Wednesday, October 29, 2008

It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown... Go ahead and eat it!

Charlie Brown: Hey! I got an invitation to a Halloween party!
Lucy Van Pelt: Is the invitation to Violet's party?
Charlie Brown: Yes. It's the first time I've been invited to a party.
Lucy Van Pelt: Charlie Brown, if you got an invitation, it was a mistake. There were two lists, Charlie Brown: one to invite, and one not to invite. You must have been put on the wrong list.

Halloween has always been one of my favorite holidays and It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown was always one of my favorite cartoons. Charlie always made me feel better about myself. I may be a loser, but damn, I don’t have it as bad as Ol’ Charlie.

Growing up in rural Mississippi, I enjoyed the chance to pretend to be someone else. My favorite costume was always the vampire. I, like many Scorpios, love vampires. It all started with the film, Fright Night and Anne Rice’s novel, Interview with the Vampire. I have followed Lestat andMarius and Pandora through all of the novels.

This Halloween I will be at Fire in the Smokies, minus the vampire costume. I cannot afford to do it right with Christmas knocking on my door (and fishing through my wallet). What are your Halloween plans? Parties, costumes… are you on the list?

Sunday, October 26, 2008

An experience with a Scorpio...

I am a Scorpio and I am proud of it!
Our colors are dark red and black.
Our stone is a Topaz.

Famous Scorpios include Bill Gate, Hillary Clinton, and Sean Combs.

Scorpios are noted for being generous if not kind, passionate if possessive, and sexually perverse if not easy.

Noted for being emotionally volatile with a keen ability to bring out the worst in others, Scorpios usually get a bad rap.

So tell me, are you a scorpio or have you dated a Scorpio? What was the experience REALLY like… Be honest. Many people either raise an eyebrow in interest over the fact that I am a Scorpio or they look with disgust at the revelation… What has been your experiences with Scorpios?

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Measuring Up...

As a teacher, I have had some funny moments in my classroom. From kids spelling corner curner to being called Kim Possible’s Naked Mole rat, on some days, the laughs just keep coming. But today simply took the cake. A student was in my class playing with a ruler while I was presenting a lecture on speech analysis. I walked over to the student, grabbed the ruler, and got the shock of my life. This was no regular ruler. This was a “Peter Meter.” With tape on the front, the ruler had drawn on dicks at several inches starting at five, which equaled lame on the “Peter Meter” and ended at 10, which equaled wow on the “Peter Meter.” Poor boy, I thought to myself. 12’s really do exist.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

These words are my own...

(In two weeks, I will turn 30 and I am taking sometime to excavate my life. In my reflections, I came to a realization that many of us come to in our lives.)

Faggot. Sissy. Queer. Gayblade. The words, and the pain behind them, can go on and on. Every time I heard these words, they felt like little daggers across my skin.

These words were not meant to kill, to cut too deeply; just to slice, draw a little blood, demean and push me further away from the kids who were normal.

These words, repeated enough, become a part of you. We wrap ourselves in rainbows, in slurs and words and images.

We become, slowly, who people tell us we are.

And when we become these people, we begin a fight that lasts, for many, our entire lives.

Some of us accept that we are abnormal, the most reviled of sinners, and these men spend the rest of their lives in shame and remorse. Some of them learn to relish the pain and the abuse, inflicted by others and by themselves. Some of us

It was when I was in second grade that school stopped being a place I wanted to go and became a place I dreaded.

On my bus, a kid from my neighborhood, called me a faggot. I had no idea what they word meant, but I realized it was not something anyone would want to be called.

While that was my first time being called a faggot, it was not the last.

On some days, around some kids, I thought this was my newly earned nickname.

It hurt sometimes, but most times it meant nothing to me. I did not care. My sense of self was so strong that most things were unable to phase me. I looked around at my peers and felt that in the end, somehow, things would be leveled out and that I would be the one looking down and casting judgment on them. And this was true.

A kid could call me all the faggots he knew, and I could call him stupid or dumb or mildly retarded right back.

If a kid mocked the way I talk, I mocked the way he read aloud in class. I became skilled at using words and my tongue for defense. This carried me threw elementary school and I earned the respect of my elementary school peers.

It was in fifth grade that the problem escalated. I was in Ms. Peeler’s fifth grade classroom. My mother had her as a teacher in middle school and I was excited for her to be my teacher.

On the first parent/teacher conference night, she told my mother she needed to find a husband so I would have a male role model in my life.

My mother had been hurt and I perceived this hurt to be my fault. It was something about me that had made my mother hurt. Had Mrs. Paul not made this insightful observation about what my mother needed, she would not have cried when she got in the car.

I started to shrink. I closed my mouth and sat in classes, saying as little as possible, wishing myself invisible, but some flames simply burn too bright.

Sammy Seales was one grade above me in middle school.

He told me to get my faggot ass back and that girls could not play. Other boys laughed, many of them my friends, and I was enraged. I walked up to him, in my cowboy boots (with my pants tucked inside them) and punched him in the face. I knew I was on a suicide mission. Sammy Seales was older, taller; he had muscles and hair in places I only daydreamed about and I knew he was going to kick my ass. And kick my ass he did.

I hated Sammy Seales from that day forward.

He was held back in tenth grade and we ended up in 11th grade English class together. He took a seat behind me and I spent the entire year in dread of what he might say. He never said anything derogatory to me. He was always nice and friendly and I wondered if he even remembered our fight from 7th grade.

Regardless of what he remembered, I never forgot.

Sammy Seales was killed at twenty and inside I felt relief. I felt relief because someone had done to him what he had done to a part of me. And that’s when I realized how much damage these words had done to me.

Monday, October 13, 2008

Hey Thirsty, it's your birthday!

Dear Thirsty,

Happy birthday.

Friendships, in the gay community, sustain us. When for some, family abandons us and lovers let us down, it is our friendships that we can count on.

As chronicled on this blog, I have numerous associates, but only a few true friends. I am fortunate that you are in my life.

I do not believe in randomness. I believe in fate. When you met Chris, it was meant for you to date him so you could meet Parker and we could become friends. I guess it was true friendship at first sight.

Thirsty. Seeker of love, friendship, and more than most people will ever have. You are passionate, ambitious, and more than anything else, worthy to have all you seek.

You are my friend. I love you and cherish the time we have spent together. I look forward to the memories to come. Happy birthday, lovely.

Wednesday, October 8, 2008

Check out Falltacular 2008!

It’s almost time for one of the biggest events of the year: Falltacular.

Falltacular started seven years ago as a celebration for my friend Shawn J. I have been fortunate enough to be apart of Falltacular for the past four years. I strongly recommend this great weekend. I was elated last Friday to find that Pimpmusique was coming on the retreat this year.

Check out the website. The event is really off the chain. If you are interested in going, email me about the slight chance that I can get you in at a discounted price.

Thursday, October 2, 2008

The incredibly long, awfully terrible, “sho nuff was” bad week

Sometimes life hands you a lemon and you just have a lemon.

My car cost $400 to repair.
My check was hundreds of dollars short.
My mom’s factory job has been scaled back to two days a week.

The car’s starter died and the battery and battery cables had to be replaced.

My principal actually promised me a stipend for a school obligation (that I received last year) and then decided to rescind the pay without rescinding the work obligation. And he knows that I will not drop the extra work because it involves kids who need my help.
When I received my check on Tuesday, I was short hundreds of dollars because of the lack of the aforementioned stipend. My principal is an evil sonofabitch.

My mom works in a glove factory in central Mississippi and has been there for twenty years. It is the only job she knows and she is leaning on her only son for help. I give what I have to her, freely. But with my check short over $300 expected dollars, I wonder how much extra I will continue to have?

This week sucked.

And I know, I know… someone’s car just broke down but they did not have the money for repairs.
And I know, I know… someone has lost his or her job.

I know, I know… I am blessed and thankful for what I have… make no mistake about it, but someone just got a brand new car and someone has a boss who appreciates them and rewards them with a raise.

But while someone is having a worse week, someone else is having a better one.
Someone just bought a new car (with cash).
Someone just got a raise for the work the do (from a boss who appreciates hard work).

Sometimes life hand you lemons, and you look around and there is no sugar to be found. You take the lemon and decide to make the best of it. You hold it, peel it… only to find that the little f*cker is rotten.