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: 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.

Nice To See StevieB: Checking Monsters

By StevieB

I got home super late last night. One of those nights where you dump your belongings and drag yourself up the stairs. I dumped my countless number of bags inside the door and stripped naked as I ascended the stairs. My only goal was to be horizontal within my 800 thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets. Nothing was going to stop me. One thing did.

I stopped and checked my closet for monsters.

In my sleep deprived state, it hit me. I just checked my closet. I began to think; do I do this a lot? Yes, without even thinking of it. Every night I'm alone I open my closet door and flip on the light to ensure that there isn't anything evil lurking behind the Pumas. Hiding behind the flannel shirts. I'm a fully fledged adult, and yet I check for monsters in my room.

I'm sure this habit began when I was eight. My brother hid in my closet one evening to jump out and scare me. To this day it is my foundation in my belief that brothers are just simply assholes. Ever since that night I have checked my closet. This habit has ingrained itself into just who I am for my entire life, so much so that I don't even remember or acknowledge doing it.

In the movie 'The Dark Knight' The Joker says, “We stopped checking for monsters under our beds when we realized they were inside us." So maybe, that fact that I'm a full ground man and still checking behind the closet door every night, symbolizes that I don't have a monster inside of me. That evil is still an abstract. To be pushed away with one small ritual.

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

Nice To See StevieB: My Part

By StevieB

One of my earlier memories was getting my haircut. It was in a strip mall in our small hometown. My Father took my older brother and me to get a buzzcut. I remember the stacks of coloring books and having my very first comic book adventure. Gazing at nineteen seventies Superman taking flight upon the page. This was when my love for comic books was born. I remember the feel of sitting in the huge barber chair; a booster seat to bring me up to the barber’s level. The barber seemed younger than my Dad, but still ancient. In my tiny brain. The image of my Dad wondering out the door, stating he’d be back to pick is up. I had a scared feeling, wanting to jump from the chair as the buzzing steel clippers came close to my ear. Being comforted by the barber that he wouldn’t hurt me. Softly whispering in my ear that I was safe. His hand moving under the cape to find its way into my jeans. Feeling warm and special because the barber clipping away on my brother in the next chair was not being even acknowledged. I exchanged warm smiles with the barber-man as he cut my hair. One handed. 

This is when it happened, I believe. He cut a side part into my hair. On the left side of my head. I have worn a part on the left side ever since that day. Mostly, this is because I have a massive amount of callicks (or cowlicks) on the back of my head. My hair resembles the back end of a guinea pig most days. Always using a massive amount to product to keep my swirling and unruly hair in its place. 

I recently had to find a new barber, as Nick the Super Barber moved to new town to start a Bed and Breakfast. I gave in and went to the hipster barbershop that my roommate uses. It is SUPER hipstery. I have a happy connection with getting my hair cut. Obviously, from my past of Superman and having my dick awakened for the first time. I went in for my first appointment half-hoping there would be comic books. There was not. I met the barber and began to explain my swirl and callicks on the back of my head. He stopped. “It’s because you have your hair parted on the wrong side.” He explained. “Your swirl and callick goes from right to left, opposite of how you’re laying your hair.” He combed my hair over from right to left and all my stand uppity hair laid flat….. Holy hell. That guy…. When I was just a kid… gave me thirty years of bad hair days??? Guess you are never too old to move your part from the left. I’m all right now. 

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

Nice To See StevieB: Panda Express

By StevieB

I spent the entire day yesterday writing my term paper. I have entitled it my Mos and po-po paper. Not realizing that I had wasted an entire day sitting at the dinning room table with nothing but the dog staring up at me, around seven p.m. my stomach decided it was time for me to stop clicking away on the keyboard and throw some food in it.

Without considering the social norms of good grooming, I grabbed the Shar-pei and headed out onto the streets for nourishment. I have a level of guilt for patronizing the new Panda Express fast food chain that has opened up recently. I have always dined at the locally owned and operated Chinese take-away, but after a day of writing in my sweat pants, I feared that Mr. Wok would assume that the zombie apocalypse had begun, and this particular zombie had a taste for Asian brains, and I would be shot in the head. One should not fear being mistaken for a zombie and shot just because one desires chinese food, but one should also take a shower and remove ten hour old Pop-Tart crumbs from one’s beard before heading out into public. So I went to Panda Express. They don’t judge.

As I did my zombie shuffle up to the “Order Here” sign, the guy behind the glass sneeze guard smiled and said “hey, we chatted on Scruff!” peering into his dreamy blue eyes and swimmers build wrapped in a fast food uniform, I recognized him as well. My stomach and other bits growled. I thought, it’s Mr. “watts up” and “your hot.” Pondering his very bad grammar, I quickly thought, who am I to judge the proper use of you’re verses your? This hot twenty-two year old wants to give me his egg rolls. Under the panda embroidered polo shirt is a six-pack that thinks I am hot. I smiled my best “How YOU Doin?” smile and ran my hand over my right pectoris muscle covered by my coffee stained tee shirt.

I then grabbed my to-go bag and retreated out of the restaurant like a defeated Mongol warrior, yet giggling like a Japanese schoolgirl. 

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

Nice To See StevieB: Job

By StevieB

Have I mentioned that I have a new job? In late July I pretty much hit a wall in my job. The busy restaurant management company drove me over the edge and, as I felt my mid-life crisis was starting early, it was time for me to run away. I had the luxury to stepping away being finically secure enough to take time to explore. This led be to talking most of August off. Sleeping in late, long workouts at the gym, hiking up in the mountains every day, the whole gainfully unemployed game. It was strange; having all this free time to just relax and rethink my career choices. I have been a Human Resources Manager most of my adult career, or for what seems like an eternity. During my down time, mostly hiking about Boulder, Colorado, I thought about my next career, what I really wanted. And, even with the bad taste left in my mouth of the last HR job, in mid-August I was recruited for another Human Resources gig. Yet the feel of the role was completely different.

During the initial phone interview I really bonded to what would be my future boss. It was also just the change I needed, a corporate position with short and long term care facilities. Teams of educated doctors and nurses in the role of caring for people in need. A far universe away from attempting to maintain dignity around Bartenders and ego-driven Chefs. Goodbye high end dining, hello medical field.


So far it’s like being on vacation every day. The work is very hard, don’t get me wrong, but I went from Bar Managers dropping bags of cocaine in the kitchen, to verifying medical degrees. It’s early days, but I feel like I have a purpose again. So, maybe the mid-life crisis can be averted for a couple more years.

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.

Nice To See StevieB: Maintaining the Mean

By StevieB

I am not a fan of clutter. This may be part of my homosexual training in “clean surfaces.” Part of the homosexual agenda that pushes a simple and clean esthetic, and to force straights to no longer keep their toasters out on the counter, or large bowls of decorator soaps on the back of toilets. Pushing and forcing our agenda on America. An agenda of tasteful design, simplicity in form and function. When clean design solves a functional problem as simply and elegantly as possible, the resulting form will be carried to success by the gays.

That being said, I had a personal intervention last night….

Yes, I am working fifty hours a week on top of going to school. I still should be able to keep my desk clean. Yet at the bottom of the pile is the box my Mac came in… over a year and half ago. And that’s the issue. When I purchase fun toys, I don’t want to part with the box. Like unwrapping and unboxing is such a high, I don’t want to just toss out the package. If it didn’t just smack of effort and crazy, I’d be one of those “unboxers” on Youtube. Those people that video the unboxing of any new electronics, and post it to YouTube. If I start, I welcome any smacks to the head.

So, I just keep the bags and/or boxes to hold onto the thrill of opening the new item. Well, it may also be warranty and return purposes. That doesn’t mean I must leave them on my desk so I may contemplate when I should be writing a paper on Aristotle’s philosophy on happiness in human nature (no irony there).

Yet it does bring the reason why I still have the bag for my Coach wallet. “Happiness depends on ourselves.” Aristotle enshrines happiness as a central purpose of human life and a goal in itself. A new Coach wallet, although completely shallow in its happiness, makes me happy. Aristotle argues that virtue is achieved by maintaining the Mean, which is the balance between two excesses. I don’t depend wholly on wallets Swatches for happiness, they’re tiny treats for working fifty hours a week and going to school. I maintain the Mean.

Now if only I could get the bags and boxes off my desk to maintain my clean desk… that’s another issue. I am not a fan of clutter. 

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

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.

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

Nice To See StevieB: Growing Up Beige

By StevieB

Growing up as a good Mormon boy I had a lot of idiosyncrasies. Being the youngest of seven kids probably compounded this. Let’s just say it was like Equus but with Jell-O after dinner on Saturdays.

Part of living in a big house on a big ranch in the middle of nowhere is when a sibling got married and moved out everyone got to move up to a better bedroom. After several basement bedrooms that have scared me for life, when the last sister got taken away for marriage, I got to move upstairs. A room with a window, no longer to be a subterranean dweller. Which to this day has made me hate basements.

Being the youngest also means I got the painted furniture and painted walls from countless sisters wanted bright happy colors. The room I was to inherit had been pink, blue, yellow, and puke green, along with all the furniture. Now, after kicking six other kids out of the house the Mother didn’t care at this point what the hell I did, so she sent me into the K marts with fifty bucks and told me she would wait in the Kmart Kafe, sucking down ham sandwiches.

Having the urge and twisted desire to be grown up like Steven Carrington I went about decorating my room. Beige walls, beige sheets and pillows, brown paint on the furniture and I ripped down the flowery curtains and installed beige mini blinds. It looked like the inside of a cardboard box. The only thing my Mom said was “It looks like the God damn underside of a God damn mushroom” and she was right. But my yearning to be normal made me want to be bland. Unlike the flamboyant little boy with an Under Gear magazine hidden inside the beige sheets. 

The funny thing is, although I still use the design esthetic the Steven Carrington’s “bachelor pad” It’s taught me that even when you cover up things with beige paint you’re still the flamboyant boy underneath.

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

Nice To See StevieB: Checking Monsters

By StevieB

I got home super late last night. One of those nights where you dump your belongings and drag yourself up the stairs. I dumped my countless number of bags inside the door and stripped naked as I ascended the stairs. My only goal was to be horizontal within my 800 thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets. Nothing was going to stop me. One thing did.

I stopped and checked my closet for monsters.

Monster in The Closet
by MoMoCookie

In my sleep deprived state, it hit me. I just checked my closet. I began to think; do I do this a lot? Yes, without even thinking of it. Every night I'm alone I open my closet door and flip on the light to ensure that there isn't anything evil lurking behind the Pumas. Hiding behind the flannel shirts. I'm a fully fledged adult, and yet I check for monsters in my room.


I'm sure this habit began when I was eight. My brother hid in my closet one evening to jump out and scare me. To this day it is my foundation in my belief that brothers are just simply assholes. Ever since that night I have checked my closet. This habit has ingrained itself into just who I am for my entire life, so much so that I don't even remember or acknowledge doing it.


In the movie 'The Dark Knight' The Joker says, “We stopped checking for monsters under our beds when we realized they were inside us." So maybe, that fact that I'm a full ground man and still checking behind the closet door every night, symbolizes that I don't have a monster inside of me. That evil is still an abstract. To be pushed away with one small ritual. 

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.

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: New York

By StevieB

The most terrifying feeling in the world is the moment when the plane touches down. You are gracefully sailing through the sky inside a metal tube, then suddenly you're jarred forward as the retro-boosters, or whatever they're called, instantaneously jerk you forward as the plane attempts to land. You feel the rubber tires skidding out of control, attempting to gain traction. A deafening metallic screech fill your ears. The floor underfoot feels as if it will tear away any second.

Every time I fly, I dread this sensation. Yet, I would never let this terror, as I see it, stop me from flying. Even though every time I take an airplane trip, I have night terrors for weeks. It's simple to understand that you can't have a vacation. A trip via airplane, without this 60 seconds of absolute soul scratching terror. It is the good stuff that happens on vacation you have remember. The bad part, fades away.

It's been a week since I took a plane to New York. The purpose of the trip was to attend a reception for my ex, Dalton. A wedding reception, for his wedding to his partner. Who he married. He with his new, me with my new. Although; is wasn't that long ago the it was he and I getting married. Well, long compared to the life-span of a Great Dane. If we had received a Great Dane as a wedding gift, Duke, as we would have named him, would probably, even with the best veterinary care, died four years ago. But, short compared to my memory.

Please don't get me wrong, I am not in any way pining away for a relationship from ancient history. It would be like me wishing I could wander the halls of The Great Library of Alexandria. Nor am I discontented. I have finally found someone to whom I mesh with in an astounding amount of layers. So, I bought a $700 suit and showed up on time. My hand in the hand of this amazing individual. What I am asking is, can you imagine standing up in front of your family and friends and make a promise for ever and always, then live long enough to see the other half make that promise to another. As the reception began, I began to hear the lowering of landing gear; quiet at first, then louder. Know-one else in the reception hall seemed to hear it. Suddenly a thud. I was thrust forward as shaking rocked the room. Every word; every speech, drowned out by a mechanical screeching sound. Rubber tires attempting to gain traction. My heart being stopped as it gets forced out of my chest. Then... the tires get traction... The room slowed and the mechanical scream subsided as quickly as it started.

I fear landings. More than I let on. They terrify me. They leave me a trembling child. Yet, if I avoided the landing, I would miss sailing through the sky. I get enormous joy knowing that Dalton is truly happy. That I shared a small part of his affirmation to Brian, legally his husband. The bad part will fade away. 

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

Nice To See StevieB: Steve In The Box

By StevieB

I have been attempting to eat in a healthier manner. This is a far cry from the back-lash of my stuff-everything-into-my-face-hole policy I employed after the Speedo clad cruise in February. There has been an increase of dinning on the Caesar salad at restaurants, and finding myself heading to vegetarian / Vegan place to dine. On my own. And enjoying it.

This is of course not calculating my dark, deep secret. My addiction.

I have been hiding this addiction from my friends and family. My complete chemical addiction to Jack in The Box. An addiction that I am powerless to conquer. As an example, I'll will give you last Friday: For lunch I ate my healthy prepared salad to get me through evening. I then left work after ten p.m. and made a straight path for Jack in The Box for a teriyaki bowl and three egg rolls. Which, I ate sitting in my Jeep in the parking lot of my gym. After happy egg roll time, I did go have a massively great work out, so there is that. After the gym I headed to the bar which I then closed. As I'm friends with the entire staff, I hung out after closing to watch a series of strange events, including a round of "foreskin shots. " Better if you don't ask. I was neither the shot glass, nor the drinker. But, I finally, in my life, feel cheated in that I don't have a built in shot glass.


 
Around four a.m. I headed towards the ranch. On my way I stopped off at... you guested it, Jack in The Box. Consuming a front seat full of horrible, tasty items like a bear eating a small goat. If the bear drove a well-apointed, yet dented Jeep.

So my secret is out. I require my friends to help me kick this self-destructive habit. A habit I'm powerless to stop. Jack. I'm braking up with you. I know you bring me instant happiness. I know how much you love me, yet it's a calorie filled empty love. You're just no good for me. 

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

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. 

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

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. 

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

Nice To See StevieB: So Very

By StevieB

I went to see a new musical last weekend. I hadn't gone to enjoy legitimate theater in a while, so it was a great treat. It was a classic tale, finally turned into a musical. A story as epic as it is heartbreaking to twisted level that Shakespeare himself would of told.

Heathers.

Yes, the original dark and demented movie that started all modern writers down the long list of teenage angst movies. The 1989 classic was the cardinal rule on how a generation would see teenage life and hold a mirror up to highschool itself. I waited in anticipation how this story, the world of the late eighties would be re-told in a musical format. I sat in the audience, awaiting the start of the show like a resident of Scotland eager to see how Macbeth would portray the motherland.

As the epic fable began to unfolded, I realized that I was trapped in Happy Days. Not... Happy days, but the television show. See, the TV show Happy Days was made in the 1970's for an audience hungry with nostalgic notions of the 1950's. Middle aged folks could reconnect with their "happy days." I was unaware that my excitement in seeing this play was to see my high school days played in front of me. I am now in that age bracket where my teenage angst is a historic reference. Tales of my youth to be told by kids born the year Windows '95 came out.

The play itself was decent enough. The costume designer obviously had never seen a single episode of Saved By The Bell. You would think that there would be decent Guess or Z Cavaricci jeans at local thrift stores. I had to physically restrain myself from walking up on stage and re-tight rolling the male leads jeans cuffs. But, all things considered, I bet viewers of Happy Days thought that Fonzie was dressed in a non-authentic manner. So, I silently judged the cheap knock-offs of the shoulder -padded blazers, and off brand jeans to enjoy my youth played out in front of me. 

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