The End

The end is in sight! Good-bye 2006 . . .

I looked into the mirror this morning and there it was, right there for the whole world to see. I blinked once, blinked twice, it was still there, only more visible now since I had the eyes cleared of sleep. Where did that come from? The nerve of it, lying there, right next to the right eye, did it think I would not see it? I touched it ever so slightly, rubbed it, pulled it, tried to smooth it out, but it was determined, it had found a new home and it was here to stay. There was no use in denying it, it was there alright. Another wrinkle!

But, what can I expect? Another year has come and gone. So what if there is another wrinkle. Another wrinkle? Damn, where did I put that anti-wrinkle cream?

Tis the Season

To get names off the naughty list and onto the nice list was next to impossible. It was hard, I'm telling you it wasn't easy, I really had to pull some strings. I'm not going to tell you how I did it, other than it involved some God Damned Singing Elves, but I managed to get a special Do Not Forget List in Santa's hands.

Merry Christmas!

Hiding the Scales

Missing Parts

When you came into my life, you completed me. Never questioning why, never trying to fix me, you accepted me as I was, flaws and all. When I needed someone to listen, you gave me your ear, when I needed to cry, I leaned on your shoulder, when I lost my way, you found it for me, you were my beacon of light in the darkness. When I needed shelter against the world, you cradled me in your arms, protecting me, you kept me safe. You were my anchor in the storm, my rock, you were the one that kept me grounded against the harsh winds of life. I knew this of you, you knew this of me. God! Why didn't I listen? Why didn't I listen to that tiny little voice inside, telling me to pick up that phone and call you that morning? Why didn't I listen? If I had, would it have made a difference? Why didn't you let me be your anchor, your rock, why didn't you let me cradle you in my arms until the demons within you vanished back into the darkness that morning. God, why? Why?


Searching for the christmas spirit among memories of sadness and pain. Another year without you in it. Sometimes I catch myself looking at your picture wondering why you haven't called lately, then I remember. You are gone, you will never call again, all that remains are memories.

Overworked, Overstressed, etc. etc.

Overworked, overstressed, gears turning, springs twisted, tightened, my mind about to explode.

Count to ten, one....two.... three....remember, slow deep breaths, four...five....breathe slow, six.... seven.... breathe in breathe out, eight.... nine.... ten!


Does this really help or is the brain depraved of oxygen to the point of not giving a shit anymore? One.... two... oh, fuck, I already done that! See, I knew it, it's the lack of oxygen! Out with the bad, in with the good ... all bad things must come to an end. Or is it? All good things can't last forever. Who knows? Who the hell cares?

Santa is Dead!

OK, Confess! Which one of you did this?

Bah, Humbug!

In the beginning it can fool you, it leads you to believe this year is going to be different. No way will this year be like all the years before. . . this one will be different. Well, it isn't! The traffic, the crowds, the rushing here, the rushing there, will they like this, keep this, or return this. And to think it is only going to get worse. Wake me when it is all over. . .

Are You Man Enough

There is a question, but you don't ask it. I see it in your eyes before they look away. You wonder, if I ask the question, will I be able to bear the answer? I know it is the fear of hearing the answer that prevents you from asking. There is pain, I can feel it, I know it is there, there is no use in denying it, I've known you to long. Although you try, you can't hide it. It has always been there, it has always been the one thing that has kept us from being complete, you know it, as well as I, there is no use in denying it. The painted smile you wear in the light of day does not cover up the tears you allow out in the shadows of the night. How do I know, you ask? Remember, I know you, I know you better than you know yourself. You can hide things from all the others, but there is nothing you can hide from me, I know you to well. . . I am you.

The House is Empty

Searching, wandering, roaming the house, room by room, I flip on the light, the shadows scurry away, my eyes search, there is no one, my ears strain for the sound of a voice, there is no one, I am alone. I am left with nothing but silence and an empty house. I need to feel, I need to embrace, I need to be embraced, I need to feel something, but there is no one here, there is nothing but an empty house, nothing but a deafening quiet silence. God, I need a hug . . .

World Aids Day

On the "Light to Unite" Web site, visitors can light a virtual candle, sharestories about how HIV/AIDS has impacted their lives, and help increase awareness of the epidemic by e-mailing a friend. For each virtual candle lit through December 31, 2006, Bristol-Myers Squibb will contribute $1 to the National AIDS Fund, up to a maximum contribution of $100,000, to benefit AIDS service organizations in underserved communities in the U.S. Bristol-Myers

Let's us do our part: Light a candle by clicking on the candle below.

Looking Back: Final Installment

Right now, it is hard to say if looking back has helped me along my journey, but it is time I wrap things up. If nothing else, perhaps it has helped you, my friends, my blogging family to better understand this man called Stephen. . .



If given the opportunity, to relive one day over again, to be able to change the events of that day only, would you? If you have lived life to any degree the answer in all honesty, would be "yes " and you're probably thinking mine would be the wedding day, the day I walked down the aisle, the day I said, "I do." And in truth, if I had been given this chance years ago I probably would have taken it, but I have lived life, too much water has flowed under the bridge, the man I have become would not allow me to selfishly pick that day. If ever given that chance, the chance to change the events of another day, I would have to reserve it for one much more important. I made my decision, I have lived it for better or for worse.

If you've been walking this journey with me, you're probably wondering what ever became of the married man. He is still around, and his story is way too long to go into here. I wasn't his first, and by no means, I wasn't his last but that is where his story continues. However, he was my last, the last man this teenager fucked, before becoming a married man, himself. We could have continued, he wanted it to continue, secretly I wanted it to continue, but I had spoken some words, words this now married man had to live by, or at least try to. Years came and went and I lived by those words spoken that day, but under all the debri, the secret I buried on that day, still had breath, chained and shackled, it still lived, even though I denied its existence. One day, probably ten years later, somewhere is my late twenties, during a struggle time in the marriage, I found myself, working, living out of town, separated, alone, on the verge of leaving my family when it happened. He was from out of town, worked for the same firm, staying in the same motel, married, had a family. After drinks, some talk, one thing led to another, those buried feelings came back, if only for a few hours that night. Knowing nothing would come of it, knowing nothing could come of it, I guess I let it happen, it was what it was, two men fulfilling the needs of the other. I held this man in my arms, not without feeling guilt. I felt guilt for allowing it to happen but more so for wanting it, so desperately wanting it to happen. To feel his lips against mine, his hands against my body, mine against his, from wanting to look into his eyes as he gave of himself, I would endure the guilt. I don't condone what I did especially since a few weeks later, all the problems within the marriage had been resolved. I was back home, a married man, dealing with what I had done. It wasn't easy returning, once again, there were those "Damned Expectations."

The water continued to flow under that bridge, I continued to meet the expectations, both of others and of myself. I know now, many of those expectations were of my own making, worrying more about the perceptions of others, how they perceived this boy, this man I had become. Don't get me wrong, I am no martyr, I'm no "Joan of Arc" I am not without sin or discretion. There has been many discretion's of the mind and of the heart, but in the physical sense of the word, only two, the one I spoke of earlier with the co-worker and one six years ago. It is far too long of a story, too complicated of a story for me to share here in the "Final Installment." the post has become too long as it is. It was a discretion, again perhaps it is something I should not be proud of, but I will not be ashamed of it, my heart will not allow it.

Damned to Hell those expectations.

I don't know where my journey will end, I don't know what lies ahead, I can only take it one step at a time. . .

Thank you for taking this journey with me,

Hugs and Kisses,

Stephen

Looking Back: Part Nine

Everyone was happy but me and I didn't know why. Truthfully I probably knew, but it had been pushed so far down, down inside, buried under all the other debris, that it didn't have a chance in hell of finding its way to the surface before it was too late. No one was rushing me, but at the same time, I felt like I was being rushed, so therefore I rushed myself. I know now, I was only doing what everyone expected of me, it was expected, it may have not been voiced out loud, it was not anything audible for the human ear to hear, but it was something understood, it was expected, it was a different time. Everything was in fast motion, whirling by at lightening speed and I was just hanging on. One day I was walking across the football field of the stadium, listening to the cheers of family as I graduated.
A few weeks later I was walking down another aisle. Don't ask me how it happened, it just happened. The day I proposed, started out like any other day, and to this day, I don't know what caused me to utter those words on that particular day. Honestly, those thoughts were no where in my mind at the start of that day, no engagement ring, nothing, but somehow before the end, before the day was over, before my mind cleared of the fog, words had escaped my lips, words had been spoken, tears of happiness, tears of joy streamed down the face of a high school sweetheart, words of acceptance had been spoken. The words I uttered were as binding as a handshake, given in good faith, and a man never breaks his word. Both of us, too young, neither of us, knowing what life was about, doing what was expected. We were married.

Looking Back: Part Eight

I don't know how all the balls stayed in the air but I managed to juggle them all. The parents was happy, their perfect son was turning into a fine young man, perfect grades, graduation right around the corner, attended church every Sunday, dated a girl from a good Christian family, never any trouble. The teachers at school was happy, excellent student, always polite, well-mannered what a pleasure to teach such a fine young man. The "fire and brimstone" man behind the pulpit was happy, "It warms my heart, over the years I've watched you grow into such a fine young man, bless you my son." The girlfriend was happy, only slight pressure to put out, some heavy petting, nothing she couldn't handle, who could ask for a more perfect boyfriend. Even the married man was happy, his secret was safe, he had the perfect lover, a teenage boy that couldn't enough of his tight ass. Everyone was happy, everyone that is, except me.

I stopped here, no more words came, my fingers fell from the keyboard. My mind blank, my mind full of thoughts. Looking back, perhaps this is where "my" path forked. As a young man, I didn't realize that the sands of my hourglass had only started. I didn't realize I had all the time in the world, no one was rushing me into anything. Why was I rushing myself?

Happy Thanksgiving

Heavenly Father, I pray that you will bless and watch over my Internet family today, may their day be blessed with good times, good food, and most of all blessed to be able to share it with someone they love. If they find themselves on the road traveling watch over them, protect them from all harm, let them find their loved ones waiting with open arms. If they are alone, let them know by your presence, dear Lord, that I care, that I'm thinking of them, that I love and cherish them. My Father, I give thanks for them entering my life, for making my life a better place. I am blessed to have them walking this path, this journey with me. I am blessed to be able to call them my family. Dear Father, wrap your arms of love around each one of them today, keep them safe, I pray. Amen.

Looking Back: Part Seven

He was waiting, already knowing I would be looking for him, even before I knew it myself. I realize looking back, I was a victim, a willing victim perhaps, but none the less a victim of this married man. I probably wasn't his first, I know I wasn't his last but that is another story, for another day. From the night he knocked on my door, from the time I tasted his forbidden fruit, he knew I was his, he knew my teenage hunger would overcome the teachings of my father. Looking back at it from where I'm at now, looking back at it from who I am now, I know it should have never happened. But it happened, this teenage boy and this married man became secret lovers. He fulfilled a need in me that had only begun to awaken, I fulfilled in him a need he could not find at home. In the year, before my leaving, my whole life became a secret. I lived two lives, on the surface I was the typical teenage boy, below the surface, what did I care if my date put out or not, I'd drop her at home and afterwards pitch a perfect inning with my secret lover. What had I become? Who was using who? Still sitting on the pew Sunday after Sunday, with my now "secret lover" sitting across the aisle, I had long learned how to shut out the words of that fire and brimstone man in the pulpit, I refused to allow the words to enter my ears much less my mind. I had become a vessel of sin, I didn't even know if I remembered how to pray. Somewhere along the way, I had lost me.

Looking Back: Part Six

As a teenager struggling to find himself in all this right or wrong maze, the war against good and evil raged. I struggled with all the guilt, I kept it bottled up inside of me, it became a ticking time bomb and I suppose the married man was keeping his distance just in fear it might explode. I knew what others expected of me, I knew what I had been taught from the earliest age of recognition, I knew from sitting on that pew Sunday after Sunday what came from the "Good Book" but if it was so wrong, why did it feel so right? Why did I like it so? Surely, by liking it so much, I was dooming my soul to Hell, but like Adam in the "Garden of Eden," I had already tasted the forbidden fruit and it tasted good. I was a teenager with hormones, I was hungry and wanted another taste, the devil inside had won. Looking in the mirror one last time to make sure, looking past the face staring back at me, I was looking deeper, I was looking inside my soul. The Scarlet Letter had faded, the shame, the guilt gone, all that remained was the taste of his lips on mine, I was hungry for more. I was releasing the animal inside me, it was on the prowl, it's prey . . . a married man!

Looking Back: Part Five

For days nothing else entered my mind, there was no room for nothing else, I was replaying everything about that night. My mind was on constant rewind, searching every frame, looking for answers, but finding none. I secluded myself away from everyone, in the family, in fear they would know by just looking into my face what "I" had done. Looking in the mirror I was afraid, I would see on my forehead the letter "A" branded for all the world to see. In my mind it was of little consequence nothing visibly could be seen, inside, I was wearing my "Scarlet Letter," I had sex with a married man. A man that knew my family, he went to my church, sat across the aisle from us Sunday after Sunday with his family. The very hands that caressed my face, the hands that held my teenage cock, the hands that touched every part of my body were the same hands, that shook my Father's hands after Sunday service. I could not escape it, I would be doomed to Hell for what I had done. Up until this night I had led myself to believe my virginity had been lost to the boy that lived down the road, I soon found out I was still a naive teenager.


Nothing I had ever done before compared to what happened that night. Sure, the boy that lived down the road and I had played around but we were about the same age, both teenagers, both inexperienced. This man was not inexperienced, I learned what sex with two men was like that night. For the first time ever, I knew what it felt like to actually lie in another man's arms and have a man take me to places I had only imagined. Without being to graphic, I learned that night what it meant to give of my body to another. I thought, I knew everything but I soon learned, I knew nothing. That night he was the teacher, I was the pupil, and I was being home schooled.



He also gave of himself, it was his giving that I really liked. The first time he gave of himself, I learned how to be gentle, I learned of foreplay, the second time I discovered by looking into his face, as I, well, I learned there was no more need in foreplay. I knew looking into his face, his eyes, he was giving himself to me, but at the same time he was taking, the last remaining bit of innocence I had left. I started the night as a boy, I ended the night as a man.


Like I told you before, after this night I struggled for days with what happened, struggled with the guilt of letting it happen, struggled with the guilt of wanting it to happen again. I may have become a man that night but I was still one of those teenagers with on one to talk to, not even the man whose kiss still lingered on my lips. There was a war raging inside with how other's felt and with what I was feeling, it was a battle of good vs. evil, and I was discovering perhaps I was more of a devil than an angel. After all, I was a teenager, and I really liked looking into his face, as I, well . . .

Looking Back: Part Four

It was a Saturday night, it was late, I had been out with a few friends and had been home about a hour when I heard a faint knock on my bedroom door. Everyone at home was already fast asleep so I couldn't imagine who would be knocking on the door and besides it was the door that entered my bedroom from the back porch. When I opened the door, there he stood, his eyes looking into my eyes. For the life of me, I can't remember what I thought at the time, but I do recall him saying he had seen me in town that night riding around. I don't remember asking him if anything was wrong, I don't remember asking him to come in, but in he came. If fact, I don't remember hardly any words being said. It is hard to explain, somehow I knew what he was here for, I knew what he was doing, I wanted it to happen, I didn't want it to happen. What was I doing? What would happen if someone woke up? Honestly, those questions never entered my mind, I wasn't thinking. I never once thought of what the consequences would have been if we had been caught. I was a puppet, he was the puppeteer, I was there, but I had no control over what was happening. I was cold, I was numb, in my mind I knew everything happening but at the same time I knew nothing. What happened, happened, I could have stopped it, I didn't. The last thing I remember is him asking me if everything was alright, he took me into his arms, he kissed me, and left as quietly as he came. Remembering back, I think that was the first Sunday the family went to church missing one of its members. For days my mind was a whirl, searching, looking for answers but I could find none, there was only questions and more questions. How did he know my secret, if he knew, did others know? What happened? You crazy fool, you know what happened. The question is, Why did you let it happen? God, I had sex with a man twice my age, a man that went to church with my family, for Christ sakes he was married, he has a wife, and two children. God, I had sex with a man twice my age, a man that went to church with my family, for Christ sakes he was married, he has a wife, and two children. Over and over, I could think of nothing else. What had I done? What was going to happen now? What was wrong with me?

Looking Back: Part Three

During that summer I had two constant companions, one was the ever present fear of someone finding out my secret and the other was the boy that lived down the road. Although it wasn't 1942, I guess you could say, it was my "Summer of '42" the things I learned from that boy! We were friends, we shared a secret, but we grew older and things changed. He went away to school, married, and started a family. Over the years, our friendship remained, occasionally seeing one another when he came back home, but never repeating or talking about our Summer of 42, it was our secret, it remained our secret, until his death.

At home I was the model teenager, at school I was the model teenager, but I was a teenager with a secret, one that I kept to myself. I wish I could say there were many more boys after him, but I can't. Things happened along the way of growing up but never again with another man until my sixteenth year. Being sixteen, being older, came with more freedom, no curfew on the weekends applied other than for Sunday mornings.

No matter how late you stayed out on Saturday night, come Sunday morning everyone had to be ready for Sunday church as a family unit. This was a rule, a ritual that was not to be broken, could not be broken, would not be broken, DO YOU UNDERSTAND! Every Sunday morning come rain or shine we marched into church as a family sitting on the same pew year after year. Sitting across the aisle Sunday after Sunday was this man that always caught my eye. It wasn't like he was some stranger or something, I had known him my entire life and actually looked forward to going to church just to see him. Sometimes during the service my eyes would drift away from the man spewing out words of fire and brimstone and wander over to this man sitting across the church, sometimes his eyes caught my eyes, something that always made me wonder about. Until.

Looking Back: Part Two

Part Two

.Maybe I was that child, you know, the one not quite right. Honesty, I thought perhaps there was something wrong with me. Here I was having all these feelings toward other boys and now here I was having sex with the boy down the road. Yes, he was older, yes he initiated it, but I liked it, I wanted it to happen. I was not innocent, but I knew if my secret was discovered, I wouldn't have to worry about being locked in a hidden room somewhere upstairs, my fate would have been much worse. My memory would have been like the dust of the dirt blowing in the wind across the plowed fields. My name forbidden to flow across the tongues of loved ones. Many days and nights were filled with thoughts of shame, thoughts of fear. What was wrong with me? Why was I having these feelings? Why was it supposed to be wrong when it felt so right to be feel his touch against my skin? At the time, at that age, I had no answers.

Forewarned

Last chance, turn back before you get sucked into this post. If you continue, don't say you were not forewarned, don't say you were not given ample opportunity to leave. Proceed at your own risk!

Part One

Sometimes you have to look back in order to look forward. Sometimes you must remember how it all began, before you have any idea of how it should end. If you are a reader of mine, you know I share more of myself in what lies hidden between the lines rather than openly displaying it for the world to see. So if you dare to take this journey with me, let it begin.

It was the summer of my thirteenth year, actually, a few months shy of my fourteenth birthday when it happened. I knew long before then but it wasn't confirmed until that summer. Maybe some explaining is in order. What follows is from an earlier post of mine: I guess it comes from some of the earlier images and the realization I discovered from growing up in the tobacco fields of the South. In the early mornings, the leaves of the tobacco would be wet and sticky and all the boys would remain shirted, keeping on their shirts of long sleeves to keep the dirt and grim off, but later in the day, when the hot Southern sun came out, often times the shirts would come off. I guess, it was during this time I realized things were a little different. For some reason, I could not help myself from looking, there was something about seeing hot, muscled, half naked. country boys with sweat glistening off their bodies and it was "this" something that was causing "this" tingle I felt inside. Especially, the one boy that lived down the road, he was tall, lean, and had a light dusting of hair on his chest, but leading down from his navel it was thick and full, downward it grew, hidden from my view by his tight worn jeans.

Let's face it, let's be totally honest. Have you ever heard? If I knew then, what I know now, things would be different. Hell, I can't even say that. Maybe not so much in the beginning but before that summer was over, believe me, I knew. I lost my virginity, I had sex with the sixteen year old boy that lived down the road from me, and yes, I loved it. I loved having his warm wet mouth sliding down my shaft as much as I loved my warm wet mouth filled with his hardness. I still remember his hands. I loved his hands. Perhaps that is why, still to the day, I love a man's hands. Wait a minute, I'm getting carried away remembering when I should be asking myself this question. So if I knew it then, how is it I'm where I'm at today? Sitting in front of the computer screen, fingers resting on the keys, I'm thinking and for the life of me, I do not have an answer. I only know he was the first, he was my first love, to the extend of what an almost fourteen year old could possibly know about love. I do know it was a different place, a different time, certain things were not discussed, even at an early age it was something that remained secret, hidden away like a child not quite right in the head. Not talking about them (things) didn't make them go away, it just made one ashamed to have them. Perhaps I was the child not quite right, the child that should have been hidden away in the attic. To be continued. . .

Direction

Even with all the signs, we sometimes have trouble finding our way.

Treat or Treat

Happy Halloween

I Am a Survivor

What does not kill you only serves to make you stronger ---

I survived, I am stronger.

But, I feel like the Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz. Jumbled, mangled thoughts, are they revelations or hallucinations from the fever?

If I only had a brain. . .

A Gift

I have a dilemma, I don't know what to do, someone has given me a gift and I don't know whom to thank. I've narrowed it down to possibly two acquaintances that recently crossed my path but for the life of me can't figure out which one could have done it. Could it have been the cashier at the fast food restaurant the other day? It is very possible, now that I think about it, yes, the probability is high that it was her that gave it to me.
But, then it could have very well been the cashier at the local grocery store, I did stop in there later that day for a few items, and the probability that it was her ranks right on up there. Which one, when both is so deserving? One of them deserves to be thanked for this wonderful gift, it has not left my side since the moment it was given. I've taken it everywhere, it has been my constant companion for the last two days. I've tried to ignore it hoping it would get the message and go away. I've tried running away from it but it can run just as fast as I can which by the way isn't very fast at all. I throw my hands up, I give up, I accept it, even though I was unworthy of such a wonderful gift, I accept it. I accept the congestion, the stuffy nose, I accept the fever, the chills, the aching body, I accept it all, it is now my Cross to carry. But next time KEEP YOUR SICK ASS to the house, I do not need anymore gifts like this one.

Hold On To Your Seats

That's right folks, hold on to your seats. The Fat Lady is warming up. I've been on this roller coaster of highs and lows with more lows than highs long enough. I don't know what lies ahead only that along with the changing of the seasons there's going to be some changes coming in Stephen's life. Being totally honest, I don't know to what extend these changes will be, good or bad, agree or disagree, but there are some detours ahead. Stay tuned, "The Fat Lady" is taking the stage.

Revolving Door

The night before even though it was darker than a witch's cauldron when I closed out the world for the day everything seemed clear. My mind made up. But this morning when I look in the mirror, there is a stranger staring back at me, I look at the man and I no longer know him. The revolving door of Stephen's life. Do I get off on this side, do I get off on the other side, do I continue riding around and around in circles? Fuck who knows anymore.

Time For A Change?

The leaves are turning on the trees from their vibrant greens to various shades of yellow to rust browns as they fall from the branches. Their dried withered lives rustle in the wind. Maybe it is the change of the season but here lately I've been feeling much like one of these leaves. My outward life, stable, feet firmly planted, standing solid against the elements, let come what may, let the wind blow, this rock is grounded, this man is strong, a protector, a provider. But inside, there is another part of this man that is every bit one of these leaves. His (my) direction in life has been lost, hidden somewhere in all the darkness, this part of the man is being tossed hither and there by the forces of the approaching winter storms. Even blogging of late has been a lost direction, once what I could not wait to do, once what I had time to do has been falling by the wayside, becoming bare as the leafless tree. My first blogging anniversary passed a few days ago and the words of a sweet friend comes to mind, "The trick is now staying with it for another year, so many fall away from blogging after the 1st anniversary." words of wisdom and truth. I don't know where this man is going, the direction, my direction that I thought had been mapped out is no longer clear. Today my mind is crowded, I can not think, I have no direction. When I look inside, only one thing is clear, you my friends are my rock, my protector. Hugs and kisses, Stephen

Alternate Endings

Pull into the driveway. Stop! How many times have I told him, "Do not leave your bike in the driveway"? Get out, move little Tommy's bike for the hundredth time, get back in and finish parking. Tail waving in the air, tongue wagging from side to side Spot comes running. Good boy, gentle pat on dog's head. Opening door I yell, "Honey, I'm home. The Stepford Wife remake of June Cleaver comes from the kitchen, "Dinner will be ready in a second, Dear." Here is your martini and slippers, the evening paper is beside your chair, the kids are upstairs finishing their school work. I know, you're thinking, "What the Fuck" I know, I know, I know, my life is almost this perfect, so why, why, why, am I so not happy with it anymore. Why can't my life have an "Alternate Ending" like so many of the movies nowadays: Pull into the driveway. Stop! How many times have I told him, "Do not leave your bike in the driveway."? Get out, move little Tommy's bike for the hundredth time, get back in and finish parking. Tail waving in the air, tongue wagging from side to side Spot comes running. Good boy, gentle pat on dog's head. Opening door I yell, "Honey, I home. Coming from the kitchen, dressed only in an apron, I hear the words, "Dinner can wait, first things first." Taking me by the hand, leading me down the hall toward the bedroom is my "Ward Cleaver"

It's My Birthday!

It's My Birthday

Well, sort of anyway. One year ago, today I sat down in front of the computer screen and gave birth. Like a newborn baby it came into the world kicking and screaming. Struggling to stay inside, warm, safe and secure, it fought against the labor pains. Bring me my damn epidural now, I shouted. Wait! What was I thinking, was I crazy! Hell, if I had one of those, I wouldn't be able to feel my Dick! The computer screen stared back at me, like a doctor's face peering up from between outstretched legs, it waited. Push. . . Push. . . harder, damnit, I said Push, words echoed in my head, from having heard them from somewhere in the past. I wait, I stare at the screen, another contraction comes, I PUSH, it starts to crown, I Push harder, out pops some words, a sentence, a thought, it is out, I have given birth. Sucking in its first breath of air, my blog is born. I sit there staring at the words on the screen wondering what in the Hell was I going to do with it now? I hit publish . . .and the rest is history. This first year has been amazing, and it is because of my having met some wonderful friends along the way. You all know who you are, it goes without saying, you take the time to leave comments, you take the time to drop emails, you were there in the beginning, you have taken each step with me throughout this first year and I have no doubts you will be here for me at the end of this journey. From my heart to yours, I thank-you, I send you my love, Hugs and Kisses, Stephen

If It Makes You Smile, Mission Accomplished

If by chance, you have an extra one of these lying around somewhere, I really would like to borrow it.

I promise to take really good care of it.

A Day Off

Well, it is suppose to be a day off, but with all the work I brought home to do, I wonder if you can call it that. However, there is always a silver lining to all bad things, and my silver lining is that I'm able to put all this work aside to first do the important things in life, visit my blogging family. Although we haven't had the chance of meeting in real life (yet), you are my family, and in a way closer than the family I have in real life. I have been able to share with you the inner feelings, hopes and dreams that have been buried a lifetime, hidden inside the darkness of this closet, I call a mind. Looking Out From a Southern Closet is coming up on its first year anniversary and I never dreamt my path in this blogging journey would have crossed so many wonderful people. There are those, like myself still struggling with the chains of self-discovery and there are those that have broken free and living true to their self. We are diverse, we are the same, we are scattered to the fours corners of the earth, yet we are all connected. It is this connection that is the most valuable treasure I own.

Oh, My God!

Oh, My God, what have I done? Couldn't leave things alone, could I? Now look where its gotten me. Lost this. . . lost that . . . I feel a headache coming on.

Oh well. I can't worry about it today, there is always tomorrow. . .

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Well, it is now tomorrow and after changing the blog over to the new Blogger beta version I'm in the process of trying to get things back in working order. No shit, when they say you might lose some of the changes already made but did they tell me I would lose all my links. Somehow I missed reading that in the fine print. If I have missed adding you back please forgive me, it is going to take time getting everything back in order.

Lazy Day Holiday

By the power invested in me, me being Stephen, I declare this today of our Lord and Saviour as a Lazy Day Holiday. On this day, I will do as I please, I will do as much or as little as my heart and soul desires.

On this day, I will rise as early as I like or sleep the morning away, it is my day, to do as I wish. (It is embarrassing to say how late I did sleep)

I will not be available for the ringing phone, the world will be on its own. (Let it ring, I refuse to answer the damn thing. How many times are you going to call? Don't you get it, I'm not answering the phone, stop calling.)

I will not answer the door, even though the knocking of the door is incessant on my coming to it. ( Yes, I know you are knocking on my door. No, I'm not letting you in, I don't have any clothes on, besides I don't even know you and whatever you are selling, I don't want or need any. Now, go away!)

I will channel surf as much as I want. (click, click, click. . .well at least until the game comes on. The remote says, "Thank-God, its game time)

The game is over, the best of the day is over, and yes, maybe it was a do nothing day, but yeah, after all it was a Holiday.

How did you spent your day?

What A Day

Have you ever had one of those days where you know you should have stayed in bed? No getting up, just turning over and staying in bed with the covers pulled up over your head kind of days. That was what I should have done this morning. I only had to go into work for a few hours today but nothing I touched worked out, turned out, got accomplished. I turned right when I should have turned left, I dropped what I should have held onto, two left hands, blind in one eye and blurred vision with the other, the list is endless. In other words, if you don't know it, haven't realized it, failed to understand the words flowing from this confused mind, I have had a pissed-up day.

Truth

Tell me what'cha don't like about yourself. . .