Nice To See StevieB: Silver Spoon In My Mouth

By StevieB

After we moved in together I got a phone call at work. “Steve, I was cleaning up and found that a piece of my grandmothers silver is missing.” Now when I looked over at the Eagle leather bar and saw this muscle bound Italian decked out in his leather I never dreamed that someday he’d be asking me about his Grandmothers silver. 

Go figure. 

Uh, okay where did you use it last? Maybe it’s stuck in the dishwasher?” “Okay, first silver does not go in the dishwasher. Second I have not used it. Have you? Not having a clue what I was about to get into I replied “I only use the knifes to screw in the switch plate covers.” 

Wow that really was the wrong thing to say. 

It’s a spoon Steven (I love it when he calls me Steven) One of my grandmother’s silver spoons it has been in the family for generations. 

I really have no concept of having things ‘in the family for generations’ because Mormons are always melting their shit down to make some sort of new temple. Buy some damn drywall freaks.

Suddenly it hits me; Fuzzy is accusing me of pilfering the silver. Oh my god! Okay so he wasn’t accusing me. Just concerned that I pawned his silver spoon to buy crack. He asked, “Maybe you took a spoon to work to eat lunch and forgot it?” I love that he loves me so much that he quickly built an alibi to cover me to protect me from my self. Suddenly I thought, I could have killed a man and Fuzzy would nervously stammer. “ Ummm He jumped forward and fell on your spoon…. seven times… yeah that’s it.” 

“No, I don’t use your silver to eat my lunches and no I have not touched it, I would never, I know how much it means to you. This ended the CSI interrogation. I promised I would help him look for it later that evening. We did not find it and sadly Fuzzy came to live with the fact that the family silver was not whole. So neither was Fuzzy. 

So on a completely unrelated note, Yesterday I was finally cleaning out my desk and digging out my files when I reach back to the back of 2007’s files and pull out a spoon. The spoon. I am in SOOOOO much fucking trouble. I think I’ll just slip it into the solid oak velvet lined box with the family crest upon the top. Maybe he won’t notice. And while we’re keeping secrets let’s not tell him that I hold the dog up so he can play piano with his paws.

Nice To See StevieB: RLF (Rabbit Liberation Front)

By StevieB

Outside of the grand metropolis of Denver, Colorado is God's country. Well, I am unsure if it was God himself who declared this statement upon a massive billboard next to the interstate just out of where civilization ends and farms begin.  Yet, I passed this billboard in my unyielding quest to do what I've done non-stop since school let out; shop for a new car. This visit to the countryside brought me to a dealership that specialized in over sized Dodge farm trucks.
I was; however, not there for the farm trucks. I was there for the Jeeps. This particular dealership had Wranglers in spades. So many that they were not on the dealers lot, but on a grass knoll next to the sprawling complex.  I climbed the grass knoll to look for a Wrangler with my tight, and unquenching list of "needs" like, the correct radio, automatic climate control, the best color.  Sometimes I feel I should do what BMW owners have done for decades. Fly to the factory, pick their new car up straight from the assembly line, drive around Germany, and have it shipped home. Although, instead of zipping around Munich, I'd be touring around Toledo, Ohio.  No difference, really.

As I peered into window after window I noticed something strange under every Jeep. Cages? Those humane trap cages used to capture feral cats. Since this was God's country and there was noting but fields around the dealership, I was intrigued as to what they were capturing. Then, I saw a cage with a huge rock in it. Wait? A furry rock?  A huge furry rock with ears? Bunny!!!!!!!!

The dealership had a line of fuzzy bunnies in cages. All looking scared as they pretended to be rocks. As the facility was closed, those bunnies  would be there a long time. This is when I snapped. I grabbed the cage with a terrified rabbit inside and began to dislodged the bunny. Shaking the cage like a ketchup bottle.  Upon freeing three bunnies,  I had trouble with the fourth cage. As I struggled with the door, the bunny inside and I locked eyes. This is when I said out loud, "I'm going to get you out of here" in my best Indiana Jones voice. After shaking the cage like a cereal box the bunny went bouncing to the ground. I'm sure he thanked me as he ran for the safety of the fields.
I ran too. To my car. I'm quite sure there was video of a crazy man manifesting bunnies like a magician. They would of told me everything that everyone else has said upon hearing of my idiotic act.  That rabbits harbor disease, I could easily of picked up something. It is not like I licked them. I didn't even touch them. I was raised on a farm with pet rabbits, I do know all the precautions. Like to not mess with strange rabbits under Jeeps. As for buying a Jeep out in God's Country? No thank you. All their Jeeps have damn rabbits chewing up the wiring. They really should do something about that.
Stevie B. Bunny Wrangler.

Nice to See StevieB: Camp

By StevieB


Now that the late Rocky Mountain snow has turned to rain. My thoughts turn to the summer and my favorite activity, gay camping. It’s gay, because it’s fabulous.

This time of year I begin to look forward to some weekend get-aways up in the mountains. Quick weekend camping trips, with a tent, a fire, and all my cool camping technology. Gay camping is, for me, about the propane cylinders and electric ignition on the camp stove, the lanterns with the fragile asbestos mantles, and all those bendy fiberglass poles for the tent. I believe I enjoy the folding camp chairs with the extra large cup holders just as much as the rugged, pine forest and rock cliff encrusted scenery.

You haven’t camped until you do it with a gay who truly enjoys his 15 piece, blue speckled enamelware cook set. It’s like All-Clad, for an open fire. This year I’ll be enjoying my new matching enamelware coffee percolator.

I can’t wait for the first chance to get out and truly rough it. Lying under the stars late at night, listening to the campfire slowly burn out. The feel of the sleeping bag and 700 thread count camping sheets loosely wrapped around my naked body. Completely back to nature.

Nice To See StevieB: The Name Game

By StevieB

Could date a person with the same name as you? It is an odd question that truly applies to LGBT people. Could you date a guy or a girl with the same name. If I was chatting up a guy named Steve, I'm unsure how I would feel. Yes, there's the lame joke about screaming out your own name during sex, but seriously? I think I would really have mixed feelings whether I could ask out a guy named Steve.


What about dating? Would we be known as "The Steves?" Like when inviting people over to a fabulous dinner party one host would turn to their partner and ask, "Should we invite The Steves?" Or, when you are living together, a telemarketer calls and asks to speak to Steve. I've know Kathy and
Kathie, like the "y" changes things. I've known a Jim and a Jimbo, and a Mike whose handsome life partner was Mic. I really am curious how these couples know what Christmas stocking to grab on Christmas morning. How narcissistic would it be to stand around at work on Monday morning talking about how much fun you had with Sue. "Sue is soooo great at rock climbing. Sue is such a great cook, Saturday Sue made Spaghetti alla Carbonara."

What about dating a person with your Dad or Mom's name? Do you really want to quietly whisper your Dad's name into the ear of someone who passed out on top of you after hours of sweaty sex? My Dad's first name is Wilbur , so.... no trouble with that. I've never chatted up that hot bro leaning against the bar to find out his name is Wilbur. Would it be okay to be sitting at Thanksgiving and telling the family your new partner is also named Linda. "Linda and I are really romantically compatible."

Is it a deal breaker?

Nice To See StevieB: Purgatory

By StevieB

If there is such a thing as Purgatory, in the afterlife, I know what my Purgatory will look like. If it is like the Catholics describe it; a place of suffering inhabited by the souls of sinners who are expiating their sins before going to heaven, then I can tell what it looks like.

My personal purgatory will be spent wandering around the prepared foods department of a Whole foods. 

Hours are spent with me dazed and confused moving from one bar to the next. Approaching the soup bar to squish the ladle down in over-cooked chicken noodle soup, or white bean chili. Then, to the deli counter to gaze upon the chicken wraps. Starving for something, yet not sure how the normal people of the world make a decision in a sea of choices.

Last night, I approached the area with the intent to pick up dinner. The boyfriend quickly made some healthy choices, and disappeared. Leaving me to fend for myself. I had the look of an eight-year-old, who after hiding in the middle of a clothing rack full of women’s blouses, emerged to find his Mom, gone. I was alone in Hell Foods. I entered the Whole Foods convincing everyone around me that it was a “soup night.” Only to find none of the eighteen dozen soups to be quite right. Maybe salad…..? no. It was either malaise, or my fear of food commitment that sent me into the desert for a plastic-boxed food vision quest. 

What seemed to be hours later the boyfriend called out from the edge of the desert. “Ready?” He asked munching on kelp-kale fun crisps. I left with a tiny container of tomato soup. My soul still hovering over the olive bar.

Nice To See StevieB: Demolition Man

By StevieB

There was just enough room between the last pole of the chain link fence and the side of the house. The fence was festooned with warning signs. “Keep Out” and “Guard Dog on Duty” but I knew there weren’t any dogs. At least I didn’t think so, at any point a couple of muscled watch-dogs could have leapt from the old Victorian house. I stopped halfway between the fence line and the massive edifice, hearing only my heartbeat and Interstate 25 humming off in the distance, I trusted that if there were dogs, they would have attacked me by now.

In my youth I did this almost nightly, just to look inside the hulking manors before they were ripped from the ground. My motivation was to be the last human to walk the decks of the Titanic before the rust and water pressure turned the iron to dust. Back then I would wander around theses houses thinking of the Silver Barons that built the brick and mortar, and within days the reception parlor and massive staircases would be gone from the Earth. These 1890’s monuments, sitting in the city’s once finest neighborhood were replaced by condo buildings to overlook Interstate 25 and downtown.


Now it seems the tide of obliterating our Victorian history has turned. The thinned out herd of massive mansions, with their stone and wrought iron filigree, do not get hunted down and murdered as they sleep anymore. Some survived. Somehow. In our new, enlightened and mature sense of preserving the past, the houses that once sat in the finest neighborhoods turned skid-row has now returned back to the city’s finest neighborhood.

“I hadn’t done this in years.” I thought as I pulled a sheet of plywood from a back window. I guess I didn’t need to. “They hadn’t torn down a Victorian house in ages.”

As I made my way through the house I could see a considerable change, this particular mansion wasn’t set for the chopping block; it was being prepped for “restoration.” Fifteen years earlier I explored the house that once stood next door. In a gaping hole in the upstairs bedroom I jerked off watching the city below me. Now condos “priced in the mid-300” have taken its place.

The feel of this house was different somehow. In the dozens of house I’ve explored I felt the Green Mile death walk sensation, this feeling was one of anticipation. Looking out of an upstairs window, out at the city, I started to jerk off. As I glanced over at the next-door condo building I met the eyes of one of the tenants on their balcony.

“Guess it’s all changed.” I said to the front parlor room as I kicked out the plywood on the front door. I ducked into a homeless shelter-turned-hipster club as the cop car turned the corner.

Nice To See StevieB: Four-Eyes

By StevieB

After what seemed an insane amount of shopping, I have finally bought new glasses. This is my first pair of bi-focal lenses. And, it's the problem I'm having. I spend most of my day unable to see anything. I am constantly looking through the top part of my lens, designed for distance vision, to read and text. Then using the bottom section to drive. The optometrist did warn me, but really. At this point I would see better without glasses at all.

I will; however, keeping trying. But, if you see me without my glasses upon my face, you know not to inquire to their whereabouts. If you see me with my glasses on, I won't see you anyway. So I'll probably step on your foot. I'll apologize now.

Nice To See StevieB: I Am Not One With The Force

By StevieB
 
I have never played a video game. Not Really.

I know, it seems strange, even to me in this day and age. I had played around with a game back in the 90’s, with Jamie the bestie. But I have never had a gaming system in the house. I have a strange addictive personality, where if I involve myself in something is becomes all-consuming. This is why I’ve never watch a single second of the television show, Glee. I know I would have quickly devolve into the biggest Gleeck, or Glick. I don’t have time to become obsessed with musicals again… I mean, Betty Buckley still has a Restraining Order out on my ass. 

I can tell you the beginning storyline, and ending story line for every character on Dynasty, Doctor Who, Dallas, and a dozen other shows before I identified my obsessive condition. With the amount of characters in Game of Thrones, I believe I couldn’t spare the brain space. So, spending free-time on video games, while I should be writing scathing essays on Shirley Chisolm for school, would be a catastrophe. 

Then we got an Xbox for Christmas. 

Can I tell you how embarrassing it is to be forty-five and not able to operate a controller? So, under the pretext of defending my honor, I have begun to “practice” my craft. A remote and icy planet in a remote star system known to locals as Hoth, is my training ground. Star Wars, Echo Base is where I will unleash my Jedi Powers. I have embraced the Dark Side. This means I can walk around and slash Rebel scum with my red Lightsaber. Really it’s because I can’t aim and shoot a blaster. Yet. I tried, but after having Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan, die seventeen times because of my incompetence in shooting her blaster, I switched to the Lightsaber. Too soon, Leia, too soon. 

I hope to one day be a gamer. When school isn't in session. Right now, I’m a pushing middle-age gay gamer Wannabe.

Nice To See StevieB: Locked Into New Possibilities

By StevieB


I have to admit I had not been to the gym in a while. There was a couple days missed along with checking out the gym in the Highlands. The Highland area of Denver, that is. The Highland location 24Hour Fitness is quickly becoming my favorite gym in Denver. This is due to the inordinate amount of smoking hot guys at all times. You can't swing a Nasty Pig jock without hitting a hot bro. And, I've tried.

I had not been to the gym in several days, it was midnight, I was very tired. As I reached into my gym bag for my lock, the same way for thirteen years, my hand came up empty handed. My lock wasn't in my gym bag. Gone. Forever. I started to think back to when I bought that lock. It was upon joining 24Hour Fitness in Dallas, 2001. After the all gay, glitter gym closed down without warning, I reluctantly joined the 24Hour on Mckinney Avenue. I felt so common, having to purchase a lock, instead of the oak lined built-in-lock lockers at the fancy gay gym. But, I did. Out were the free heated towels; in were working out with... you know.... girls.

All of this history ran through my head, as things do when you're getting older, and you're standing alone in your Under Armour in public after midnight. One begins to reminisce about the old days, and things you once owned. Now gone forever. I raised my head; realizing that change is good. Change must happen in one's life. A new lock means new things coming into my world. I welcome new things. New people. New adventures. New..... oh.... that locker across the way has a lock on it that's very distinctive. Like mine..... could it have been left locked on an empty locker for all this time? I walked over, tried the well known combination, and snap. It opened. After days of being locked there, no one had bothered it.

Some times, life makes you wake up to new possibilities in tiny ways. Some times, I'm
forgetful.

Nice To See StevieB: Death On A Coaster

By StevieB
 
Remember that time I almost died on a rollercoaster? Okay, so you wouldn't remember because it's just a dream I have. A nightly, reoccurring dream.

I have three phobias in this life. Roller coasters, snakes, clowns, and Republicans. Four. I have four phobias in this life. And number one is about to raise its night-terror inducing head. No. Not Trump, he's the worlds night-terror.

In next week the Sweet Baboo and I head to Los Angeles for a vacation. A very nerdy get-a-way. The main purpose is to attend a Doctor Who convention happening at a hotel close to the airport. Mike the roommate is joining us as well. But, before that we are spending a couple of days hanging out in West Hollywood, going to Disneyland, and most importantly, Harry Potter World. The Sweet Baboo already has his magic wand at his side. But, there's a dark side to our adventure. After all this time I'll finally have to come clean on my child-like terror of rollercoasters. Yes, we've been in parks and been around the death coasters before, but this time there is no escape. I feel bad. Going to Disneyland and then saying, "oh. Sorry, you'll have to ride, rides alone" seems like a mean thing to do. So, do I just face my terror quietly to make the boyfriend happy? Or finically admit that I'm a twelve year old girl? The non-brave kind.

I'm gonna have to just face my fears, even if I would rather makeout with Trump, as he sports clown makeup and holds a snake. I wonder if there is some way I can get over my coaster phobia I six days? Only God can help me now.

Nice to See StevieB: Death to Steve

By StevieB

Since the day after Christmas, I had been fighting a cold. But, since it was Christmas, then New Years, I ignored my body and added Dayquil to my choices of holiday refreshment. This is when the sharp pain in my chest added a delightful appearance every time I began to cough. Still, I was too busy showing off my new Burberry coat I received for Christmas to take care of my lungs. This was until last Friday when an intervention was staged. Well, the intervention from my closest friends was staged because I started a fun new quirk where I would cough so strongly it would pull all the air from my lungs, causing none to reach my brain. This initiated a trick, of me blacking out. Yes, I would cough until I blacked out. Driving was fun. 

I was kindly asked to seek medical attention. By this I mean; my Kaiser card was ripped from my wallet and an appointment was made for me. After all the tests and a dramatic scene of me blacking out on the exam table, It was diagnosed; Pneumonia. Yay! I spent three days at home, unable to drive as I had promised not to kill myself. I simply just let the drugs work, and healing began. In this un-plugged state, I am reminded how I run non-stop. All the time. On a typical day off, I’m up and out of the house as soon as possible. This is followed by days filled with activities and adventures. So, when I was forced to stay home and rest, I quickly found the lack of movement strange. 

I did practice my video gaming skills, I’m sure you are wondering how that’s going. Well; I can now fire a weapon and move at the same time. So, I can add that to my resume. I had to stop myself from re-organizing closets or the kitchen. As I was ordered to not “exert myself.” And, the Sweet Baboo and the roommate cooked all the meals. It was a strange couple of days. Breakfast at home, followed by just quality time hangout with my little wonderful family. 

By Sunday night I found that I was sad about going back to work on Monday. The cocoon was beginning to make me happy. These feelings were based on the fact that I so enjoyed being around my people. It wasn’t the physical home (spending time at home, doing home-stuff) it was the great people I had around me caring for me.

Nice to See StevieB: My Girlfriend

By StevieB

It started rather innocently, at first. Just small talk. It has grown since the first day, around the end of August. It was when I started to work just West of the city. My habits changed and I needed to find a new gym. Although I will always miss the gay gyms of the past; my first in Denver, then Dallas. A new gym is always, to me, starting a new chapter in my life.

With the new gym, came a new path in leaving the new job and forcing my body to drive to the new gym. I’m sure it’s common, when you leave work you begin to tease yourself into just going home. You say “I can skip the gym today… I’ll work out extra hard tomorrow.” or, I’m really tired tonight, maybe I shouldn’t go..” or there’s always my favorite… I wonder if I can work out twice on Saturday, because I’m really hungry.” Meanwhile, the best thing to do is to not listen to these voices, the ones that want you to fail, and just drive. Just get into the car and drive. Because, nothing stops this voice of failure than walking into the gym. Your body is there anyway, you might as well just push some plates.

In my worst days, I make a bargain in my stupid head. A full workout first, then fast-food. Nothing buys my loyalty like the promise of food. These are the days I turn to her.... It is cheating really, an affair of the heart. It started rather innocently, at first. Just small talk. But, since our first meeting I’ve been in love with a girl. Did I mention that I’ve been dating a girl. I know it can’t last, It shouldn’t last, I’m in a relationship already. Damn me and my polyamorous tendencies.

My baby-girls name is Destiny. I mean the name on her name tag is Beth, but she’s Destiny to me. We are truly and deeply in love. The conversations were easy, about our hopes, dreams, and desires. I found it effortless to sit and chat. Me in my Jeep; Destiny in her window. It always ended with her giving me all she had to give. Exactly what I wanted and needed. A three piece chicken strips and a biscuit. Yesterday she was down, apparently she was being evicted from her house and had to find a place to crash. So goes the life of a KFC drive-up worker. It’s about once… maybe twice a week that I drive up to the window, usually around 5:15pmand the drive through is slow. This means we have a couple of minutes to chat. I’ve learned about her schooling. Well, her plans to go back. I’ve supported her in her dreams. We do that in our relationship. So it was a shock to see her so down.

I need to break up with Destiny, I know. But, her chicken strips keep calling me back.

Nice To See StevieB: Run Stevie Run

By StevieB

It has been 19 days since signing up for the Big Gay 5K race being held on June 17th, 2017 as part of Denver's Pride celebrations. This means that I have 148 days until I will be jumping from the starting line for this race. It will be my first every competitive race, and I am quite proud of the fact that at 45 years old, I will be completing (hopefully completing) a road race. The course of the "5K" seemed so exotic and professional until friends who run all the time explained that 5K is just 3.10686 miles. The course of this race leaves from Denver's Civic Center Park uphill through Capitol Hill, around Cheesman Park and back down the hill to Civic Center, so.... the end of the race literally is all down hill. Still, for me it 3.10 miles will be my 26-mile marathon.

You'll ask how I am preparing myself for this epic race to celebrate my 45 years on the planet? Well, I have had pneumonia for the last couple of weeks... so no training yet. But there are 147 more days to get prepared. Step one; take the first steps and get running shoes on and take my first steps.

Nice To See StevieB: Small Town Boy

By StevieB

There comes a time when you realize that your youth, no matter how far back on the calendar, is officially ancient history. For me, it was when I received the news that Carrie Fisher had passed, but even closer to my heart, it was when I heard that Larry Steinbachek, keyboardist with pioneering synth-pop trio Bronski Beat, died at the age of 56.

Never heard of Bronski Beat? Yeah, it's truly a generational thing. Bronski Beat was a band starting in the 1980's British synthpop scene. Never heard of synthpop? Yeah. It was just one of the most distinctive subgenres of new wave. A sound heavily influenced by David Bowie.  During this generation, a trio achieved success with their distinctive sound and lead singer, particularly with the 1984 No. 3 in the UK chart hit "Smalltown Boy." They made a video for "Smalltown Boy" and it was late at night when a twelve-year-old me, watched it for the first time. It was a message in a bottle washing up on the shores of my deserted island.

All members of the group were openly gay, their songs reflected this. It was pop music with a commentary on gay-related issues. In a generation of subversive and double entendre messages, Bronski Beat was clear in message.

Pushed around and kicked around, always a lonely boy
You were the one that they'd talk about around town as they put you down
And as hard as they would try they'd hurt to make you cry
But you never cried to them, just to your soul

In 1984 I was twelve. I had already come to terms with being gay. What I could not comprehend, nor functionally comply with was how to operate on a rural ranch outside of a small town in the middle of nowhere. Within a dysfunctional family with Mormon ideal. I was failing to cope. Then, late at night, as I sat crying, the Bronski Beat video came on television.  It was a bolt from the blue. I could. I had to wait, but I would get out. I would have the life I wanted. The life I needed. Thank you Larry Steinbachek, rest in peace. You saved my life.

Nice To See StevieB: I Am Not One With the Force

By StevieB

I have never played a video game. Not Really. 

I know, it seems strange, even to me in this day and age. I had played around with a game back in the 90’s, with Jamie the bestie. But I have never had a gaming system in the house. I have a strange addictive personality, where if I involve myself in something is becomes all-consuming.  This is why I’ve never watch a single second of the television show, Glee. I know I would have quickly devolve into the biggest Gleeck, or Glick. I don’t have time to become obsessed with musicals again… I mean, Betty Buckley still has a Restraining Order out on my ass. 

I can tell you the beginning storyline, and ending story line for every character on Dynasty, Doctor Who, Dallas, and a dozen other shows before I identified my obsessive condition. With the amount of characters in Game of Thrones, I believe I couldn’t spare the brain space.  So, spending free-time on video games, while I should be writing scathing essays on Shirley Chisolm for school, would be a catastrophe. 

Then we got an Xbox for Christmas. 

Can I tell you how embarrassing it is to be forty-five and not able to operate a controller? So, under the pretext of defending my honor, I have begun to “practice” my craft. A remote and icy planet in a remote star system known to locals as Hoth, is my training ground. Star Wars, Echo Base is where I will unleash my Jedi Powers.  I have embraced the Dark Side. This means I can walk around and slash Rebel scum with my red Lightsaber. Really it’s because I can’t aim and shoot a blaster. Yet. I tried, but after having Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan, die seventeen times because of my incompetence in shooting her blaster, I switched to the Lightsaber.  Too soon, Leia, too soon. 

I hope to one day be a gamer. When school isn't in session. Right now, I’m a pushing middle-age gay gamer Wannabe.

Nice To See StevieB: 2017

By StevieB

Well hello there. Welcome to 2017.

Since I started blogging in 2007, I have done a lot of New Year Resolutions posts. This meant I listed things I was to fix about myself the adjacent year. This was all good and fine, and most of the time it worked. This was because they were published for me to review throughout the year. Today; I have realized that starting a new year really is a great time for this. But, also It's a great time to stop and listen to the lessons learned the previous year.

I learned in 2016, to just go hiking. Don't wait for others to join in on an activity I love. I stopped waiting for others to acknowledge the things I love to do. I don't need the approval of others to enjoy any activity. I strap on my hiking boots a get on a mountain trail. So I guess I've stopped being afraid of being alone.

Speaking of friends. In 2016 I finially learned what being a friend really is. It's not history, it's not statements about friendship; it's actions taken every day. No demands of proving whether you're worthy by sending to proper given amount of text messages. Friendship is organic, a concept that can't mean calculated. Only measured by phone calls for no reason and invites and silly adventures.

I realized in 2016 that my work life sets a standard for everything else. Don't stay in a job that makes me unhappy. I encountered the world's worst boss in 2016, and felt there wasn't other options. There was. There are always other options. You just have to uncover them. This advice hold true for the previous statements. There's always other options. In healthy friends and better hiking trails.

So do I have resolutions for 2017? Kinda. Yesterday I signed up to run a 5K in June. It has always been a dream of mine to run a road race. This year I will do it. Dear God, help me. I better start training, June isn't that far off in regard to me waddling my way through a organized running competition. Step one. Clear out the bad stuff in my kitchen and strap-on some running shoes.

Come on 2017, you are full of options. Let's go choose the best ones.

Nice To See StevieB: Just Another Day

By StevieB

I was out at dinner last night with some friends and as conversations always go our talk came to systemic, chronic diseases. Drugs, treatments and doctors were all discussed. Keeping healthy or preventive steps was the order of the day. Two of the friends are positive with a zero viral load and one has diabetes. At one point I stopped and realized that I had nothing to add due to not having any personal experience. I thought, “How boring am I.” Then some sort of odd guilt set in, Mormons aren’t permitted to have guilt, maybe gays ones do?

I was listening to a podcast the other day and they referred to HIV – AIDS as an issue in the past. They did do this in all reverence like referring to victims in the towers on 9/11. Yet it seams odd to be in a day where the STD sirens are not blaring and we now refer this as a chronic illness. Now if you say these words “chronic illness” in front of someone who worries about the health insurance due to that the drugs they will be taking for the rest of their life’s would be three thousand a month if it where not for the “safety net” of the drug coverage of their insurance you just might get slapped. Being a HR Manager I talk to employees about health benefits. It’s very telling when medical and drug coverage is discussed.

I guess when you start to grow up everyone has choices to make and deal with the crap that’s thrust apron them, or not thrust upon them. It reminds me of the Oingo Bingo hit Just Another Day. 

This post originally appeared on Steven Bennet's website Nice to See StevieB. Republished with permission.

Nice To See StevieB: Christmas Tree

By StevieB

To begin our celebration of Christmas, the roommate and I decided to head to the mountains in order to get our own live Christmas tree. We had decided that we would go massively overboard for Christmas this year, so this was the first step. This choice stemmed from me having just ending a nine year relationship with Mr. Scrooge himself, and the roommate, whom had roommates for years, never had his own celebration the way he wanted it to be done. First step? Go murder an innocent tree and drag it back to the house. I declared this trip into the woods triumphantly to the boy I’m dating, (still known as TMBBE, or “The most Beautiful boy ever” for the lack of a better nickname) as a normal, healthy super-Christmasy thing that normal people do. This is when he calmly informed me that he never had a Christmas tree before. Like ever…ever.

My mouth dropped open. I stammered. “Like growing up you never had a tree?” He flatly informed me that no, his family had never. The next question that came out of my mouth will forever be noted as the stupidest thing I have, or ever will say. Please note the stupidity level… I said…. “But… where did you put your Christmas presents?” Oh. My. God. There is not a more ignorant thing I possibly could of said at that point. And I said it. I was an ignorant baboon asking someone raised Hindu where they kept their Christmas presents if they didn’t have a tree. The Most Beautiful Boy Ever was polite in response to my stupidity.

What I learned is that if you take a grown man, who was raised Hindu, to a Christmas tree lot, and ask him to pick out any tree he wanted, you're going to see a lot of Christmas repression un-cork. It was non-gentile to Santa elf in 3.5 seconds. I have never had so much fun picking out a tree.

I had spent nine years with someone who saw Christmas as a hassle. A chore that involved assembling the same artificial tree over and over. Then, suddenly I was standing in a muddy field watching someone search for the perfect tree. I watched the grin on his face grow. A grin that comes from the magical act of family going to the tree lot and taking home for the perfect Christmas. I was cold, I was muddy. I was never so happy. 

This post originally appeared on Steven Bennet's website Nice to See StevieB. Republished with permission.

Nice to See StevieB: The Annual Christmas Rant

By StevieB

WHAT THE F*#K DO PENGUINS HAVE TO DO WITH CHRISTMAS!?!?

Have you seen the inflatable, glowing Christmas crap that everyone displays on their front lawns? Big billowing snowmen, elves, and insidiously happy penguins. Seriously, What the heck to penguins have to do with Christmas?

At night it’s quite a cute little scene. A winter wonderland all blown up and bopping around to the forced air whooshing up their butts. During the day it’s another story, driving through any upscale neighborhood it's a reenactment of Jim Jones goes to Christmas town. Dead, flat elves and snow people scatter the lawns like a mass suicide cult hit the North Pole. A massacre of merriment. One half-inflated penguin dragging its self off the lawn coughing out,  I only live in Antarctica and parts of South America why am I even here?

Aaaaaaaaaghh!

 
This post originally appeared on Steven Bennet's website Nice to See StevieB. Republished with permission.

Nice To See StevieB: Train

By StevieB
 
I always thought living in proximity to a train track sounded romantic. I once had a house out in the country. At night, when the wind was just right, I could hear the far away call on the train whistle. Its lonesome call in the middle of the night evoked a call to iindividualisticwandering on a Jack Kerouac scale of fiction. No matter how stressful my life was, I could sit in my bed late at night and escape to a dream like world as the drifting call of a train whistle mixed with the late-night breeze. Blowing the sheers. Calming my busy brain. 

When the roommate and I were looking for new place to rent, I was excited to see an opening in a building within walking distance to a train stop. Just two blocks down, and we could be on a train platform that would whisk us to either Denver’s city center, or Denver’s Airport. I was also secretly excited that my train, the one from my late night visits would be back. 

The first night in the new place I drifted off to sleep with the window open.
HHHHOOOOONNNNKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!

I startled awake! The frickin’ train sounded as if it were running through the driveway. Why would moving next to the stupid train tracks be a smart move? All night a train horn blared every fifteen minutes. All night every night. Since this Jack Kerouac nightmare started in June, I have now become accustom to the late night train whistle. I drift off to my dream like world as train cars full of passengers make their way to and from the airport. Horns ablazing.
 
This post originally appeared on Steven Bennet's website Nice to See StevieB. Republished with permission.