of lessons at this place. This is where I lived when all of the Trent Bullshit was going on, so inevitably I think of that. I also destroyed my license beyond repair with a million parking tickets that I only got cleared up in 2004. I was young and stupid and living for the moment. I pissed my pants in the slow, rickety elevator and according to someone who lived in my apartment after me (?!) that I work with, the elevator still reeks like piss. I moved out on June 1st 2000.

Home Tour 9: The Real Ghetto

I moved here in August of 1997 and moved out in late December. This was the first time I officially lived in Murderapolis and it was a trial by fire.

I moved in with my friend Red and her boyfriend. There are four apartments, one on each corner. We lived in the lower right apartment. The place was a total dump. It had hardwood floors, no air conditioning and it always seemed to be messy. I also regularly heard gunshots and since it is right near HCMC there were ambulances roaring past at all hours. We often sat on the upstairs patio drunk and/or high. Red's boyfriend was one of the biggest potheads I have ever seen, so there was copious amounts of weed being smoked and much junk food was consumed.

I started out working at a horrible job at Sam Goody in the City Center where they scheduled me 39 hours per week so they wouldn't have to offer me benefits. I eventually (through a series of bizarre coincidences) applied for a job at AT&T and much to my surprise got it. It was the end of crappy retail jobs and the beginning of being able to afford my own apartment. In January of 1998, I triumphantly moved into my own apartment for the first time.

Home Tour 8: The Dead Campus

In mid-June I moved into a one bedroom apartment with my friend Ryan and his nerdy, Metallica-obsessed roommate at the U of M.

It really sucked. I crashed on the hide-a-bed and had absolutely no job the entire time I lived here. I tried to get one, but the campus is dead during the summer and everywhere I applied they asked if I was a student. It became clear that they only want to hire students everywhere. It was also very hard to go job-hunting because Ryan wouldn't give me a key and if I left for the day I would be locked out until he got home from work. I also remember drinking copious amounts of alcohol while I lived here and barfing in front of the building one steamy night.

Ity is of special note that while I lived here I went to visit a friend who lived in the dorms at the U of M. I didn't realize, but she actually invited me over as a joke (she was a total bitch and a pathological liar, as it turns out). When I showed up I met her friends Tom (one of the worst flaming queens I have ever met) and The Nurse who eventually became one of my closest friends. In a bizarre, mind-boggling six degrees of separation kind of way she is what led me to getting the hell out of the suburbs once and for all. Ours is the friendship that almost wasn't more than once.

Ryan and I don't talk anymore. I haven't spoken to him since 2001. We just drifted apart.

I lived here until he made me leave, and after a brief stint house-sitting for a friend it was either the homeless shelter or back home at mom's. SHe relented and I moved back home at the end of August, 1996. I lived there for another year, then moved out of Maple Grove for GOOD in August of 1998.

Home Tour 7: Brutus

I don't have an actual picture of the next place I lived. I lived in my car.

Brutus was a gigantic 1981 Oldsmobile Delta 88. I could stretch out fully in the back seat. I had a comforter and my teddy bear Buddy. I had a ritual that if I was going to sleep in my car that night, I would go to Super America and buy some milk and two sugar cookies. It honestly wasn't that bad sleeping in my car. The weather was nice, it was comfy in that gigantic back seat and there was this sense of total freedom, not having to answer to anyone.

To be fair, I also crashed on friend's couches during this time period. I wasn't completely homeless. My mom was trying to teach me the value of having a roof over my head. All I learned during this time was how to get by without having a job. Stealing gas (I became a drive-off expert), cigarettes and food. I also sold every CD I owned and pawned everything else worth anything.

In retrospect, this would have been a great time to try it out in another city. I really had no ties here. That's one of the things I really regret. In mid-June, I found a more-or-less permanent place to stay.

Diversionary Tactics

1. Grab the book nearest you, turn to page 18 and find line 4.
"Elvis and Frank and Liberace may have left the building."

2. Stretch out your left arm as far as you can. What can you touch?
The curtains.

3. What is the last thing you watched on TV?
Started watching an episode of Melrose Place, but got annoyed by Billy and Allison and shut it off.

4. Without looking, guess what time it is.
9:24

5. Now look at the clock. What is the actual time?
I SWEAR to GOD I got it exactly right!! WTF?!! I have this freakish sense of time, though.

6. With the exception of the computer, what can you hear?
Just my air conditioner whirring away.

7. When did you last step outside? What were you doing?
Walking home from work in the fucking heat. I can barely breathe outside!!

8. Before you started this survey, what did you look at?
Sarabellems answers on her blog!

9. What are you wearing?
Big blue t-shirt and shorts I only wear around the house.

10. Did you dream last night?
Can't remember, so probably not.

11. When did you last laugh?
Sarabellem wrote that HER dream was "about work so it was ass".

12. What is on the walls of the room you are in?
A freaky Salvador Dali print.

13. Seen anything weird lately?
A preppy-looking white guy and a crackhead-looking black lady LOUDLY discussing the finer arts of dime/nickel bags of crack a few yards from a police officer on 10th and 3rd!

14. What do you think of this quiz?
Passes the time. Better than average.

15. What is the last film you saw?
HATE to admit this, but it was "Final Destination 3" Total piece of crap.

16. If you became a multi-millionaire overnight, what would you buy?
MYSELF OUT OF MY FUCKING JOB!! I really really despise what I do right now. The rest would be secondary if I could just tell those bitches to go fuck themselves HARD!!

17. Tell me something about you that I don't know.
I think alcoholics have it easy. They have a well-known built-in FREE support group in every city in the united states. Those of us who AREN'T addicted to substances have to fumble the way through our own addictive tendencies alone. It makes me wish I were an alcoholic.

Home Tour 6: Home?

Here is the next place we lived. Just my mother and I. My sister moved to Florida to live with our dad not long after we moved into the last place.

These are quad townhomes. It looked a lot different when we moved in. There was no deck for one thing and it was white with brown trim, not tan with brown trim like now. I suppose that's mock Tudor, right? The window closest to the door on the right was my first bedroom.

Anyway, I finished 9th grade here, moved on to High School, came out, graduated, got drunk for the first time (at 19 on tropical schnapps), got attacked by a friend's boyfriend with an ice scraper, smoked weed for the first time, and got arrested while I lived here. Also there were many scandalous rendezvous with my obsession, Sexy, who lived two quads away. Basically, my life changed completely here. A lot of people's lives changed here.



The window on the right next to the sliding glass doors was my second bedroom. My mom kicked me out on May 1st, 1996. I was 20 years old. I was homeless when I turned 21.

Home Tour 5: The Apartment

Back to Maple Grove, to this apartment. We lived here from March of 1987 until late February, 1990.

First, we lived in this apartment, on the second floor. See how the gutter is disconnected at the bottom? I remember why. There are automatic sprinklers that make the loudest noise when they rattle against these things. We had some loud, nasty neighbors with a retarded baby below us. It cried non-stop. The landlord said the only thing we could do was move next door.
So we did. I went through the horrors of Junior High here. Most of them anyway. I broke my wrist while I lived here, nearly got arrested for breaking windows at the construction site nearby and discovered Nintendo for the first time. Nearby is a pond where I was attacked by a flock of geese when I ran out of stale bread. They chased me all the way up to the door hissing, with their long purple tongues.

On February 24, 1990 we moved.

Home Tour 4: In The Ghetto

Here is where my broke-ass, post-divorce mom moved us next. Brooklyn Park. We lived here from September 1 of 1985 until March of 1987.


The place was a dump. It had bugs, no air conditioning, stinky matted carpeting, an unfinished, horrifying basement, and it was, essentially, in "the hood". In my mind anyway. Remember, I was sheltered and had some pretty racist ignorant family members feeding me BS. Yes, it was technically low-income, but there was never any violence here or screaming sirens 24/7 or gunshots. Geez. I didn't know anything about bad neighboroods then.

I also had some of the best friendships when I lived here. My best friend moved in next door. His name was Matt, he had a younger brother Dillon. He was one grade higher than me in school. God, I wonder what happened to him. He and I just drifted apart after I graduated. It happens sometimes.

We lived here from 5th grade until I was almost done with 6th grade. My sister drove me back and forth from the new place to my last few months of 6th grade.

Home Tour 3: Just Passing Through

Here's the 3rd place I lived in Maple Grove. We lived here from March til August of 85.

Mom managed to find a pretty decent townhouse not too far from the previous house. We had the right side, and some other folks had the left. I remember watching Halley's Comet from my bedroom window, having the stomach flu, not liking many of my neighbors and feeling completely cut off from my old neighborhood. There was also an incident where I broke open one of those glowing necklaces and put the stuff inside around my eyes. Of course, the stuff got in my eyes and I freaked. I thought I was going blind and my friend had to call his mother. She rinsed my eyes out with water and of course everything was fine but not before I, very melodramatically, screamed about my "Beautiful hobby" (reading) and how I'd "never be able to do it again."

We lived here for 6 months, then moved because my mom couldn't afford it. That was the end of several friendships.

Home Tour 2: Goodbye Upper Middle Class

The second place I lived in Maple Grove. I lived here from October of 78 until February of 85.

This house I remember very fondly, even though it's where the eventual divorce took place. The place was a vacant lot when my dad purchased it and he had this house built. The driveway isn't as steep and the bushes on either side of the house were a little taller than my 10 year old frame. The window on the right is the kitchen. My bedroom faced the back of the house where there is a large yard.

Next door, a house was built. They dug the foundation, and then winter hit. So, essentially there was nothing but a hole filled with water that iced over in the winter. My friends and I decided it would be a good idea to walk on the thin ice. My friend Brenda jumped on it, and it broke. They got off, I didn't. I fell through. There's a tremendous suction when ice breaks, and it almost pulled me down. My friends Brenda and Brandon grabbed my hands and pulled me out.

We lived here until I was 9 years old, in 4th grade. My dad won the house in the divorce and forced my mother, my sister Kelly and I out. My mother had a month to find a job and a place for us to live. My sister Tammy moved out a year earlier.

Home Tour 1: Hardwood Floors and Toy Cars

This is the first place I lived in Maple Grove. I lived here from July of 1975 until October of 78.

All I remember about it is shag carpeting and hardwood floors that I liked because I could play easily with my toy cars on them. I can almost picture my bedroom, the living room and the kitchen. I have no concept of where the other rooms were in relation to mine. I fell face-first on the driveway and cut my upper lip. I still have a scar. My mother, father, two sisters and I lived here until I was 4 I think.


The gigantic pine tree in the front yard was brought home in a plastic bag by my sister Tammy when she was in first grade. Apparently, my dad used to run it over with the lawnmower all the time.

This place is why my porn star name is Suki 69 because it's on 69th and my first pet was a cat named Suki.

Untitled

Desirous of confidence
In a confidentially perspiring world
The filthy alleys in a suburban town
Are between grinning houses
Facades
Of what they are not
Joyously facetious
And conservatively smothering
I try to breathe
But I taste moldering decay
I wipe the sweat from my brow
On another summer day
The lawns fed by whirring sprinklers
While the children thirst for escapism
Buzzing static on the TV screens
Carnivourously coveting
Everything real
Everything their lives have become

Dated 3/30/98

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This is what happens when a gay boy grows up repressed in the suburbs. He writes really bad poetry. There are a couple lines that seem okay, but overall what tripe! In 1998 I had my first coporate desk job and I was living in my own apartment. I forced myself not to edit this or make it sound better. I posted it on here as is. Ugh!! In everything I write, summer always equals bad. I never write anything positive about warm summer days. Cold features very prominently in just about everything I write, as a guy in my screenwriting class pointed out. I don't know where that comes from. I usually write spooky stuff and summer in the suburbs is never spooky. But very late on a bitter winter night, you can feel like you are the last person on earth wandering around the suburbs.

So Damn Predictable!

I think I may have had some post-vacation euphoria for a while because I actually believed my summer depression wouldn't happen this year. Here it is! It doesn't help that this isn't just summer it's SUMMER with some of the hottest, most miserable days I have experienced this side of Florida in August. For the love of god why can't it be global COOLING?!! I am at a point where I am feeling overwhelmed by things. The car and everything financial surrounding it has added a lot of stress especially since I am not getting regular bonuses at my job anymore because they are fucked in the head. It's just too stupid and painful to go into details. I have decided (in the brief clarity that too much caffeine causes) to quit at least 2 addictions in my life practically cold turkey. That being said I joined Weight Watchers on Friday (Today is officially day one) and am moments from calling to cut off my cable. I WATCH TOO MUCH EFFING TV!! I am keeping Netflix, however, and plan to catch up on my shows that way. Way back in my unemployment days nothing got accomplished until my cable was involuntarily shut off. Once that happened, I wrote more than I have ever written before and I got a job. I tried to explain it away as coincidence, but I don't think so. Also, right now I have DVR and I have started to realize that if my DVR fills up with shows, I practically have anxiety that I haven't watched everything. It feels like a job like I am falling behind. Also, I have realized lately that television has given me a skewed perspective on real life. Not everyone is good looking and perfect and funny. I have to constantly remind myself of that. My depression takes hold pretty hard and sitting in front of my TV and eating is not helping things. Besides, what will I be missing? Crappy reality TV like "Big Brother : All-Stars"? All-Stars shows are a fucking waste of time, in my opinion. "Survivor: All-Stars" was terrible. What's next? "Amazing Race: All-Stars"? PUKE! Back to no cable: The only shows I will truly miss out on can be rented from Netflix eventually anyway. Not to mention, the shit is way too fucking expensive!! I can't keep paying for it (around $80/mo) and pay for my car insurance at the same time.

This cloud of depression will pass, like all clouds of depression pass. If this foul heat wave ever breaks I might even be able to figure out what my car runs like without air conditioning.

Da Rizzide

Yes, I have joined the rest of the adult world and gotten a car. It's my sister's old one which she sold to me for a ridiculous discount. It's the newest car I have ever owned and it's in impeccable shape. It has caused moments of such sheer panic and terror, very much akin to post-traumatic stress. Ya see, this brings the horrid Blazer I purchased a few years ago rushing back to me. It was the biggest piece of shit I have ever driven. It cost $600, initially, an additional $1,200 in repairs before it died permanently after only 5 months and destroyed a friendship. I call it the last stupid mistake I made in my 20s.

Soap Box

10 Reasons

01) Being gay is not natural. Real Americans always reject unnatural things like eyeglasses, polyester, and air conditioning.
02) Gay marriage will encourage people to be gay, in the same way that hanging around tall people will make you tall.
03) Legalizing gay marriage will open the door to all kinds of crazy behavior. People may even wish to marry their pets because a dog has legal standing and can sign a marriage contract.
04) Straight marriage has been around a long time and hasn't changed at all; women are still property, blacks still can't marry whites, and divorce is still illegal.
05) Straight marriage will be less meaningful if gay marriage were allowed; the sanctity of Britany Spears' 55-hour just-for-fun marriage would be destroyed.
06) Straight marriages are valid because they produce children. Gay couples, infertile couples, and old people shouldn't be allowed to marry because our orphanages aren't full yet, and the world needs more children.
07) Obviously gay parents will raise gay children, since straight parents only raise straight children.
08) Gay marriage is not supported by religion. In a theocracy like ours, the values of one religion are imposed on the entire country. That's why we have only one religion in America.
09) Children can never succeed without a male and a female role model at home. That's why we as a society expressly forbid single parents to raise children.
10) Gay marriage will change the foundation of society; we could never adapt to new social norms. Just like we haven't adapted to cars, the service-sector economy, or longer life spans.

Vintage Diary Entry 4: Wednesday, August 12, 1992

1:35AM- Boy is this a day to go in my diary! I did it! No, not the proverbial "it" that you are thinking. I told Kelly! I handed this diary to her! She knows! I didn't even plan it, though. I was sitting in my room, feeling particularly depressed, actually contemplating suicide. And, ironically, the reason was that fact that Kelly and Sam are getting engaged. It wasn't that I was thinking about her; I couldn't be happier. Ity's that I was thinking about ME. I was being my usual self-centered self, by thinking about how happy she is going to be and how no matter what I can never be that happy because of the way I am. Mom and Kelly were about to go out to dinner again, leaving me by myself so that, I conceived, Kelly would be the center of attention yet again. I felt alone and bereft, and I sobbed for awhile on my bed. I was thinking of slashing my wrists after they left; seriously! I was planning on writing a heartfelt goodbye in this diary, then doing myself in with razors Sam used to make Kelly's folding door. But, before they left, Kelly came in my room to say goodbye. Immediately, she knew something was wrong. When she asked I told her nothing was wrong. She absolutely would NOT leave the room until I told her what was wrong. She shut the door shutting mom out. I began telling her lies lies, telling her that I was depressed about my job, and about how this summer has gone and everything, but she would not buy it. Finally, I relented. I unlocked the foot locker with trembling hands and took this book out. Without a word I handed it to her. I shuddered and sobbed as she read the introduction. I had an impulse to snatch it from her hands and lock it up again, but I was paralyzed. She read the crucial part. I waited for the bomb to drop. She looked up at me, all beautiful with her makeup and dressy clothes and perfume. I sat on my bed, waiting for her reaction. She sat on my floor and smiled, "Is this what you wanted me to read?" and she read the passage. Amazingly, I almost denied it, but it was far too late. Tears were in her eyes. Before I could say anything, she threw her arms around me and hugged me as we both sobbed. Then, she smiled at me, her mascara running and said, "I'm so proud of you. Thank you for tellimg me this. It took a lot to tell me this. Don't you think for one second that I love you any less. I love you more for trusting me with this." Soon after the melodrama of that scene, she apologized and left. She said we'd talk later. We did, when she got home. By then, I was floating on the highest, softest, warmest cloud in beautiful sunshine, surrounded by love and understanding for the first time in too many cold, dark lonely years. T0 my surprise, my mother came home first. She had been talking to Kelly. Kelly hadn't actually told her, but she must have hinted at it, for my mother asked what was wrong before they had left. I made up a bull-shit story about being worried about graduating high school and being on my own and very depressed. To my shock, she asked point-blank: "Are you gay?" I told her. She took it well, considering. She had a hard time with how I knew I was gay. "You can't be sure," she insisted. I told her how I knew. She still didn't buy it. Then she said that she didn't want that for me. She cried. Though I told her not to blame herself, she does. She thinks she could have done better for me. Later on, I talked to Kelly again and I got the shock of my life! She knew all along! "I knew since you were about that high." she said holding her hand 4 feet off the floor. "How?" I questioned. She said she just had a feeling...
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This was a big deal, but it isn't entirely the truth. I wanted attention. Shit-point-blank. There was so much BS that summer going on about the wedding. I would NEVER have fucking killed myself, either. I am completely incapable of suicide because if I get depressed enough, it turns into anger at everyone else that is depressing me. I was feeling totally ignored. It was pretty traumatic. Everybody else seemed to yawn about it. My problem was that I thought telling people was the only battle. I thought it would all be downhill from there and it fucking wasn't. I thought people not knowing was the root and cause of all of my emotional problems and by telling people I would feel normal. For the most part, it gave me a chip on my shoulder, as most teenagers and twentysomethings have. I was different, part of an alienated minority and EVERYTHING was about being gay. Thankfully, I have gotten over that. The main thing that cracks me up about this entry is my being surprised that she knew. In retrospect, I look back at some old pictures of myself and I immediately say: "What a fucking flamer!! Strangers had to have known!!" HAW HAW HAW Honestly, I'm lucky. A lot of gay guys out there get beaten, kicked out of their home and disowned or worse. Some others never tell anyone and live a lie ala "Brokeback Mountain". The part that pisses me off is that I had no guidance afterwards. I told everyone, now what? People knowing almost made me more lonely. I should have got the fuck out of the suburbs at the first opportunity. Hindsight is 20/20 though. It was what it was. And I lived through it.

My Inner Addict

I have recently been re-reading all of Augusten Burrough's books. I absolutely NEED something good to read at work during lunch so I am not tempted to go downstairs and hit up a fast food joint. Instead, I sequester myself in an empty conference room with Lean Cuisine and a riveting book. I am currently re-reading "Dry" which I think would make a far better movie than "Running with Scissors". It's about his battle with alcoholism. One of the things his therapist told him was about that little voice inside that makes you do the things that you shouldn't do, that perpetuates your addiction, whatever it may be. It's called your inner addict. If you want to keep things secret, like the voice tells you to, the inner addict is telling you to. (In his case he never threw away any of his 1500 Dewars bottles and lived in squalor in Manhattan, though he was making more than enough money. He said the bottles were lined up 7 deep against the wall.) When you tell people about this secretive stuff, you are "Telling on your inner addict". I have been trying to figure out what I am addicted to. Well, what I am addicted to besides greasy food that is bad for me, TV, Netflix and coffee. Those are ones I openly acknowledge and intend to fight against. Those are ones I "tell on" all the time, but they are not the main one, the one who rules the roost of my emotional problems. They are not my main addiction. They are not the Inner Addict.

Today in the shower it hit me. [An aside: I seem to have tremendous revelations in the shower, by the way. Probably because water is such a spiritual thing to me. I truly believe that water is my higher power.] I am addicted to my own loneliness. I find it so hard to leave my apartment alone. If I am going to meet someone or if someone is picking me up I can vault out the door. I also have no problem leaving to go to work or school. I have a problem going to lectures or support groups or coffee shops or walks around Lake Calhoun or gay reading groups or ANYTHING that might possibly help me meet cool new people. When I do meet cool new people I have forgotten how to make room for them in my life or be their friend. See, more friends means more time away from my apartment, where I can be lonely. My inner addict tells me I am ugly and worthless and boring and damaged goods, and that no one will ever find me attractive or worthwhile. It tells me everything that keeps me addicted to loneliness. It's absolutely getting repulsive and boring. When I look in the mirror lately, something has started to change. I'm starting to see myself differently. I don't know if it's being in my thirties or what, but I see some kind of fire behind my eyes. There is a lot going on, there is almost a confidence there. I'm on my way to kicking the shit out of this inner addict. I just have to silence that voice by going out and doing things, breaking out of this suffocating comfort zone, as scary as it it.

Vintage Diary Entry 3: Sunday, January 3, 1993

10:27 PM- I’ve been thinking a lot about a remark my mother made the other day. I’ve tried to get it out of my mind, but I can’t. It was my mom, my sister Kelly and I. We were sitting at breakfast at Baker’s Square. We were talking about me moving out and being on my own. “You won’t get much help with furniture,” my mom said, “and no one is going to give you any wedding presents if some guy moves in with you.” That one little statement has confirmed something I have suspected all along. My mother has never and will never accept the fact that I’m gay. Those words embarrassed me and made me feel like a total ass! Kelly accepts it (or at least she’s putting on a great act that she does) but mom never will. Maybe I should just try to deal with that. I’ve tried my hardest to accept the fact that I can never lead a normal life. I can never have the house, the car and the kids. NEVER! If I’m ever happy or loved by another human being it will be from behind closed doors. It’s scary as hell, too! The stuff I read about gay bars and “sidewalk sales”. Who would ever “buy” me? I’m overweight, shy, ugly, I think too much of myself, and most of all, I’m weak. On the plus side, there’s my writing and my sense of humor. I don’t think some attractive gay guy would ever come up to me and say: “You are a great writer with a wonderful sense of humor. Do you want to go out sometime?” But, who knows. Maybe someone is crazy enough to love me. I know I’m dying to love and to be loved.

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Where the hell did I read about "Sidewalk Sales"? For those not in the know, Sidewalk Sales supposedly happen after the gay bar closes and everyone lines up outside, hoping someone who is interested comes up and picks them out to go home for a night of wild, anonymous sex. Like some twisted version of a pet store or an orphanage. Pick me pick me pick me!!! HAW HAW HAW!! Figures that I would think the same philosophy that applies to picking sides for a kickball team in 5th grade would apply to gay bars. Boy was I deluded. I should have cussed my mom's ass out for saying what she did. She was learning. I cringe when I describe myself that bluntly. The part that doesn't fit is "I think too much of myself". I think the better way to phrase that would be "I'm selfish." But I didn't truly figure that out until I tried living with roommates a few more years down the line. My good friend Sarabellem who has posted some Vintage entries of her own said that she is smiling and getting a bit weepy about the earnest girl she used to be. I want to smack the hell out of myself.

You can get ANYTHING on the internet these days!!

Vintage Diary Entry 2: Tuesday, June 30th, 1992

Today is my birthday. Guess what I got? One dollar from my grandma, $5 from one of my friends, and a card from my mom. That's all. She didn't get me anything else. She spent more on Crickett's birthday which was yesterday. Crickett is a fucking CAT! She got her 2 toys and a CAKE! You know, this summer is turning into a fucking sick joke. I don't even know why I had high hopes that I might have a good birthday seeing the way the rest of this summer has gone. That's all.
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HAW HAW HAW!! ONE DOLLAR from my grandma?! I know that inflation exists but holy SHIT that's cheap. My sister Kelly had the same curse. She remembers birthday cakes that said "Happy Birthday Kelly and Keesha". Keesha was a Siamese we had. This was my 17th birthday, though. I was old enough to get into rated R movies. I'm surprised i didn't mention that. One of my friends and I used to buy tickets for something else and then sneak into the Rated R ones. It was a big deal.