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: 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.

Nice To See StevieB: Get Up Swinging

By StevieB

My long relationship with waking up, covered with sweat, standing in the middle of my bed has been rekindled. There is nothing more exciting than not knowing when my Sleep Terrors, decide to begin again. But, apparently they have come back for a visit.

It certainly makes inviting someone to share my bed ... awkward. With the great possibility that I will bolt upright, eyes open, with a look of complete panic on my face. Screaming or barking orders is a whimsical bonus. How would I explain to a boy I like that there is a chance that I will begin punching and attacking in the middle of the night. "Uh, I really like you, so please don't run out of my house just because I begin to physically assault you at 3 am."

My roommate, The Mechanic, casually mentioned at breakfast the other morning about whining and crying coming from my bedroom. He debated whether he should have attempted to wake me. Fearful coming into my room might make the situation worse. Which it historically has. I really feel like a whiny werewolf. Without the fun of turning furry.

I might need to buy earplugs for The Mechanic, and maybe a lock for my bedroom door. One that locks from the outside. This is due to the events two nights ago; when I woke up to find I made a full Chinese Chicken Salad at 3:30 am. And ate it. Who sleep walks and makes a salad? Seriously.

I can only hope they go away soon. Guys do not buy flimsy excuses about not wanting fall asleep with them. 

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

Nice to See StevieB: Summer

By StevieB

Can you believe that it is almost the end of July? What happened to the future plans of summer? I started to ponder this the other day as I daydreamed; looking upon clouds in the middle of Cheesman Park. Reclining on a blanket with my face looking upon the clouds. The clouds and I shared a lazy agenda, to waste an afternoon. Their plan was to slowly creep across the huge blue sky. My plan was to watch their paced path. 

It is funny how, upon the first breath of Spring, the plans for “everything you want to do this summer” become laid. The long path of warm weather. A chance to enjoy. The scheme of being able to look back in September and recite to the class, “How I Spent my Summer.” 

Here we sit at the end of July. How has your plans come along so far? This is fair warning to the end of fair warming. So, maybe the roadtrip to Mount Rushmore isn’t going to materialize for this summer. But, a road trip somewhere will. Get out there! There isn’t much time.

There isn't time, there isn't time
To do the things I want to do,
With all the mountain-tops to climb,
And all the woods to wander through,
And all the seas to sail upon,
And everywhere there is to go,
And all the people, everyone
Who lives upon the earth , to know.
To know a few, and do a few,
And then sit down and make a rhyme
About the rest I want to do. 

-Eleanor Farjeon

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

Mona Lott Sez: That's Offensive!

By Mona Lott

I love drunk women, they’re so fun and happy and easy to sell into white slavery! We’re you offended? Good, then I did my job as a comic. Why were you offended? Is it because you’re a woman who gets drunk way too often, or is it because you’ve been sold into white slavery, or is it because you’re just an uptight jerk with a sphincter so clenched that if turds were footballs you’d never fumble! Sorry if I just offended turds. 
 

Frankly, I’m kind of tired of people getting offended lately. Actually I’m more offended by the way they react to being offended. It’s as if being offensive to someone or some group of people means you are evil personified and should not be allowed in public anymore or even in Congress! Being offensive is simply, according to Google, “causing someone to feel deeply hurt, upset, or angry.” So what is wrong with that? You can hurt someone by simply telling a guy in a bar who just bought you a drink that you’re not interested. Not that I’ve ever turned any guy down in a bar. But I have been rebuked by a few poor unfortunate souls. You can hurt someone by strategically placing a screwdriver attached to a block of wood under an ex lover’s sofa cushion but, wait a moment, I don’t think that’s the kind of hurt Google meant. Though if you are in the market for hurting someone in that way I have a cousin named Vito ... You can emotionally hurt someone by simply breaking off a long term relationship, especially if you tell them in a text message that "It’s not you, it’s me." And hell, I’m sure you’ve made plenty of people angry just on the drive to work this morning. So why have cries of “that’s offensive” become so damn full of pretentious importance as of late?

Maybe we should ask that gay pride event in Scotland that banned drag queens because transgendered folks might be offended. Did you catch that? They banned drag queens because transgendered people “might” be offended, not because they were, but just because they might. Being offended is just a part of life, folks. And frankly, if you are offended by a drag queen, then maybe the problem is you and not drag queens. The same goes for those butt clenching morons who get offended when a woman pulls out a boob in public and feeds her hungry child. You’re offended? Oh well, I’m sure you will get over it. And those black folks who were so offended by the confederate flag in South Carolina ... oh wait, now that’s a bit different. Is it, you ask? Well, yes it is because it’s not offensive, it’s malicious.

Malicious, does that make a difference? You bet your sweet ass it does and here’s why. Malicious as defined by Google is “characterized by malice; intending or intended to do harm.” See, though a transgendered person (notice how I didn’t say 'tranny' in fear of offending someone) might be offended by a drag queen, they are not in danger of that queen causing them harm, unless of course they step on her fucking dress. Then it's all bets are off. And I’m betting the word “f**king” will get edited in this article because we might offend someone. But really, I think this is the line you have to cross in determining if a particular behavior or word or item should be banned or not allowed. 

The fact that someone or some group might be simply offended is not enough to eliminate it from everyone else. Yes, it may be insensitive and it may show the stupidity and small mindedness of the GOP ... oop,s I mean of the person spouting the offense. But if it’s not malicious then it shouldn’t be banned. Is the confederate flag offensive? Maybe it is, but even moreso, it’s malicious. After all it was a battleflag used by the side that fought and killed in an effort to continue enslaving a whole race of people whose only offense was being born a different color. It’s malicious in its use since then by the Ku Klux Klan and ignorant, backwoods, cousin marrying morons to taunt and intimidate black folks with the threat of harm to themselves and their families. 

So is it offensive then when some bible thumping, four-time divorced clerk in Texas says she thinks gay marriage is wrong. Yes, it’s offensive to me. But it is it malicious? No. But when she refuses to do her job as mandated by the Supreme Court it crosses the line of offensive into malicious territory. By taking away a person’s equal rights you are intending harm and that’s why I hope she finds herself in jail for this. 

So yeah, I’m offended every damn day, by religion, conservative politics, and coworkers who think they’re hatred for themselves should be directed at me. And will I post offensive remarks and jokes about the Pope and Mike Huckabee and that bitch in the cubicle next to me who doesn’t seem to realize that the whole office can hear her personal phone call to her therapist? You bet your ass I will. Will some people be offended? Sure they will. Do I care? Hell no I don’t because I’m not promoting a wish to kill them or break their knees or throw them in jail. Well, I might call my cousin Vito about that bitch in the cubicle next to mine. Anyway, it’s time to quit giving so much power to being offended. Lighten up folks, unclench and fumble a football once and a while.

Nice to See StevieB: Super Squishy Elle Shaped Sofa of Love

By StevieB

It is back. After years of banishment, I get to announce its return. The return of the Super-Squishy-Elle-Shaped Sofa of Love.

Back in my blogs from the 09-10 blogging season, I wrote a lot about having an "L" shaped sectional sofa that I loved to lounge upon during my free time. In 2010 the homosexual companion partner declared that the couch I loved, christened the Super Squishy Elle Shaped Sofa of love need to go away. Its replacement was a leather set that was not comfortable, was not fun, but was high style. Ever since saying good bye to my super squishy lover, I have had a hole in my heart.

That hole was filled last weekend. When The Mechanic and I brought home a new Super-Squishy-Elle-shaped Sofa. It was love a first sight. I proverbially slammed a champagne bottle against it bow and christened it the new Sofa of over delightful squishiness. By eating pad-thai upon its loveliness.

I would like to introduce to you... my new friend...



God bless her, and all that sail upon her. 

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

Nice to See StevieB: Haters Gonna Hate, Hate, Hate

By StevieB

Grindr can be a fickle little app. If you don't utilize the hook-app known as Grindr, I'll explain it to you in the briefest terms I know. It is like Christian Mingle on your phone. But, for Homosexuals with anything but Christian acts in mind. It is best utilized as a homing device; as the phone app has a proximity alert built into the app. This takes your location and broadcasts it to other homosexuals on the app.  The easiest way to locate your closest gay.

It; however, has been over-wrought lately with spammers. These are fake profiles attempting to get you to give your phone number for their diabolical use. Canned sentences are given in hopes that you respond, all to say "hey, let's text? What is your number?" I, with apparently too much free time started to give the Focus on the Family main telephone number. This got boring fast. Then I did this...

Every spammer got lyrics to John Cash's Folsom Prison Blues.  I got through the entire song before this one asked for my phone number. I'm sure the reception desk of the anti-gay, faux-Christian Lobbing group,  Focus on The Family, is swarmed with telemarketer calls right now.

I  also changed my profile to state that I would not respond to any Chat Requests unless a code word was given.  Any line from any Taylor Swift song. What happened actually was quite funny..

Some guys really got into it...

It was kind of amazing how many guys just wanted to give me a Taylor Swift line.

 Others.... not so much.

Then there was the perfect response...

So if you are ever on Grindr, hit me up. But, only if you like Taylor Swift. 

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

I Need A Hero!

By Mona Lott

I’ve been under attack since I was a kid. The Gallegos family three houses down would throw snowballs at me, but they wrapped them in rocks first. Russell Harmon pushed me off my bike on my way home from first grade so he could beat me up. Mike Donovan tormented me every day in 7th grade gym class until I finally couldn’t take it anymore and I threw a full can of Arid Extra Dry spray deodorant at him narrowly missing his head and screamed, “LEAVE ME THE F**K ALONE!!” That temper and my sense of humor combined created a force shield so powerful that in high school they didn’t even bully me in person anymore, they wrote nasty shit on anonymous notes and had them passed to me so I didn't know who they came from. By the way Simon Suarez, I knew.

Now I’m approaching the ripe old age of fifty and even though those childhood wounds have healed leaving faint scars, I’m still being wounded every day. Mike Pence signed the Religious Freedom law and makes intolerance and discrimination against the GLBT community legal. POW!

Then Ted Cruz, in one of many anti-gay statements, declared, “We look at the jihad that is being waged right now, in Indiana, and in Arkansas, going after people of faith who respect the biblical teaching that marriage is the union of one man and one woman." Sucker punch. "Hey, look over there!" BAM!!

In April, 700 Club leader Pat Robertson warned that if the Supreme Court strikes down bans on same-sex marriage, Christians in America will soon be “the victims of vicious, vicious attacks,” just like the angels who visited Sodom and were nearly raped by “virulent homosexuals.” WHAP!!

GOP Presidential hopeful, Ben Carson, makes the statement, "How I feel and what I think isn’t just my opinion. God in his Word says very clearly that he considers homosexual acts to be an ‘abomination.’" ZING!!

“Seeing that it is better that offenders should die rather than that all of us should be killed by God’s just wrath against us for the folly of tolerating-wickedness in our midst, the People of California wisely command, in the fear of God, that any person who willingly touches another person of the same gender for purposes of sexual gratification be put to death by bullets to the head or by any other convenient method ...” was in a ballot initiative submitted in March by California lawyer Matt McLaughlin. POW!! BANG!! ZONK!!

Earlier this week, US Cardinal Raymond Burke stated, ‘If homosexual relationships are intrinsically disordered, which indeed they are … then what would it mean to grandchildren to have present at a family gathering a family member who is living [in] a disordered relationship with another person? "If it were another kind of relationship – something that was profoundly disordered and harmful – we wouldn’t expose our children to that relationship, to the direct experience of it.’ And neither should we do it in the context of a family member who not only suffers from same-sex attraction, but who has chosen to live out that attraction, to act upon it, committing acts which are always and everywhere wrong, evil.’ KAPOW!! BIFF!! ZAP!!
And yesterday Bobby Jindal signed a newly refined law in Louisiana protecting businesses that refuse to serve same sex marriages. ZING!!

I need a hero!! No, strike that. I need a gay super villain who can live up to all the evil vile deeds that these so called God-fearing morons are accusing the GLBT community of. We are attacking Christians, even though many gays and lesbians also identify as Christian. We’ve been accused of making children gay, just by being in their presence, even though I don’t ever remember being around anyone gay until years after I had decided I was. Gays and Lesbians have been accused of causing floods, tornadoes, and hurricanes. We’ve had the proverbial finger pointed at us as the catalyst for World Trade Center bombings, the Boston Marathon bombing and now, even a tragic Amtrak train crash.

Isis and her pretty headband

So it's become obvious to me that we are very powerful!! We have superhuman abilities that allow us to make foreign extremists carry out horrendous acts of terror. We have fairy tale magic that turns straight children gay; though I can’t fathom why we don’t use this magic in Hollywood on, say, Joe Manganiello or Ryan Gosling instead.

Like Isis, no, not that one, the pretty one with the headband from Saturday morning cartoons back when we had Saturday morning cartoons, we hold power over Mother Nature and the winds and the sea! The religious right is afraid of us; they are worried that we will make them all disappear long before the rapture has the opportunity.

So I propose that we all become Gay Super Villains!! I want to be called Rapture. Yes, like the Christian end of times, but even more like an overly floral scented perfume by some aging movie star or like the feeling I get just before a guy engulfs the whole of my being with in mouth. Pick your own Gay Super Villain name but I call dibs on Rapture.

Then create a costume built for the Gods, one that RuPaul would gag on and would make Bob Mackie drop to his knees in defeat. Grab your glitterbombs and put them in that utility belt and don’t forget a dildo of death, cock ring of torture and a cat o' nine tails for those moments when you’re alone with your Gay Super Villain sidekick.

Now head on down to the steps of your Capital Building or to that soapbox in the city park or to the gilded doors of the local Catholic Church and wreak havoc! Proclaim your evil desires while stroking the bald pussy in your lap and poking your pinky finger into the corner of your mouth. Lesbians, don't get mixed up; this isn't that kind of a protest! 

Call out Carson and Huckabee and Bobby Jindal as your arch nemesis and warn them of the coming doom you are planning. Dare them to try and stop you. Have your henchmen spring on the crowd and spray them with glitter and announce that you have now turned them gay. Call down the powers of the wind and threaten to destroy the whole town with a tornado powerful enough to turn Miss Gulch into an evil witch. Laugh maniacally and run around with your cape billowing behind you! Yes, own it! Be the Gay Super Villain they already see us as and if that doesn't finally stop the attacks, then get me several cans of Arid Extra Dry!

Nice To See StevieB: Made it Through the Wilderness...

By StevieB

I woke up this morning singing a line from a Madonna song. "I made through the wilderness... somehow I made it through-ooo-ooo-ooo! Didn't know how lost I was... but now I dooooo. " That is not even close to Madonna's Like a Virgin. But it doesn't matter. What matters is that I'm through the frickin' wilderness. Yes, I made it through.

I didn't realize it had been since April 20th that I blogged. I do apologize. Somehow, the new job and attempting to finish my term papers absconded with my time. I am now, somewhat settled into the routine of the new job. It seems to be amazing. Back in the Human Resources field. It is pretty much Monday through Friday, with normal days and somewhat normal hours. I get to work part-week at Denver's airport, along with San Diego and other smaller airports. I am sure it's going to be aggravating, irritating, and wonderful work. 

Yesterday at midnight was the deadline for my last paper. And trust me when I say I used every minute. This was due to my massive presentation I had to build in PowerPoint. I spent weeks building an interactive presentation of the Continental Army and their struggle to get to Trenton, for the Battle of Trenton. The presentation I built was amazing. With battle sounds and smoke that drifted across the screen. Yesterday all I had to do was up-load it...... "Where's my iPad????? I ran though house like Chris Brown looking for a woman to beat. I ripped apart my Jeep. By noon I had to give in and rebuild my presentation. Sad Steve. No battle sounds. No smoke. 

My papers are turned in; along with my sad presentation. "C's get degrees." C's get degrees." I chanted as I uploaded my slap-dashed finial project. 

Today, Steve is done and dusted with the new job stress, and the Spring semester. "Made it through the wilderness....." Now, let's get this Spring thing started. 

 

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

Nice To See StevieB: When I Was A Boy

By StevieB

My first car was a 1968 Ford Mustang. No. It was not brand new. I found this car in a ditch around 1991, and towed it home with the help of my brother-in-law. I spent every meager dime I had working to get that Mustang up and running. When it did run, I was always out and about in this car, with its mis-matched fenders and wonky exhaust. Around this time I also seemed attracted too, and dated older guys. I bring up this point because, now that I'm over forty I am now returning the favor and started to embrace my inner-daddy. Yet, it seems times have changed in the Daddy/boy dating world. Yes, this blog post is going to be themed "When I was a boy!"

As a gay waiter at the age of twenty-four, I met and dated guys in their late thirties. I had an apartment on my own, generally paid my own way, and had a blast in the dating world. Now, the caveat emptor of this situation may be type of guy I'm finding, meeting them mostly on Grindr. But, it seems that all the guys I have chatted with, don't own cars and still live with their parents because they just can't afford a place of their own. So, the economic atmosphere in the US is severely cramping my sex life.

Student loans, high rental rates of apartments, and the lack of jobs for new college graduates, is impeding my ability to find a nice twenty-six year old to tie up and do things. I blame the Republicans. This entered my mind as I picked up a nice guy for a date, at his parents house, the sideways glances I received were epic when his mom deducted that her and I were the same age. In an attempt to avert the awkwardness I offered that I too had a mid-term to study for, as I'm in college as well. It didn't help.

When I was a boy, I guess life was easier. I pretty much built my own car, and lived on Capital Hill in a series of run-down skeezy apartments. Now that I've found myself in the Daddy role, it appears that guys are living at home for much longer. That, or I need to change my Grindr profile to read that I'm looking for guys that have their own car. That's right, StevieB, keep those standards high. Or..... I could keep my nose out of Grindr and in my history book.

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

Nice To See StevieB: Stress

By StevieB

Next Monday is the first day of my new job. I also have two massive term papers to write before the 9th of May, one with a stupid video production. So, sure! I'll whip up a Power Point on the Hessian loss to George Washington, all whilst learning a new job. Then, I'll zip out twelve pages comparing and contrasting two of my favorite Shakespearian plays.

Along with my schizophrenic dating, and other life changing events on the horizon, my stress level is through the roof. But, it should all settle down quickly.

My face when I read the term-paper requirements....

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

Nice To See StevieB: And Baby Makes Three

By StevieB

I am currently conducting a research study, with my dating habits as of late. And, I am learning a lot. After I turned forty years old, I started to date guys in their twenties. I honestly believed there were no differences in guys my age and gay men in their twenties. I went through this twenty year old phase in my life, and I thought that since I was once twenty, I would understand. I am here to report that I am dead wrong.

There seems to be is a magical age when guys are old enough that they're bored with the hookup scene and interested in relationships, yet haven't reached the point where they're bored with relationships, and just want to hook up. This has nothing to do with chronological age. It has more to do with when the individual comes out. The key to finding any guy is to find one on the same pendulum swing as you. This hasn’t changed since I was posting ads on the back pages of Denver’s Outfront Newspaper. Yes, before the interwebs, we had to post ads in the singles column of our gay newspapers. Chiseled into stone tablets, if I remember.

It appears that younger guys pendulums swing faster these days. Kids, I tells ya. When I do sit down on a date I have a series of questions I like to ask. Yeah, know, after the “do your parents know where you are?”question. The clearest one is, “Are you attracted to older guys on a personal level, or physical level?” This shows me whether there’s a Daddy fetish going on, or if it’s a maturity compatibility thing. When I was twenty I hated interacting with other twenty year olds, I preferred having a conversion with people over forty. The other questions are “Do you know who Matthew Shepard, and Larry Kramer are? Have you seen the film, Paris is Burning?” The answers are surprising. Is it wrong to give a homework assignment after the first date? I think no.

There is; however, something new, other than the fact that no gay man under the age of twenty-six would ever have a Facebook account. The guys I have dated as of late, are now thinking love and marriage. And children. It seems that generation next, have the freedom and acceptance to be able to dream of settling down and raising a family. This truly is - a different time, my friends. 

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

Nice To See StevieB: Travel Time

By StevieB

Have you had a dating relationship with someone from another city? The typical long distance relationship. I wonder how this style of relationship works, the actual mechanics of attempting to establish closeness when the other person lives in another town. I have, of late, attempted to pursue this style of relationship. Trust me, it is harder than it looks.

As I have grown older my tough-guy, no hugging, "I need my space" policy has worn away. The idea of having a boyfriend whom lived a plane ride, or even a car ride away seemed perfect for my younger self. To see and date on a regular, yet infrequent timetable. I am finding lately that I have unknowingly changed this demeanor. The ginger-swimmer from last fall lived almost two hours away, the Spaniard before him lived in San Francisco. Now, I am finding that a relationship is the little things. The stupid stuff we do together when there is not a time crunch. Dating is not the hot sex. It is the hot sex followed by wandering around the supermarket together, afterward in search of food. Maybe grabbing coffee and just wasting away a morning. Together.

I would never shoot down a hot boy that actually wanted to take on the bag of neurotic strangeness that is me, just because he lives an hour north of my town, it is not a deal breaker. It just seems I am scratching my head at the extra time it takes to build that level of closeness when time is so limited.

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?

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

Nice To See StevieB: Chasing Shakespeare

By StevieB

I have discovered that taking a Shakespeare class, online is not the best idea. In fact it's right up there with grocery store sushi, or trying to date a straight guy.

I say this, the online Shakespeare part because no matter how hard I try to focus on the meaning and depth of William's plays, I'm finding it impossible to focus. Now, I have taken a lot of Literature classes in my time, even some involving that English playwright. Reading and understanding the guy when you're sitting alone in a Starbucks is different. And, I am finding the class very difficult.

I don't hold up much hope for making it until the last day of class, May 9th. I might chuck the whole idea. Or, it is possible I just may fail the course. I have never received to a bad grade before. Ever. But, my last grade on my, what I thought was a great paper, was "F." I was shocked. Every detail that I was marked down on, were legitimate issues. But, hyper critical in their execution.

Guess I will just try my hardest to get the remaining points I can. Shakespeare or bust. In the mean time, I'll chow down on some day old Sushi, and wait for the straight guy I had plans with to show up.

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

Nice To See StevieB: Glassy

By StevieB
 
After buying the shiny new Jeep in June, I already have to replace the windshield. Let this be a lesson; when you get a chip in your car's windshield, have it filled/repaired. It's a cheaper choice than buying new glass.

Jeeps are strange contraptions. Their windscreens have the Jeep grill logo embossed into the top center, as a sun blocker. There's also a tiny Jeep in the corner, just in case you forgot you owned a Jeep. This honor drives the price for a new windscreen up by three-hundred dollars. Yeah. That's right, proprietary parts. Thanks Jeep.

They do make other, "non-branded" windshields. These are exactly the same, without the cool factor. So, for three hundred less dollars, I'm getting the generic version. But, if you know me; you know I'm a huge label whore. So... Here's the deal. I found after-market stickers that mimic the Jeep logos. I can apply the knock-off stickers and Viola! Jeep branding! I'll always feel like I am wearing cheap Pro Wing tennis shoes from K-Mart, but they'll look like Pumas.

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