Nice To See StevieB: Birthday Eve

By StevieB
 
I like to think of today as, “Birthday Eve.” It’s the anticipation that something good is good to happen. Although whenever I think of it in these terms, I begin to sing the old Kate Bush song, Cloudbusting “Ooh, I just know that something good is going to happen… I don't know when, but just saying it could even make it happen.” The simple fact about is, I love for my Birthday. And the anticipatory thinking is just one of the best parts. The best part began last night….

We were walking through the grocery store. It was “date night” and my idea of a great date was a hamburger, followed by Krogering. I casually mentioned that I needed to pick up a boxed cake mix, because I wanted to bake a chocolate cake for my birthday. The look that was upon my date’s face was heart-melting. He had already planned to bake me a chocolate cake from scratch. God, I love my Birthday.

My day will bring adventures around the city. With one notable exception. Readers of my blog over the years will remember that there is one restaurant I go to on my Birthday. It is a historical fact, and unwavering tradition that I eat my Birthday Dinner at Le Central, Denver’s legacy French Restaurant. That will change this year. After thirty-four years in business, Le Central closed last September. My Birthday tradition is gone… just like my youth.

But, I will eat cake. And celebrate. My friends, will gather around, regardless of the physical location. I will celebrate the forth anniversary of my fortieth birthday. Meanwhile I will quietly sing… “I just know that something good is going to happen… saying it could even make it happen.”

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

Nice To See StevieB: Back To Class

By StevieB

Monday marks the beginning of the Spring Semester. Just the thought of this makes my head spin. It seems that just moments ago I was celebrating the end of the 2015 fall semester. My MacBook has not even cooled down from the massive amount of writing that I did, now it is time to crack it open, and log on to my on-line classes again.

Today finds me feeling a bit nostalgic about going back to school. There is no longer a formal return to the sacred and hallowed halls of my college, since I began taking all on-line classes. I somehow forget during these times of misty eyed revisionist history that the physical returning to the University also brought months of sitting in a class headed by close-minded idiot professors, droning on about their personal agendas. Although, if I am honest with my self, what I miss most was sitting behind hockey players who had allergic reactions to wearing pants. If I really examined my attending of classroom based classes, it was a trade off. Yes, I now avoid the close-minded Professors by taking my classes via computer, but I also miss hockey players falling asleep in class with the gym shorts slipping lower and lower.

But, I don't regret switching to my electronic class room. This means I can do my school work at one of the cities gayer coffee shops. With a wider variety of boys in gym shorts. On Monday I will have to scope out my territory. My new classroom. I will then quickly begin to countdown the days until May 9th. 

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

Nice To See StevieB: Heteronormativity and Oral Care

By StevieB

Being in a same-sex relationship has it challenges. I know that was the understatement of the century. We all know that living in a hetero-centric society, when you’re not the norm is ripe with issues. Yet, is seems that most of the time being part of the GLBTQ rainbow is down-right amazing. This different view on life, makes us happy to be unique. When asked about her struggles in life, Carrie Fisher stated "Find your tribe. Don’t wander around feeling different than everyone else.” This speaks to beginning a relationship with someone. The romantic path seems to be the same for everyone. Yet, in a society that sometimes unknowingly gives easier steps to male-female stereotyped relationships feeling different is sometimes hard to avoid.

I thought about all this as I stood in the oral care isle of my local grocery store. I was getting to the step of buying a toothbrush for my Sweet Baboo. If you have never been in love before, this is a critical step in mating. You wake up at the other person’s house and discover that they have gone out and purchased a new toothbrush for you. It means that they think you’ll be sticking around. It symbolizes a bond; a next step in the dating world. I was ready to make this plunge and declare my deep “like” by presenting him is his very own toothbrush. It was a huge step, and I was nervous.

This is when I noticed how toothbrush manufactures were a bunch of heteronormative jerks. Jerks I say. Every two pack of toothbrushes had a perceived masculine color and perceived feminine color. Oral-B- Purple and green, Colgate- blue and pink, even Reach had only blue and pink. It was a straight couple toothbrush conspiracy. From standard to electric brushes, if you wanted to save money and by a two pack, you were forced into hetero-centric roles. Sure, it’s easy to buy to separate blue toothbrushes, but it’s the point of having to buy two separate toothbrushes. To cram them together, like your just like everyone else. Straight couples don’t have to buy separate packaging. They don’t have to decide who gets the blue brush. What? One of use should be forced to decide to take the pink brush role?!?! Outrageous.

Being in a same-sex relationship truly does have challenges. But, I refuse to wander through the grocery store feeling different than everyone else. Carrie Fisher wouldn’t want me to do that. For now, my same-sex partner and I have separate packaged toothbrushes. 

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

Nice To See StevieB: Bangkok

By StevieB

The boy I'm dating has gone away. To Thailand. On vacation.

I was very excited to learn about his exciting adventure when it was first shared, so long ago... I believe it was our first date. Sitting over pizza hearing about the far distant future plans. As I got to know him, the date of the over-seas trip still loomed so far out in the distance. He would share plans, how his group of college friends planned to all take the trip together. The person heading up the plans for the group was a "A-type" trip planner, I had full faith that the trip would be safe and fun.

Suddenly it's January. At the last minute the couple whom were instrumental in coordinating the trip had to cancel. When I first heard of the cancelling of the coordinators my Daddy Bear protectiveness wanted to kick in. I asked if the boy friend was still going to go. When I was told, "yes" I started asking, Do you know the hotels? Do you know were you're staying? Your flights? Have you packed? That means that the Sweet Baboo was flying to Thailand without a lot of the preparation. He had relied on others to plan.

Last Friday I kissed him goodbye and set him off on a plane. This was after he forgot his own luggage, realizing it upon check-in at the airport... I told him that I wasn't worried... There are certain times when you realize that you have fallen in love with someone... times when you don't doubt that love for a second. I am positive he and his friends will have a blast in Bangkok. But, just don't tell him how much I am worried, or how I miss him. 

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

Nice To See StevieB: Apple Watch

By StevieB

I honesty didn't see the reason for an Apple Watch. Mostly because my phone hasn't actually left my hand in over a year. Well, when I sleep I guess. Then it's on the pillow next to me. Seriously. I guess during sexy time, but sometimes even then. Don't ask. The only time my phone isn't on my person is when I'm showering. So if my phone is always in view why would I need another version it it on my wrist? 

That all changed when I unwrapped the most amazing Christmas gift ever.  Well, after my Slaughterhouse Five tee shirt. As soon as I began to bond with my wifi enabled friend, I learned what all the hype  was about. It's simply amazing. The best part, other than looking like Dick Tracy as I send texts; is the ability to send and receive texts in the shower. And, change songs by simply touching my wrist. 

Using my Apple Watch during sexy time  will leave my hands free. Think of the possibilities.

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

Nice To See StevieB: Goodbye 2015

By StevieB

You hear a lot, this time of year, on how New Years sets the tone for the entire year. New Year's Eve of 2014 was a bad time, full of bad choices. But, that very night served as a catalyst to rewrite my whole world. My New Years resolution for 2015 was to rebuild Steve in a whole new way. And, as I stand on the door step of 2016, I'm happy to report that I successfully accomplished it. 

I shrugged off a toxic relationship, a toxic job, and a toxic life. In spring of 2015 I closed a lot of doors behind me. I said goodbye to a home and relationship that was serving to feed unhealthy and abusive behaviors. I also resigned from a job that had me stuck on a never-ending treadmill. It took until June to discover me again. In a new home, surrounded by unconditional support. I had a new job where I was rediscovering what progress felt like. By the end of December 2015, I was figuratively a new man. 

The re-set button has been pressed; let's see where 2016 takes me. 

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

Nice To See StevieB: School Is Out

By StevieB

Have I mentioned that this is my last week for my semester? I know I haven't blogged a lot about my classes this semester. This was due to the fact that I had a Science class which attempted to kill me, and a creative writing class that left me bored. Horridly bored. Both classes were painful. Not in a "oh I gotta write 1,000 words on Lucius Tarquinius Priscus" kind of pain, the "make it stop, this is idiotic" kind of pain.

My Science class was entirely on-line. This meant that the tiny bit of fun in doing labs was even taken away. It was eight weeks of drawing diagrams of molecules and energy waves. I am a Right Brain kind of person, the go with your feelings kinda guy. I quickly discovered that a Science class, on-line was the wrong choice. I would be on route to failing the class miserably if not for the help of the Boyfriend. He happens to be some sort of medical scientist statistician working of HIV programs. So, he may-or-may-not have helped me. But, your associated with my University, he didn't. At all. Totally. And, why are you reading my blog, you've got university stuff to go do.

The writing class was just about "finding your voice" and "setting the scene." Those are the last things I need to think about my writing. The second I think about "finding my voice" I seize up and won't blog for two months. The last time I thought about becoming a better writer, it took Patrick from Pacspad blog a week to talk be down from the "I'm done with blogging" ledge.

So, this week marks the end of another semester at school and good riddance. Onward to Spring semester and Ancient world Religions...

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: This Grill Is On Grindr

By StevieB

A while back I went to a diner in downtown Denver. Now you may know, but I have a passion for diners. I could seriously eat every meal for weeks on end in a diner. And, I have. Remember when I was on a date with that Olympic Swimmer at a Diner and the grill at the diner caught on fire? That was October, 2014. You can read the blog post on how I sang "This-Grill-is-on-Fire!" That was Denver Diner. This week the media announced that the Denver Diner, just the best damn diner on the planet, has completed their post-fire reconstruction, and are set to re-open later this week.

This makes for a very happy Steve. Countless number of times I have said "Man, this would be a great time to sit in the Denver Diner.... damn it!" Soon, the best damn diner on the planet will reopen its doors. I will be there. Asking for pancakes. Then I won't have to mess around with other greasy spoons. Like the one I was dining in a while back when I went to a diner in downtown Denver....

The diner, I dined with, whilst I waited for Denver Diner to repaint, and run one of those five-fingered microfiber things through the mini-blinds, was called Sam's Number 3. Presumably because there are two other Sam's. Maybe it is a generational suffix? Either way, I went in with couple of friends after hanging out in the "theater district" of Denver. Upon being seated, we were promptly ignored. As my norm, I cranked open Grindr. Quickly I received Grindr service. A guy popped up with the ubiquitous "Hey." After finally having the waiter tear himself await from the bar, we got our order in. Then waited, what seemed to be a lifetime, for our food. The same dude, popped up on Grindr. "Hey!" He seemed familiar so I replied, How YOU doin'?" Quickly, as I waited for the server to finally notice that my Diet Coke glass had tumbleweeds blowing through it, he popped up. "Your[sp] hot." I looked again at his profile pic. He seemed familiar because he was our lame-ass waiter.

Our server was ignoring his tables to hit on guys on Grindr. He then hit on one of his tables, he was ignoring. I showed my table mates. "Ask him for my ranch he said he'd bring." So, I did. I asked if I could have Ranch Dressing, and a refill of my Diet Coke. I watched as he turned to face me. Then, slowly slid off of his bar stool and went back to the kitchen. Returning with our requested items. The service was awful before then. The service didn't much improve after that.

Let us just say I am excited for the re-opening of the best damn diner on the planet, Denver Diner. 

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

Nice To See StevieB: Thanksgiving

By StevieB

There have been two times in my life when Thanksgiving taught me what I'm thankful for.

The first was in 1993. My fellow gay waiter, and best friend, Nick suggested that all the family drama that I was coping with could easily be avoided by just not participating in the poultry based holiday. Nick, my best friend was a Buddhist at the time, and always suggest simple answers to complex problems. I simply said "no" to the holiday. This was truly the first time I felt like an adult. By shirking responsibilities and going my own way. This choice led me to be in The Buddhist's 1990 Nissan Altima for a long drive around Denver as we searched for a Chinese restaurant that would be open for lunch on that Thanksgiving Day. We dined that afternoon on unexplainable Chinese delicacy. That Thanksgiving found me enjoying pickled pig ear and chicken feet. I learned two valuable life lessons that day.... One: you create your own happiness. Two: never blindly accept food prepared by a one-hundred year old Chinese woman. It truly is one of my happiest Thanksgiving memories. The Buddhist and I, sitting in a Chinese restaurant, truly thankful for the gifts we had.

The second was in 2001. I had moved to Dallas, Texas. My best friend and roommate, Jamie had recently discovered the joys of Methamphetamine. Slowly he had changed from a happy wonderful person into a creature on the night. Barely recognizable has human. In one of his on-going empty promises he promised we would spend Thanksgiving together. For some reason I felt this dinner would be my chance to rescue him from Meth. I would use the time to make him see the horrors he was creating. I passed up invites to return home, or spend time with friends in Dallas. Instead we would meet for Thanksgiving dinner at the only restaurant open Thanksgiving day on Cedar Springs. I sat in a booth. Alone. I would find out later that Jamie woke up in an abandoned house across town. As I ate pumpkin pie alone, I learned two valuable life lessons. One: you are truly in change of your own happiness in life. Two: there are things in this life you will not be able to change. 

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

Nice to See StevieB: The Time I Watched Ice Fishing

 By StevieB

It had been too long. Way to long. The excuses in my head played like a broken record. Over and over I gave the lame reasons of why I couldn’t go. Until I stopped the excuses and just went. To the Doctor. I had put off the visit due to a strange fear… The fear of the test.

When I had just turned twenty, my family went to our cabin high in the Rocky Mountains. It was on the shores of Grand Lake, Colorado. It was February, so the lake was frozen over. As I sat on the sunny back deck, I watched the ice fishermen drive their 4X4s across the solid surface of the lake. Bound for their recently drilled holes through the ice in hopes to catch some fish. I wondered what would happen if the ice cracked. The lake swallowing the truck whole. I shuttered from the thought and turned back to my book. My new book I picked up before leaving town as a way to waste away the afternoons. My family was all inside watching some-sort of football game on the battered television set. I can’t remember which book in the Tails of the City series it I was reading; but, Michael Tolliver just started his journey as a survivor of the HIV epidemic. Every paragraph dripped with fear of AIDS, of HIV. But, our protagonist was strong. The epidemic was spreading. The strength to survive was there. In the pages, as I turned them one-by-one. With every page I turned, I realized I had made a huge mistake. And, I had to get through the longest week of my life.

A couple of days before bumming a ride with one of my sisters on the way up the mountain to the cabin, I took my first HIV test. Now, I was on the frozen shores of a mountain lake awaiting the results. Unable to speak to anyone about it. It was just me and Michael Tolliver. Every instance of where I put myself at risk played through my mind. I was playing lose and easy, messing around as a twenty-year-old does. I sat around the fireplace, my mind a thousand miles away. My large extended family at times angered at my aloofness. My detachment. My only thoughts were on the clinics opening hours the next Monday morning. Only a fictional character in a far off land understood.

Flash-forward twenty-three years. I have had countless tests for HIV, but this one way different. I had blocked it out of my mind, really thought much of it, at the office.Then when the needle entered my bloodstream and the phlebotomist filled his cylinder, I was twenty again. I had waited too long. Was it the nine years in a serodiscordant relationship? Or, was it the playing lose and easy, messing around as a forty -year-old does? I thought of the promise I made to myself on that grey February morning. Play safely and test often. Somehow I had forgotten that promise. The one I made to me. It’s funny how time lets us disconnect from our selves. 

The Doctor entered the room. All fear of the test was gone. Now it was time… I debated if the doctor was alive when I received the results of my very first HIV test. He read all by results like a grocery list. As he explained about good and bad cholesterol, healthy choices I only saw the ice fishermen, driving their trucks upon the ice. Wondering what would happen if the ice cracked and they fell through the ice. “…you’re undetectable for HIV…” I came back to the room. “that means I’m negative?” He calmly stated that yes. I was. Negative. 

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

Nice To See StevieB: Do You Voodoo?

By StevieB

It's been awhile since the Voodoo Doughnuts opened in our town. There was this amazing vibe around the idea the Denver had a hip and alternative doughnut shop, like exotic Portland, Oregon. Like our version our ancestors seeing an Oriental vase. Now, cheap and only sold in junk shops inside of the Aurora Mall. 

I over heard someone awhile back, bragging how many times they have gone to pick up a pick box of glazed doughnuts in recent history. How can that impress anyone? 

I had this thought as I sat at a light in front of the popular business. A line ran out the front door. The best part; however, was the small assembled groups of citizens trapesing away with their stacked pink boxes. The look of devotion upon their faces. It reminded me of another group which made a recent pilgrimage. 

One of the five pillars of Islam, is to make a pilgrimage to Makkah. This means, to be a devout follower of Islam, one must make a trip within ones lifetime to the holiest of all shrines. Annually, two million people make this holy trip. I am positive that the look on their faces after walking around the sacred shrines is one of utter happiness and contentment.

Yet, the visitors of Voodoo doughnuts have the same look? Over fat filled baked goods. I will state that I have made my own hajj to Voodoo. They didn't seem any different. I guess it all in how you market a mecca. 

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

Nice To See StevieB: Pancakes, Stevie. Pancakes.

By StevieB

It's that time of year again. The time when the pancake clock starts.

On the first notable snowfall in Denver, I historically head to a pancake house and celebrate with a heaping order of flap-jacks. Checking back on my blog, how I remember everything that has happened in my life, the first snow is typically around the last week on October.

No matter the time, or the date, pancakes must be eaten. A celebration of StevieB blog history. There will be hot-cakes. For now we wait. When the flakes fall so does syrup. 

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

Nice To See StevieB: Do You Voodoo?

By StevieB
 
It's been awhile since the Voodoo Doughnuts opened in our town. There was this amazing vibe around the idea the Denver had a hip and alternative doughnut shop, like exotic Portland, Oregon. Like our version our ancestors seeing an Oriental vase. Now, cheap and only sold in junk shops inside of the Aurora Mall.

I over heard someone awhile back, bragging how many times they have gone to pick up a pick box of glazed doughnuts in recent history. How can that impress anyone?

I had this thought as I sat at a light in front of the popular business. A line ran out the front door. The best part; however, was the small assembled groups of citizens trapesing away with their stacked pink boxes. The look of devotion upon their faces. It reminded me of another group which made a recent pilgrimage.

One of the five pillars of Islam, is to make a pilgrimage to Makkah. This means, to be a devout follower of Islam, one must make a trip within ones lifetime to the holiest of all shrines. Annually, two million people make this holy trip. I am positive that the look on their faces after walking around the sacred shrines is one of utter happiness and contentment.

Yet, the visitors of Voodoo doughnuts have the same look? Over fat filled baked goods. I will state that I have made my own hajj to Voodoo. They didn't seem any different. I guess it all in how you market a mecca.

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

Nice To See StevieB: I knew His Smile in an Instant

By StevieB

Atlanta was a great trip. It is funny how Patrick’s friendship just continues online and offline without missing a beat. Not physically seeing Patrick since our cruise, over a year ago, we simply just picked up where we left off. He was a great host. The excuse for the visit was for Atlanta’s Pride celebration. Understanding the heat of Atlanta’s summers I understand how they began to throw the weekend celebration in October.

The first night was a kick-off party as the Atlanta Aquarium. A huge party thrown around the world-class aquariums and tanks. Patrick and I literally partied with Otters. A long list of Atlanta’s best diners, and dives followed over the weekend. Topped off by the main Pride Parade on Sunday. As Patrick, his large and very nice group of friends, and I settled into a safe spot to watch the parade; I quickly become bored. Patrick suggested we sit on the near-by Italian restaurant’s patio. We snuck away from the jubilant friends and ordered a little lunch, alfresco.

At this point in my story, I need to mention that anytime I am awake my head is buried in my phone. This trip, I was constantly texting the same cute boy I had been seeing in back home. All through the Aquarium, the diners, and the parade I was texting him non-stop. It’s actually quite disgusting. I mimic a fourteen-year old girl. As we slipped away from the parade front, I sent a selfie to the same cute boy, giving him a literal picture of the mayhem we were about to escape. I casually let him know Patrick and I were going to grab food. The boy too, was away from home. In Connecticut for a week at a family wedding. We chatted non-stop about our separate adventures. I had been secretly bummed that he couldn’t join my adventure in Atlanta. But, at least we could text.

I relished the Sunday afternoon. Sitting with one of my dearest friends, soaking up the day with a great person. We still had a great view of the parade as it crossed over Piedmont St. About half a block away, it was great to see, but not get too involved. It was also just enough space to cruise for cute boys. And, Atlanta has no shortage in amazingly cute boys. Patrick and I had all the time in the world to watch them wander by. As my gaze roamed the sea of Atlanta cuteness, one super-cute guy caught my eye. Slim. Muscular. Flowing curly locks of hair. Tall. The sun bounced and danced upon his light caramel skin. But…. Suddenly I became that 70’s Pina Colada Song. I knew his smile in an instant, I knew the curve of his face. It was my own lovely boy…. I sprung from the table alarming Patrick and our group of dinning friends. The boy I had been obsessing over, the one in Connecticut. Just wandered by. Of, course his head was down, texting me. He was causally asking me what the name of the restaurant I had mentioned.

I ran through the crowed, I began to doubt whether I actually saw him at all.

Then, I stopped running. There he was. The most beautiful boy ever. The crowed stopped moving, the drag queen, upon the nearby float frozen in time. Glitter held its place in midair. The very movement of blood within my heart stopped. Nothing existed. Reality faded into a grey blur on the edges of space between my trembling hands and him. The curve of his face. I threw my arms around him and squeezed. The glitter began to fly again. The waving drag queen upon her float slowly came back up to speed.
The boy had ducked out of the wedding in Connecticut and flew down to surprise me. Following my clues of selfies and unknowingly cryptic texts. The most romantic thing anyone has ever done. Me and my boy. We watched the remainder of the parade. Intertwined. 
 
This post originally appeared on Steven Bennet's website Nice to See StevieB. Republished with permission.

Nice To See StevieB: War Is Hell

By StevieB

I have been putting off writing a declaration of peace. Like a peace accord with a bitter enemy, that is now humble in defeat. I guess it would be more like The Japanese Instrument of Surrender, the written agreement that formalized the surrender of the Empire of Japan, marking the end of World War II. This symbolic act of writing has been weighting on my mind for several years now. I begin to think about it, how I would express my love and admiration, toward my fellow warriors, then for some reason, maybe due to Post-traumatic stress disorder, I had not.

After two years, it is time.

It was about two years ago when I fell into the deepest and darkest of depressions. I pulled away from everyone and everything. I turned completely introverted. I had a struggle, no. A war on my hands to stay standing. To not give into the dark. During this time, I did not explain my war to anyone. It was a fight of one. A secret battle that sparked up again daily. How would anyone help in this fight? How could I even explain the tactics that the enemy was using? The enemy could not be identified. They wore no uniforms. They had no insignia. How do you plan an attack on a sneaky enemy that was invisible? My only defense was to quote Trinity’s line from the Matrix, “Get up, Trinity, get up!” I kept moving. I just kept getting up, every day. During this time of introversion, I do remember one detail. Some friends that I ghosted upon, instead of being alerted, simply left the battle field. I had not raised the alarm, but they avoided the sound of cannon fire.

Two people grabbed whatever defenses they had, and joined the fight.

Upon de-friending Mike, on Facebook, he immediately called my phone until I picked up. He refused to buy any line I threw at him. He would not step away from my side. He had no ammunition, he was unarmed. His very presence began to scare away the enemy.

The constant connection of Patrick, not letting me withdraw, was a constant reminder that I have the strength to tackle and defeat any dark army that wanted to steal me away.

With an army of three, the defenses were built. The stone walls of the stronghold were secured. There were only three men atop the wall. But, victory came slowly and precisely. They are warriors; and should be honored and decorated as so. Their dedication should be known. I can proudly say that I am a stronger solider because of what I saw in the battles that encompassed the war. Now, the cannons have fallen silent. There is a field of beautiful wild flowers where the battlefield once raged…Just a simple, peaceful valley. 

"Without heroes, we are all plain people, and don't know how far we can go." --- Bernard Malamud

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

 

Nice to See StevieB: Got A Long List of Ex-Lovers

By StevieB

Apparently, it was ex-boyfriend week here around the old Stevie B blog. This is the time when all of Steve's ex-boyfriends contact Steve, just to ensure he is still alive.

The US Swim team, Olympic swimmer was in contact. Yes, he's happy with the fellow hottie he left me for, just fighting with him this week, and wanted to say "Hi!" to me.

The skinny-ginger from Colorado State University, drunk-texted me in the middle of the night to re-declare his love for me. If you remember, he was the one I woke up to one morning, staring at me, stating that if he can't get a monogamous commitment he was out. I'm sure you know my answer. He grabbed his Express Tote Bag, and ran. Jim Beam had apparently convinced him otherwise.

Next was the muscled Lebanese, University of Colorado Volleyball player. He just let me know that he's going to study in Prague. That being petrified of his hotness, and thus avoiding him, probably was not the best technic in flirting.

The blonde from Colorado School of Mines, just mis-dialed me, thinking it was his Professor Steve, not the creepy 43 year old that sodomized him in his Jeep Liberty.

Then, there was the big Ex. He was in contact to announce that he is officially a Realtor, with his own agency. I couldn't tell if is was a general announcement, or a sales pitch. Either way, I believe it's a great idea to have your Ex, help buy a house.... sure. He then invited me to a Fetish Party he was hosting. Also a great idea to attend a play party hosted by your still somewhat questionably hostile Ex... sure.

Well... that was my week. My tattered ego and I are glad it is over. 

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

Nice to See StevieB: Homosexuals and Jeep Repair

By StevieB

Through a series of unfortunate events, I received huge dents in my front bumper, and back bumper of my Jeep, Wrangle. My front bumper, was dented during my first and last visit to Tom's Diner. The back bumper got destroyed thanks to a drunk unemployed man in a rusted-out Subaru. A drunk unemployed man who spent the time waiting for the cops attempting to buy me off.... with the crumpled up fives in his wallet. Needles to say, he got hauled away, I got an insurance check.

Thankfully the damage on the front and back of my precious Jeep was completely isolated to the bumpers. And, if I haven't mentioned it yet, my handsome (and available) roommate is a Certified Jeep/Chrysler mechanic. Mr. Handsome was able to locate two new bumpers. This was easy because Dude/bros that buy jeeps take the first opportunity to rip off their bumpers to replace them with steel welded jobs with wenches and lights attached. The factory ones get tossed. Unless they're needed for Steve's Big Gay Jeep. So... score.

Saturday night was spent hanging out in a repair bay of Mike's Jeep dealership. Who knew to people could laugh so hard; especially in the act of car repair. By late Saturday night, I had shiny new bits of plastic, Jeeps calls bumpers, bolted onto the Jeep.

Lets see how long they last....

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

Nice To See StevieB: Not-A-Soul Man

By StevieB

I believe that I might not have a soul.

This conclusion comes from a consistent problem in my life. One were I don't exist to certain necessary inanimate objects we all intact with daily. I don't register to electric eyes. Touch-less faucets seem like a futuristic and technological miracle. One simply places their hand under the spout and water starts flowing like magic. I always think that I am not smart enough to move in the right way to trigger the motion sensor. It's a presence sensor designed to detect the presence of hands under the spout and turn on the faucet. When you remove your hands, the sensor tells the faucet to turn off. When your hands come within a few inches of the lip of the spout, infrared light bounces off your skin to the detector, which sends a signal that turns on the faucet. They're easy enough technology. But countless times, you can find me in the airport men's room waving my hands like a flustered chicken attempting to register to the stupid faucet.

This was proven to the roommate after he bought one of those "touch-less" trashcans for the kitchen. He has had hours of enjoyment watching me act like a cat playing with a laser beam as I attempt to have the lid raise. Doors refuse to open as they don't see me coming. If it has any kind of electric eye, it will be blind to me.

I really don't know all the technology of how these things work, I just assume it works off the human soul. 

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

Nice To See StevieB: Dog Sitting

By StevieB

Last weekend my best friend spent his precious time off dog sitting. He was amazingly dedicated to the task as well. When I urged him to just toss a Swanson's Frozen Sliced Beef Dinner through the back door and come cruise for boys with me, he would hear nothing of it. I got a raised eyebrow when I suggested giving the dog, whom he was assigned, no dedicated, to care for, some Benadryl so it wouldn't notice that his temporary caretaker was off putt-putt golfing. Some people take their jobs so seriously.

I was asked to dog-sit three times in my life. Each time hilarity ensued.

Back in 1994, I was asked to watched the dog of an elderly gay guy, well I thought he was elderly. Looking back he was probably the age I am now. He had one of those fluffy yappy dogs. I took the two week job, because I needed the money. Also, my roommates at the time, decided that it would be better if they never saw my face again. So staying at a strange man's house, whom had a dead kitty taped to his head, was the best option. It wasn't a real dead kitty. It was just that his toupee was so cheaply done, it looks like a cat had died upon his head. The two weeks of dog sitting; however, went exceedingly well. well... the one tiny thing was that I jimmied open the locked cabinet where the unused dead cats were stored and fluffy attacked some of them. Guess he thought they were filleted felines as well. I came home late one night to find dead, dead kitty bits all over the house.

I was never asked to dog-sit again.

I was asked by a friend to come over to his house and meet his partner and their dog. They would be gone one week and wanted me to stop over twice a day to feed, and let the black lab out into the back yard. Seemed simple. The first day after happy couple left, I let myself into the house to check on the aging lab. As soon as I entered the house, all memory of our meeting was gone. Kind of like some dates I've had lately. Suddenly, I was a complete stranger entering the house to utter shock and horror. Kind of like some dates I've had lately. The lab freaked. It then proceeded to hide in a closet. Every day. All week. It didn't eat. It wouldn't go out side. When I was gone it would release its evil upon the antique area rug right in front the closet. If I attempted to dislodge the terrified creature from the closet, all sorts of terror, filled with biting and deep growling would ensure. Again, not unlike my dating life. The happy couple returned to find their dog, ten pounds lighter and a family heirloom rug destroyed.

I was never asked to dog-sit again.

The last story of my dog sitting trilogy still gives me shivers. I spent ten days watching a Basset Hound in an upscale townhouse in Dallas's Turtle Creek neighborhood. The owner of the dog, was a friend, and Cadillac Salesman whom adored his Basset, named Dudley. One afternoon, as one does when one has the keys to a brand new Cadillac and upscale townhouse, I went to cruise for boys. After bringing home, and playing with the found boy ass; I mindlessly toss my condom onto the floor. Dudley gulped it up. Without going into dramatics I had to reach my hand into a Basset and grab hold of a used condom and yank it out, before the dog swallowed. With a slimy dog slobber enhanced grasp I pulled out the filled condom. Somehow the rubber exploded. Dudley... swallowed.... I still can't see a Basset hound without thinking that one... uh... my.... okay...

I purposely never asked to dog-sit again.

And this is why you don't ask Steve to dog sit. 

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