Things have been pretty crazy lately. In the last month I literally tripped while "future tripping" (daydreaming about the future and ignoring the present) and broke my ankle. I was subsequently laid off from my job and have entered a new phase of growth,...I hope.
I realize more and more that one of my main drugs of choice throughout my life has been one that you don't find in a convenience store, or on the street corner in the Tenderloin (drug filled neighborhood in San Francisco). I think one of my favorite drugs, possibly of all time, has been day dreaming. Yep, day dreaming, or future obsessing to be more honest. Now, there's nothing wrong with day dreaming, but anything can be taken to the extreme, and I seem to do that rather well with my day dreaming/future tripping.
What is it about "right now" that is so terrible that I can't seem to stop myself from spending hours online looking at dozens of houses for sale, educational programs to sign up for, or random/anonymous sex partners?
I was watching some porn recently when I realized (and not for the first time) that it's really a pretty stupid concept. If it's lower grade porn, you'll catch the "actors" sometimes looking off to the left or right and catching a que or some direction in between their oh-so-hot and superbly realistic "oh ya! Fuck ya! Ohhh ahhh uhhh, fuck me's". I realized that it's not the graphic sex I like as much as I like the little scenario that starts to play out in my head: I wonder if he's gay in real life, or gay for pay? Is he masculine, or a total femme-botte? Does he really find his on screen partner hot and is he really into it, or is he actually acting (faking it)?
There seems to be a rise in the "gay-for-pay" segment of the gay porn population and that sets off a whole rabid, Cujo-esq heard of animals in my head! Sort of akin to the girl who constantly wants to make the "bad boy" into a good boy, I want to make the "straight boy" into the gay boy, and in particular - MY gay boy(friend). So, when I watch these onscreen muscle-sex machines kiss passionately I find myself at my most aroused, or at least most interested. I actually like the "behind the scenes" clips of the porn sets and the actors being themselves. In one of them I saw two of the hotties making out in the background while not in a scene and I thougt "Bingo!" - that's real, that's interesting, THAT"S hot!
So, I am becoming more and more conscious of the fact that I think for the most part, I'm not looking for sexual satisfaction when I'm looking for sex. I'm really looking for love (among other things, validation, passion, connection, etc) That ever elusive, ever frightening, ever fragile intangible tasmanian devil we call love. Whatever that is....
Friday, September 16, 2011
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Switching Seats on the Titanic
I've been slowly reading a book called "America Anonymous". Last night I read a line that said "...then he said that when he gets control of one addiction, another will rear its ugly head and take over his life. He called that dance "switching seats on the Titanic." (Chapter 9/Sean, America Anonymous).
I haven't posted on here in a few weeks, but yesterday that's exactly how I was feeling. Like I was in a life raft that had sprung a leak. I put my finger over the hole to cover the water from leaking into the raft only to have another hole spring up on the other side, out of reach, and now I'm jumping back and forth between various leaks...and sinking.
I've slowly come to the awakening that my addiction takes many forms. I was at an AA meeting last night, a Friday night, and an hour before hand had spent time and money at both Ross (store) and Kmart buying crap for my bedroom in an effort to rearrange and redecorate a little bit. Then sitting in the meeting I flashed back to my childhood. When I was between the ages of approximately 9 - 12yrs old, almost every Friday night, or at least on many Friday nights, I would rearrange my bedroom. My bedroom had a furniture "set" in it that was bought as a set-piece. It had a desk, corner desk, dresser, and bookshelf. I would rearrange my set in as many varying arrangements as I could think of! Now, as you can imagine the possibilities are very finite. One of the things the speaker said in the meeting last night was that in her childhood she suffered from a lot of obsessive-compulsive thinking, and that she felt that is what is at the root of this disease. The dis-ease of being alone with our thoughts, of sitting with ourselves. That's me. I can't sit still. I'm an alcoholic, and a sex addict. I realize that I've used random, anonymous sex as a means of escape from being alone with my own mind.
I've started working with Sex Addicts Anonymous to address my compulsive use of sex and anonymous encounters. Boy has my inner addict REALLY gone into a rage!!! I feel like I've awoken a sleeping monster! Last night at the AA meeting my AA sponsor asked me if I was ok, and I honestly answered no, I wasn't ok. It was the first time I really talked to him about what I was experiencing while trying to address my decades long pattern of random and anonymous sexual encounters. I told him that I had not felt "this kind" of pain, or "this level" of anxiety when getting sober from alcohol (and drugs). He understood and helped me more than I thought he could. I was so grateful for that!
I'm in for a bumpy ride on this little life raft of mine, that much is for sure! All the tools I learned in AA I'm now going to have to apply towards my sexual patterns and history...one day at a time.
I haven't posted on here in a few weeks, but yesterday that's exactly how I was feeling. Like I was in a life raft that had sprung a leak. I put my finger over the hole to cover the water from leaking into the raft only to have another hole spring up on the other side, out of reach, and now I'm jumping back and forth between various leaks...and sinking.
I've slowly come to the awakening that my addiction takes many forms. I was at an AA meeting last night, a Friday night, and an hour before hand had spent time and money at both Ross (store) and Kmart buying crap for my bedroom in an effort to rearrange and redecorate a little bit. Then sitting in the meeting I flashed back to my childhood. When I was between the ages of approximately 9 - 12yrs old, almost every Friday night, or at least on many Friday nights, I would rearrange my bedroom. My bedroom had a furniture "set" in it that was bought as a set-piece. It had a desk, corner desk, dresser, and bookshelf. I would rearrange my set in as many varying arrangements as I could think of! Now, as you can imagine the possibilities are very finite. One of the things the speaker said in the meeting last night was that in her childhood she suffered from a lot of obsessive-compulsive thinking, and that she felt that is what is at the root of this disease. The dis-ease of being alone with our thoughts, of sitting with ourselves. That's me. I can't sit still. I'm an alcoholic, and a sex addict. I realize that I've used random, anonymous sex as a means of escape from being alone with my own mind.
I've started working with Sex Addicts Anonymous to address my compulsive use of sex and anonymous encounters. Boy has my inner addict REALLY gone into a rage!!! I feel like I've awoken a sleeping monster! Last night at the AA meeting my AA sponsor asked me if I was ok, and I honestly answered no, I wasn't ok. It was the first time I really talked to him about what I was experiencing while trying to address my decades long pattern of random and anonymous sexual encounters. I told him that I had not felt "this kind" of pain, or "this level" of anxiety when getting sober from alcohol (and drugs). He understood and helped me more than I thought he could. I was so grateful for that!
I'm in for a bumpy ride on this little life raft of mine, that much is for sure! All the tools I learned in AA I'm now going to have to apply towards my sexual patterns and history...one day at a time.
Friday, May 13, 2011
My Inner Child is Mad!
And he's fuckin' stompin' his feet today!! He didn't get what he wanted and he began stomping his feet. I couldn't get him under control. I tried praying - nope. I tried phone calls - not interested. I tried doing laundry, vacuuming, cleaning - no luck. So, acting out sounded like my only relief. Acted out. Didn't help really. Ate junk food - no relief. But, I didn't drink or use drugs, so it wasn't a total loss. Thought about drinking for a minute, but that compulsion was manageable...the other was not manageable.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Life Sucks Anonymous
This might be a little departure from the general topic of addiction recovery, but hopefully it just helps give (me) perspective to more than just the addict/alcoholic struggles in life.
This week my cousin, who will remain nameless, came to crash on my couch from out of the area to visit a female friend he's been trying to get to know on a romantic level. My cousin is incredibly smart. I don't mean that, in the "he's a great guy, he's smart, etc." I mean, the kid has FUCKIN" GOT EXTRA things in his head that the rest of us mortals don't seem to have, smart! Intellectually he is probably in the top 5 - 10 percentile range, of the nation that is. With the good, comes the bad. He's always been so far ahead of his peers that he almost runs a circle around them only to end up behind them, where he ends up feeling. Socially at least. He's in his late 20's and has yet to have what he defines as any type of "real relationship".
So, he drives 700 miles to spend time with this girl who he's nuts about and has known since he was practically a kid and is crashing on my couch. On the way to go see her in a play, he gets a text message from her basically stating that she's been meaning to tell him that she's begun seeing someone but didn't want him to find out by running into this other guy after the play. The side note was, I, as his older cousin, who loves his younger cousin very much and wants to see him happy has to read this text to him b/c he hands me his cell phone while he's driving and says "Will you read that to me?" (because it was long). So I get handed his "Dear John" text message and am suppose to find an easy way to break this to him? Que the heart wrenching music!!
Luckily, I am able to steer my gut wrenched cousin over to my buddy's house who helps talk him down off the proverbial ledge a bit after a few hours of talking and laughing, four of us talking, venting, laughing, crying about the toils of life. It becomes apparent that although my cousin has never been a drinker or drug user, he has his own, and entirely real escape mechanisms. Video games. Isolating. Avoiding people. He escapes the tragedies of life by further withdrawing from the people who constantly bring him to the intersection of "What's the point Blvd" and "Hopeless Way". I began to cry at one point.
I realized that drugs and alcohol really aren't the only methods of escape. I mean, I know that already, but it became even more apparent as my cousin was spilling his guts (and this is someone who internalizes all his feelings, almost always!) about the futility of life. I had to admit, as much as I hated it, I understood exactly where he was coming from. There isn't always a happy ending. Sometimes life just DOES suck! Sometimes just letting someone say that, feel that, acknowledge that is the best medicine. We can't fix these type of wounds. Especially not when they are years and years old with lots of cobwebs, cracks and dust.
As we were all sitting around the living room, talking about the aggravations of life I said I wished people without addictions had a 12 step program to help with life like we alcoholics do, my cousin chimes in with "Life Sucks Anonymous" - SCORE!
LIFE SUCKS ANONYMOUS
This week my cousin, who will remain nameless, came to crash on my couch from out of the area to visit a female friend he's been trying to get to know on a romantic level. My cousin is incredibly smart. I don't mean that, in the "he's a great guy, he's smart, etc." I mean, the kid has FUCKIN" GOT EXTRA things in his head that the rest of us mortals don't seem to have, smart! Intellectually he is probably in the top 5 - 10 percentile range, of the nation that is. With the good, comes the bad. He's always been so far ahead of his peers that he almost runs a circle around them only to end up behind them, where he ends up feeling. Socially at least. He's in his late 20's and has yet to have what he defines as any type of "real relationship".
So, he drives 700 miles to spend time with this girl who he's nuts about and has known since he was practically a kid and is crashing on my couch. On the way to go see her in a play, he gets a text message from her basically stating that she's been meaning to tell him that she's begun seeing someone but didn't want him to find out by running into this other guy after the play. The side note was, I, as his older cousin, who loves his younger cousin very much and wants to see him happy has to read this text to him b/c he hands me his cell phone while he's driving and says "Will you read that to me?" (because it was long). So I get handed his "Dear John" text message and am suppose to find an easy way to break this to him? Que the heart wrenching music!!
Luckily, I am able to steer my gut wrenched cousin over to my buddy's house who helps talk him down off the proverbial ledge a bit after a few hours of talking and laughing, four of us talking, venting, laughing, crying about the toils of life. It becomes apparent that although my cousin has never been a drinker or drug user, he has his own, and entirely real escape mechanisms. Video games. Isolating. Avoiding people. He escapes the tragedies of life by further withdrawing from the people who constantly bring him to the intersection of "What's the point Blvd" and "Hopeless Way". I began to cry at one point.
I realized that drugs and alcohol really aren't the only methods of escape. I mean, I know that already, but it became even more apparent as my cousin was spilling his guts (and this is someone who internalizes all his feelings, almost always!) about the futility of life. I had to admit, as much as I hated it, I understood exactly where he was coming from. There isn't always a happy ending. Sometimes life just DOES suck! Sometimes just letting someone say that, feel that, acknowledge that is the best medicine. We can't fix these type of wounds. Especially not when they are years and years old with lots of cobwebs, cracks and dust.
As we were all sitting around the living room, talking about the aggravations of life I said I wished people without addictions had a 12 step program to help with life like we alcoholics do, my cousin chimes in with "Life Sucks Anonymous" - SCORE!
LIFE SUCKS ANONYMOUS
Monday, May 2, 2011
Compulsive or Addict?
Man...this one is a hard one to write, but it's my truth and in the end I hope that despite the demoralization aspect of this blog entry I hope someone, someday, will find it helpful. At this point no one that I'm aware of is even reading this blog so for the moment I think it's just an online diary of sorts. At 37yrs old I am really accepting the fact that I didn't have what would be considered a "normative" experience when coming to terms with my sexuality and a healthy approach to learning what sex is/isn't, should/shouldn't be, etc. Even though that's somewhat relative, the "should/shouldn't be" part I still think I was outside the normative lines because my sexuality had to be completely hidden and underground. Before "DL" even had a pop culture catch phrase, I was underground - literally. My first sexual experience happened in an adult theatre, in the basement. I can't say I remember it vividly to be honest. It was at the adult theatre where I saw my first male dancer..stripper. There was a basement with video booths and guys trolling the waters for action.
This type of behavior became my introduction into "gay life". Being that it was 1992, there was some acceptance but it still wasn't cool or even mainstream socially acceptable to be gay, so myself (and many of my peers I've since found out) were first introduced to gay life via porn shops, cruising spots, and things of this sort. I was 19 or 20 and hadn't been to a gay club yet so this was my first experience. Right or wrong, for worse or for worst - it was what it was. The theatres were the only place I could get admitted into and let my hair down, figuratively speaking. There was also something very alluring and seductive about the whole thing. This was obviously pre-Internet and my only avenue for sexual identification, exploration and fulfillment. I spent countless hours in dark dungenous basements watching hours of porn movies, and doing fairly unspeakable things with men who's names I never knew.
As I write this, I see the face of one of my best friends, a female, gagging and choking in horror while I tell my truth, but I have to tell it anyway, as puss filled as the wound may be, it won't begin to heal until I clean it.
I joined the military about two years after first exploring my sexuality. At that point I honestly felt like I had my sexuality totally figured out, and for the most part maybe I did. But I had to go back into a closet of sorts, and therefor keep my sexuality underground. While I was in the military I dated several men, one or two very seriously and was head over heels in love with one of those. But during my time in the military I made a friend or two who were also gay, and we'd go out a lot. Then came the strip clubs of Washington D.C., my god I loved those strip clubs. Muscle bound ebony and bronze men of exquisite caliber shaking, moving, grinding, pumping and sweating and working me up into a tazmanian devil of anticipation.
I didn't drink back then, I just got drunk off rubbing up on, lusting over, and chasing pseudo straight black men at places called The Edge and Wet where they had Mandingo night! LoL. Did I ever,...wow. At one point I remember feeling so compelled to go to these strip clubs and a porn shop that was near it that I had a fleeting thought "am I a sex addict?". Then I dismissed the thought. I couldn't wrap my head over an idea like that, I can barely comprehend it now! I've heard many other stories and I feel like I can't relate to them, so am I really a sex addict? Or am I just off track somehow? Am I just compulsive? Is there a difference? Or am I really this ugly, vile, contemptible perverted beast that ought not show his face in the light of day with the other civilized folk? I feel quite a bit like Quasimodo - The Hunchback of Notre-Dame, a grotesque creature who is looked at with contempt and disgust, who ought never be brought out to see the light of day, forever to be locked away in a tower, or dungeon, or whatever the case might be for me.
Compulsive..or Addict? They say the truth shall set you free. Why does it not feel that way for me?
This type of behavior became my introduction into "gay life". Being that it was 1992, there was some acceptance but it still wasn't cool or even mainstream socially acceptable to be gay, so myself (and many of my peers I've since found out) were first introduced to gay life via porn shops, cruising spots, and things of this sort. I was 19 or 20 and hadn't been to a gay club yet so this was my first experience. Right or wrong, for worse or for worst - it was what it was. The theatres were the only place I could get admitted into and let my hair down, figuratively speaking. There was also something very alluring and seductive about the whole thing. This was obviously pre-Internet and my only avenue for sexual identification, exploration and fulfillment. I spent countless hours in dark dungenous basements watching hours of porn movies, and doing fairly unspeakable things with men who's names I never knew.
As I write this, I see the face of one of my best friends, a female, gagging and choking in horror while I tell my truth, but I have to tell it anyway, as puss filled as the wound may be, it won't begin to heal until I clean it.
I joined the military about two years after first exploring my sexuality. At that point I honestly felt like I had my sexuality totally figured out, and for the most part maybe I did. But I had to go back into a closet of sorts, and therefor keep my sexuality underground. While I was in the military I dated several men, one or two very seriously and was head over heels in love with one of those. But during my time in the military I made a friend or two who were also gay, and we'd go out a lot. Then came the strip clubs of Washington D.C., my god I loved those strip clubs. Muscle bound ebony and bronze men of exquisite caliber shaking, moving, grinding, pumping and sweating and working me up into a tazmanian devil of anticipation.
I didn't drink back then, I just got drunk off rubbing up on, lusting over, and chasing pseudo straight black men at places called The Edge and Wet where they had Mandingo night! LoL. Did I ever,...wow. At one point I remember feeling so compelled to go to these strip clubs and a porn shop that was near it that I had a fleeting thought "am I a sex addict?". Then I dismissed the thought. I couldn't wrap my head over an idea like that, I can barely comprehend it now! I've heard many other stories and I feel like I can't relate to them, so am I really a sex addict? Or am I just off track somehow? Am I just compulsive? Is there a difference? Or am I really this ugly, vile, contemptible perverted beast that ought not show his face in the light of day with the other civilized folk? I feel quite a bit like Quasimodo - The Hunchback of Notre-Dame, a grotesque creature who is looked at with contempt and disgust, who ought never be brought out to see the light of day, forever to be locked away in a tower, or dungeon, or whatever the case might be for me.
Compulsive..or Addict? They say the truth shall set you free. Why does it not feel that way for me?
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Life in Recovery Vs. Recovery Life
It became glaringly apparent once again that the cliche of "Don't let the life that AA gave you get in the way of your AA life" is an important cliche. Sometimes I hate those damn cliches, but if you've heard one for a long time, or at least heard it repeatedly its probably because there is truth in it, so listen up.
I've been taking a class in the last few months, and had to stop going to one of my meetings that I attend regularly. Slowly over the last couple of months the meetings I've been a regular at have slowly fallen by the waste side because "I'm just so busy". I haven't had a commitment at a meeting, haven't sponsored anyone, and my sponsor and I seem to only meet once a month. Although I've felt fine for the most part and have been very aware that I need to be more active in my program of recovery, I have continued to excuse my scarcity around the rooms because "I'm just so busy" and it's not because I don't want to go to a meeting, sponsor someone, etc. But I'm going to graduate school and that's just so important - not! What's important? My Sobriety. Period.
During these last few months I've also been battling a mystery condition: TMJ or TMD Temporal Mandibular Disorder. After having a tooth pulled my jaw decided it wanted to re-align itself and without any consent on my part all the stress in my life has found its way to my jaw and I have constant, ceaseless jaw-clenching, swelling, tension, pain, etc., that I've been treating with acupuncture. Recently after a stressful day in class I went to my acupuncture appointment and for the first time had no relief. I have found that acupuncture has been my little stress oasis. My hour of bliss, meditation, and relief. By the time I left there I was so stressed out that I had a thought of drinking, but not the type I've had before. Normally when I think of drinking it's very romantic and sounds either delicious because of an advertisement or occasion or what have you. Not this time. This was entirely cerebral. This was more like the thought of drinking was presented to me in a sales pitch from a smooth talking, but incredibly logical salesman who had no real hidden agenda other than to say "Well, it is an option on the table" (drinking). Here are the pro's and cons. Pro - you'll have the mind altering numbing experience you are seeking and relieve your stress. Con - you'll have to give up your sobriety and be willing to raise your hand as a newcomer.
I was shocked at how serious I considered this new presentation style/rational approach. I have to say that my sobriety at times has been maintained by my own ego and feeling that relapse (for me - not for someone else!) is just "less than" or "beneath me". After a few minutes of legitimately considering drinking again to relieve my stress the light bulb went off. I didn't need to drink, I needed to re-arrange my priorities. So I decided not to go to class the next day, call my sponsor and one of my best friends who is also in the program. One of the things I love about her is that she's not afraid to tell me things she knows I need to hear. She might hold her tongue for a while if it doesn't seem like it "really" needs to be said, but, if she feels it DOES need to be said, it's coming my way (I'm the same way with most people so I appreciate this approach). She basically told me my priorities were outta whack, my program needed improvement and that nothing can come before my sobriety. Nothing I didn't already know, but she was right, and I agreed.
So I took the day off from school, decompressed a little, and made a friend-date with her to hang out and catch a meeting after spending some quality time getting foot massages. What I realized was just a reminder that I won't be able to go through graduate school if I pick up again. I wont' be able to do SHIT! I had a hard enough time keeping a temp job when I was drinking and using. Vodka became my full time job. There's NO WAY I could handle graduate level coursework while drinking? Study? Ha! I've got a martini sitting here waiting to be enjoyed, fuck reading! That's where I'd be.
So we went to the meeting and although I wanted to share, I'm glad I didn't even get the chance. It was one of those rough and rugged crowd type meetings and a guy shared about how he'd seriously thought about going out and drinking just 30 short minutes before the meeting. Brought home everything I'd experienced in the last few days. But, for the moment he didn't drink - he did what he knows works - a meeting. So I'm grateful for that unrefined gang of drunks that gave me some perspective last night, grateful for my friend who will smack me in the back of the head if I need it and for AA showing me that despite the schmarmy-ness of the cliche: It works when you work it :)
I've been taking a class in the last few months, and had to stop going to one of my meetings that I attend regularly. Slowly over the last couple of months the meetings I've been a regular at have slowly fallen by the waste side because "I'm just so busy". I haven't had a commitment at a meeting, haven't sponsored anyone, and my sponsor and I seem to only meet once a month. Although I've felt fine for the most part and have been very aware that I need to be more active in my program of recovery, I have continued to excuse my scarcity around the rooms because "I'm just so busy" and it's not because I don't want to go to a meeting, sponsor someone, etc. But I'm going to graduate school and that's just so important - not! What's important? My Sobriety. Period.
During these last few months I've also been battling a mystery condition: TMJ or TMD Temporal Mandibular Disorder. After having a tooth pulled my jaw decided it wanted to re-align itself and without any consent on my part all the stress in my life has found its way to my jaw and I have constant, ceaseless jaw-clenching, swelling, tension, pain, etc., that I've been treating with acupuncture. Recently after a stressful day in class I went to my acupuncture appointment and for the first time had no relief. I have found that acupuncture has been my little stress oasis. My hour of bliss, meditation, and relief. By the time I left there I was so stressed out that I had a thought of drinking, but not the type I've had before. Normally when I think of drinking it's very romantic and sounds either delicious because of an advertisement or occasion or what have you. Not this time. This was entirely cerebral. This was more like the thought of drinking was presented to me in a sales pitch from a smooth talking, but incredibly logical salesman who had no real hidden agenda other than to say "Well, it is an option on the table" (drinking). Here are the pro's and cons. Pro - you'll have the mind altering numbing experience you are seeking and relieve your stress. Con - you'll have to give up your sobriety and be willing to raise your hand as a newcomer.
I was shocked at how serious I considered this new presentation style/rational approach. I have to say that my sobriety at times has been maintained by my own ego and feeling that relapse (for me - not for someone else!) is just "less than" or "beneath me". After a few minutes of legitimately considering drinking again to relieve my stress the light bulb went off. I didn't need to drink, I needed to re-arrange my priorities. So I decided not to go to class the next day, call my sponsor and one of my best friends who is also in the program. One of the things I love about her is that she's not afraid to tell me things she knows I need to hear. She might hold her tongue for a while if it doesn't seem like it "really" needs to be said, but, if she feels it DOES need to be said, it's coming my way (I'm the same way with most people so I appreciate this approach). She basically told me my priorities were outta whack, my program needed improvement and that nothing can come before my sobriety. Nothing I didn't already know, but she was right, and I agreed.
So I took the day off from school, decompressed a little, and made a friend-date with her to hang out and catch a meeting after spending some quality time getting foot massages. What I realized was just a reminder that I won't be able to go through graduate school if I pick up again. I wont' be able to do SHIT! I had a hard enough time keeping a temp job when I was drinking and using. Vodka became my full time job. There's NO WAY I could handle graduate level coursework while drinking? Study? Ha! I've got a martini sitting here waiting to be enjoyed, fuck reading! That's where I'd be.
So we went to the meeting and although I wanted to share, I'm glad I didn't even get the chance. It was one of those rough and rugged crowd type meetings and a guy shared about how he'd seriously thought about going out and drinking just 30 short minutes before the meeting. Brought home everything I'd experienced in the last few days. But, for the moment he didn't drink - he did what he knows works - a meeting. So I'm grateful for that unrefined gang of drunks that gave me some perspective last night, grateful for my friend who will smack me in the back of the head if I need it and for AA showing me that despite the schmarmy-ness of the cliche: It works when you work it :)
Monday, April 25, 2011
D.Y.O.G.
Design Your Own God.
A.A. Step 2 (of 12) Came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
A.A. Step 3 (of 12) Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God "as we understood Him".
So many times I hear "the god thing" being a major obstacle to people new in A.A. These two steps probably cause more balking, fussing, hesitation and possibly even relapse than any of the other steps (in my opinion, no facts to back that up). But why? I look at it like this: These are the BEST two steps imaginable!! Why do I see the glass half-full this way? I'll tell you why. Because we get to be creative, that's why. It doesn't say in step 2, or 3 that I have to become a Catholic, a Protestant, a Born-Again Christian, a Buddhist or a Hindu for that matter. It opens the door to a connection to "something" greater than myself - ANY something - it doesn't dictate what that something is. Now, there are A LOT of "suggestions" (i.e. rules) that one needs to be willing to follow if he/she is going to be successful in A.A., but following someone else's mandate about what kind of gOD to have is NOT one of those suggestions, yippee! If dogma were a part of the twelve steps, A.A. as we know it would not have the millions of successfully sober recovering alcoholics that it does.
In the rooms of A.A. and other twelve step programs they talk about "a higher power" - why stop there? I have at least four, and counting. Here's something I've recently been studying in a Human Relations class. It's an exercise of connect the dots. What you have to do is connect all the dots with straight lines but without lifting your pen/pencil from the page and the lines have to be straight. This is a square box of dots with 9 total 3,3,3. People get stumped on how to do this because it seems nearly impossible. The only rules are staight lines and you can't lift your pencil off the paper. So, why so hard? It's not really...it's just about thinking outside of the box! Nothing in the rules says you can't draw OUTSIDE of the rows of dots in order to connect them! ONLY to draw in straight lines and w/o lifting your pencil.
Much the same way, many people don't stop and realize they can think outside the box when it comes to the spirituality or gOD aspect in A.A. What most people are balking at is the dogmatic practices or hypocrisy they dealt with as children. I know I did. But, I'm also an oddball even as far as an alcoholic goes because I LOVE spirituality. To me its an endless journey of learning, growing and getting answers to cosmic questions. My main 4 higher powers consist of "god" which I generally refer to as Source or Universe, Angels, in particular Arch Angels, Spirit Guides (beings who've either lived as a human, or maybe not, who have made a pact with you before entering this physical plane/life to help guide you through your journey here) and Faeries/Nature Angels (I saw one of these once - with my very own eyes!!). These 4 higher powers have demonstrated to me time and again that they are VERY real, as real as the stink on my breath in the morning and the toe nails on my tootsies. Once a person gets over the dogmatic issues that they're actually balking at, an entirely different world opens up. But, it often takes a lot of work to be willing to let your guard down and have some blind trust in some "thing" you can't see or feel. So, I work more with the "feel" approach. I can't see the wind, but i can sure feel it when it blows and when I'm paying attention I can see its effects. Same goes with a higher power despite whatever label is placed upon it.
It's really not as hard as we make it out to be, honestly. Give it a shot! You've really got nothing to loose.
A.A. Step 2 (of 12) Came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
A.A. Step 3 (of 12) Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God "as we understood Him".
So many times I hear "the god thing" being a major obstacle to people new in A.A. These two steps probably cause more balking, fussing, hesitation and possibly even relapse than any of the other steps (in my opinion, no facts to back that up). But why? I look at it like this: These are the BEST two steps imaginable!! Why do I see the glass half-full this way? I'll tell you why. Because we get to be creative, that's why. It doesn't say in step 2, or 3 that I have to become a Catholic, a Protestant, a Born-Again Christian, a Buddhist or a Hindu for that matter. It opens the door to a connection to "something" greater than myself - ANY something - it doesn't dictate what that something is. Now, there are A LOT of "suggestions" (i.e. rules) that one needs to be willing to follow if he/she is going to be successful in A.A., but following someone else's mandate about what kind of gOD to have is NOT one of those suggestions, yippee! If dogma were a part of the twelve steps, A.A. as we know it would not have the millions of successfully sober recovering alcoholics that it does.
In the rooms of A.A. and other twelve step programs they talk about "a higher power" - why stop there? I have at least four, and counting. Here's something I've recently been studying in a Human Relations class. It's an exercise of connect the dots. What you have to do is connect all the dots with straight lines but without lifting your pen/pencil from the page and the lines have to be straight. This is a square box of dots with 9 total 3,3,3. People get stumped on how to do this because it seems nearly impossible. The only rules are staight lines and you can't lift your pencil off the paper. So, why so hard? It's not really...it's just about thinking outside of the box! Nothing in the rules says you can't draw OUTSIDE of the rows of dots in order to connect them! ONLY to draw in straight lines and w/o lifting your pencil.
Much the same way, many people don't stop and realize they can think outside the box when it comes to the spirituality or gOD aspect in A.A. What most people are balking at is the dogmatic practices or hypocrisy they dealt with as children. I know I did. But, I'm also an oddball even as far as an alcoholic goes because I LOVE spirituality. To me its an endless journey of learning, growing and getting answers to cosmic questions. My main 4 higher powers consist of "god" which I generally refer to as Source or Universe, Angels, in particular Arch Angels, Spirit Guides (beings who've either lived as a human, or maybe not, who have made a pact with you before entering this physical plane/life to help guide you through your journey here) and Faeries/Nature Angels (I saw one of these once - with my very own eyes!!). These 4 higher powers have demonstrated to me time and again that they are VERY real, as real as the stink on my breath in the morning and the toe nails on my tootsies. Once a person gets over the dogmatic issues that they're actually balking at, an entirely different world opens up. But, it often takes a lot of work to be willing to let your guard down and have some blind trust in some "thing" you can't see or feel. So, I work more with the "feel" approach. I can't see the wind, but i can sure feel it when it blows and when I'm paying attention I can see its effects. Same goes with a higher power despite whatever label is placed upon it.
It's really not as hard as we make it out to be, honestly. Give it a shot! You've really got nothing to loose.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
My First Drunk
Picture it, Sicily 1922, a young peasant girl…..oh wait, this isn’t the Golden Girls. Damn, ok, moving on. My first drunk, well, sufficed to say was in Europe, Madrid to be exact. The year Nineteen Hundred and Ninety, my age, exactly 16. I spent my sixteenth birthday on an exchange trip to Spain, one which I didn’t thoroughly appreciate fully until I was older. Youth really is wasted on the young.
I was traveling through Spain during Semana Santa, or Holy Week. Those Catholics in Spain take that shit seriously! Processions up the wazzou! So, one night my group of fellow students and I and our teacher were at a tavern in the Plaza Mayor, a grand Plaza in Madrid – it’s “muy famoso” to bring anyone out there who’s not familiar with it up to speed. This was to be my first experience with Sangria. I stood approximately 5 ft. 6 inches tall at the time and probably weight about 125lbs or so. My liver was so clean at this point in my life you could have used it as a swaddling cloth for a newborn baby and the baby would have infected my liver. My system was clean and virginal…ahh the good ol’ days.
So the group of us is in this rustic, centuries old tavern eating Tapas, a traditional Spanish course basically of hor d’ourves but Spanish style, when a pitcher of Sangria was brought to the table. Now, I’d never tried an ounce of alcohol in my life before this fateful moment and wasn’t too keen on starting, but I played along as I didn’t want to be a total wet blanket. They were served in little shot glasses and to me it was the most horrible waste of time and total abuse of my taste buds. Bleck! Sour, nasty, bitter, yuck! What were you guys thinking? So, I kept with the tapas…for the moment anyway. Soon another pitcher was brought to the table and this one looked like it had more fruit in it so I decided to try to be macho (HA!) and keep up with the rest of the teenage girls (real females, not gay boys) who were slugging this shit back. Gulp! Ok, I’ll try one more then I’m really done! Gulp! Hmm…that last was wasn’t “so bad”, how come they taste a little better now? They must have changed up the recipe in this last batch or something.
Shot number 4. Shot number 5. Samantha! I yell at my little Amiga sitting across from me, don’t let me have anymore after this one – cut me off! Gulp! And before she can take my shot glass away from me I practically take a swan dive for the pitcher! I gulp down number 7 and then number 8 before she can get my tentacle hands off the pitcher for good - that’s a wrap folks! Jason is DaaRUNK! Laughing, giggling, eating, and laughing some more.
Then it’s time to go, but all of the sudden it’s around midnight, where did the time go?? As the cohort of us ramble our drunken asses (or was it just me?) down the 350-year-old stairs to the cobblestone sidewalks out front, I turn back to my teacher, whose Sangria cheeks are plum, and say “Sshh!! Don’t tell my mother!!” LOL!. She looks me square in the eye and says, “I won’t if you won’t!” And then it happens. No, not the barfing, I don’t remember getting sick or a hangover. But I do remember something that startled me, a lot.
Procession participants carrying huge wooden crosses that are probably 9 ft tall, clanging chains, people flogging themselves in holy servitude greet us outside then I see “them”. My first-time-drunk ass, see’s a number of pointy dunce caps – except they’re not white, they’re black. I can’t figure out what I’m looking at until it all makes sense in a flash!! The HUGE wooden crosses and now the guys walking down the street with chains wearing long robes, full face masks and pointed hats: OH MY GOD!! IT”S THE KU KLUX KLAN!! I scream, as my teacher hastily covers my mouth with her hand as I descend into sangria laden panic! Ma Lann Ma Lann I try to muffle out as her hand is vice gripped around my drunk ass mouth, trying to warn everyone to run because the Klan is in Spain! Didn’t my teacher understand, half of our group was Mexican American, they were surely endanger!! We had to run!!
Welcome to the future class of Alcoholics Anonymous 2009 Jason – we’re holding a seat for you.
I was traveling through Spain during Semana Santa, or Holy Week. Those Catholics in Spain take that shit seriously! Processions up the wazzou! So, one night my group of fellow students and I and our teacher were at a tavern in the Plaza Mayor, a grand Plaza in Madrid – it’s “muy famoso” to bring anyone out there who’s not familiar with it up to speed. This was to be my first experience with Sangria. I stood approximately 5 ft. 6 inches tall at the time and probably weight about 125lbs or so. My liver was so clean at this point in my life you could have used it as a swaddling cloth for a newborn baby and the baby would have infected my liver. My system was clean and virginal…ahh the good ol’ days.
So the group of us is in this rustic, centuries old tavern eating Tapas, a traditional Spanish course basically of hor d’ourves but Spanish style, when a pitcher of Sangria was brought to the table. Now, I’d never tried an ounce of alcohol in my life before this fateful moment and wasn’t too keen on starting, but I played along as I didn’t want to be a total wet blanket. They were served in little shot glasses and to me it was the most horrible waste of time and total abuse of my taste buds. Bleck! Sour, nasty, bitter, yuck! What were you guys thinking? So, I kept with the tapas…for the moment anyway. Soon another pitcher was brought to the table and this one looked like it had more fruit in it so I decided to try to be macho (HA!) and keep up with the rest of the teenage girls (real females, not gay boys) who were slugging this shit back. Gulp! Ok, I’ll try one more then I’m really done! Gulp! Hmm…that last was wasn’t “so bad”, how come they taste a little better now? They must have changed up the recipe in this last batch or something.
Shot number 4. Shot number 5. Samantha! I yell at my little Amiga sitting across from me, don’t let me have anymore after this one – cut me off! Gulp! And before she can take my shot glass away from me I practically take a swan dive for the pitcher! I gulp down number 7 and then number 8 before she can get my tentacle hands off the pitcher for good - that’s a wrap folks! Jason is DaaRUNK! Laughing, giggling, eating, and laughing some more.
Then it’s time to go, but all of the sudden it’s around midnight, where did the time go?? As the cohort of us ramble our drunken asses (or was it just me?) down the 350-year-old stairs to the cobblestone sidewalks out front, I turn back to my teacher, whose Sangria cheeks are plum, and say “Sshh!! Don’t tell my mother!!” LOL!. She looks me square in the eye and says, “I won’t if you won’t!” And then it happens. No, not the barfing, I don’t remember getting sick or a hangover. But I do remember something that startled me, a lot.
Procession participants carrying huge wooden crosses that are probably 9 ft tall, clanging chains, people flogging themselves in holy servitude greet us outside then I see “them”. My first-time-drunk ass, see’s a number of pointy dunce caps – except they’re not white, they’re black. I can’t figure out what I’m looking at until it all makes sense in a flash!! The HUGE wooden crosses and now the guys walking down the street with chains wearing long robes, full face masks and pointed hats: OH MY GOD!! IT”S THE KU KLUX KLAN!! I scream, as my teacher hastily covers my mouth with her hand as I descend into sangria laden panic! Ma Lann Ma Lann I try to muffle out as her hand is vice gripped around my drunk ass mouth, trying to warn everyone to run because the Klan is in Spain! Didn’t my teacher understand, half of our group was Mexican American, they were surely endanger!! We had to run!!
Welcome to the future class of Alcoholics Anonymous 2009 Jason – we’re holding a seat for you.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Once Upon a Time I was a good boy
I remember as a child, always being teased about various things, one of which my enormous ears which I had pinned at the age of 8. I look back and am shocked that a doctor performed plastic surgery on an 8yr old, but I don't regret it, I'm glad I did it and I FULLY believe in the power of cosmetic surgery! My goal in life is to look like a mix between Cher and Dolly Parton by the time I'm 60. I need to get started. I recently posted on my facebook page the day I turned 37 that I thought that "37 was a botox birthday", lol.
My Mom used to console me from my many sessions of crying as a young boy by telling me that I had a huge heart, and she would open her arms as wide as she could to demonstrate that my heart was "this big!" and that it was a beautiful quality. She was a great mother. I had a temper, that much is for sure, but all in all I was a good boy. I never got in fights, I was never given detention, and was never suspended or expelled from school. At age 13 I found a church of my own accord and started going. I'd accepted Jesus as my personal Lord and Savior twice by this point and had befriended a born-again christian family and been doing bible study, prayer and vacation bible school all on my own doing. Well, actually with the influence of my aunt, but I did it mostly because I wanted to. Growing up an only child I was desperately lonely and finding these people who showed me endless amounts of seemingly unconditional love (I say seemingly because I later found that their love hinged on my continued belief in Jesus and the bible) was like finding a crystal clear, mountain cool geyser of water after wandering the desert most of your life.
After these friends moved to the Boston area I found a local church and made friends there, good friends who were my family for a time. I was a good boy. In school i was quiet, I got relatively good grades, I was never in trouble, I lettered in Varsity swimming and took myself to church every Sunday and was in the choir. Man, didn't everyone see GAY written all over me??? LoL.
In high school I had a friend named Cyndi. She was Mexican and her father loved me because I was Irish. Her family really liked me because I "appeared" to have my shit together and was a "good boy". She used to lovingly tease me about being such a quiet guy, never causing trouble but that was my defense mechanism - to blend in - like a Chameleon. Trying not to be noticed was how I swam the shark infested waters of high school. She and I even went in a 3 couples group to our Senior Prom. Then after high school I started to rebel. I began haunting the establishment known as The Nob Hill Theatre mentioned in my first post, lost my virginity, actually I didn't loose it, I remember exactly where I left it! On Travis Air Force Base in Fairfield, CA with the first masculine man who woo'd me enough to get my pants down around my ankles, but I digress. I started dating a super "popular" for lack of a better word - bouncer/doorman at the local popular gay club, made a few gay friends, and moved out of my mom's house and into a house I was renting with co-workers. On my 21st birthday party I invited Cyndi to my party because I hadn't seen her in a few years. She brought a friend of hers who I didn't like so much in the past, and who apparently thought I was a TOTAL bore. By the time Cyndi showed up I was totally shit faced on probably anything I could get my hands on. All I remember getting my hands on was Peach Schnapps - need I say more? She didn't stay too long and apparently turned to her friend and said "What happened to my innocent Jason?" to which her friend replied "I know, isn't it great!!".
I bring this up because once upon a time I wasn't a recovering alcoholic. Once upon a time I wasn't a sex addict. Once upon a time I was a good boy. Although not many from my life as an adult believe me, one or two friends survive from my days of youthful abstinence and purity. I quickly threw the girl in the pure white dress into the volcano as a sacrifice and began my descent down the road of lustful abandon, drug and alcohol fueled frenzies, and eventually incomprehensible demoralization. I definitely earned my seat in the rooms of recovery, but once upon a time I was a good boy.
My Mom used to console me from my many sessions of crying as a young boy by telling me that I had a huge heart, and she would open her arms as wide as she could to demonstrate that my heart was "this big!" and that it was a beautiful quality. She was a great mother. I had a temper, that much is for sure, but all in all I was a good boy. I never got in fights, I was never given detention, and was never suspended or expelled from school. At age 13 I found a church of my own accord and started going. I'd accepted Jesus as my personal Lord and Savior twice by this point and had befriended a born-again christian family and been doing bible study, prayer and vacation bible school all on my own doing. Well, actually with the influence of my aunt, but I did it mostly because I wanted to. Growing up an only child I was desperately lonely and finding these people who showed me endless amounts of seemingly unconditional love (I say seemingly because I later found that their love hinged on my continued belief in Jesus and the bible) was like finding a crystal clear, mountain cool geyser of water after wandering the desert most of your life.
After these friends moved to the Boston area I found a local church and made friends there, good friends who were my family for a time. I was a good boy. In school i was quiet, I got relatively good grades, I was never in trouble, I lettered in Varsity swimming and took myself to church every Sunday and was in the choir. Man, didn't everyone see GAY written all over me??? LoL.
In high school I had a friend named Cyndi. She was Mexican and her father loved me because I was Irish. Her family really liked me because I "appeared" to have my shit together and was a "good boy". She used to lovingly tease me about being such a quiet guy, never causing trouble but that was my defense mechanism - to blend in - like a Chameleon. Trying not to be noticed was how I swam the shark infested waters of high school. She and I even went in a 3 couples group to our Senior Prom. Then after high school I started to rebel. I began haunting the establishment known as The Nob Hill Theatre mentioned in my first post, lost my virginity, actually I didn't loose it, I remember exactly where I left it! On Travis Air Force Base in Fairfield, CA with the first masculine man who woo'd me enough to get my pants down around my ankles, but I digress. I started dating a super "popular" for lack of a better word - bouncer/doorman at the local popular gay club, made a few gay friends, and moved out of my mom's house and into a house I was renting with co-workers. On my 21st birthday party I invited Cyndi to my party because I hadn't seen her in a few years. She brought a friend of hers who I didn't like so much in the past, and who apparently thought I was a TOTAL bore. By the time Cyndi showed up I was totally shit faced on probably anything I could get my hands on. All I remember getting my hands on was Peach Schnapps - need I say more? She didn't stay too long and apparently turned to her friend and said "What happened to my innocent Jason?" to which her friend replied "I know, isn't it great!!".
I bring this up because once upon a time I wasn't a recovering alcoholic. Once upon a time I wasn't a sex addict. Once upon a time I was a good boy. Although not many from my life as an adult believe me, one or two friends survive from my days of youthful abstinence and purity. I quickly threw the girl in the pure white dress into the volcano as a sacrifice and began my descent down the road of lustful abandon, drug and alcohol fueled frenzies, and eventually incomprehensible demoralization. I definitely earned my seat in the rooms of recovery, but once upon a time I was a good boy.
The Muirfield Files an Introduction
Captains Log: Stardate 001892-6 or in another more relatable description, early 2011. I won’t go into specific dates as I don’t think it’s all that relevant – not that I’m hiding anything, but a little mystery never hurt anyone. But, if hiding the days date is my idea of mystery we’re in for a lot of disappointment and trouble folks.
The Muirfield files. Why so aptly named? Cuz it sounded cool. I just used “cuz” on a document that will be published to potentially tens…if not dozens of people, ha! I am the ultimate rebel. Muirfield was the name of the street I grew up on, and since both my sexuality and addictions I feel began early on, I chose that name, as it is a good description of the physical genesis of my neurosis. To protect the anonymity of the street I grew up on, I left out the descriptor (lane, blvd, ave, st, etc) to protect the innocent, not that anyone I knew back then lives on that isle of domesticity any longer, or have anything whatsoever to do with my story, but again, back to the mystery aspect (I see a pattern of sub-par anticipation developing).
7th grade, late 80’s, acid wash jeans, lots of hair spray, extra wide shoe laces, Nintendo, and the first time someone ever called me a faggot. Walking down the hall, trying to blend in while wearing a sweater that my Mom had gotten me which made me look like a bumblebee trying to impersonate Charlie Brown, Derek Smith called me a faggot. I don’t know why, maybe just a typical 7th grade bullying comment, maybe the sweater, maybe both. I was shocked! I wasn’t gay! At least not that I’d known about. I’d spent the entire year before pining over Jasmine and crying when she moved away, trying desperately to get the courage up to tell her I liked her when I thought chances were good that she might feel the same way. Even her friends tried to hook us up on a date, but as would turn out so many times in my life; fear took over and made the decision that it is indeed NOT better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, it’s safer not to try. So what the fuck was Derek talking about I didn’t have a clue.
Westborough Junior High was an entirely different beast. Sixth grade had been pretty good as far as elementary school was concerned. Now here I was in the lions den with all these new kids who apparently had taken a summer class on what’s cool, what’s not, how to BE cool, and what to avoid to not be cool. No one offered the class to me and as a result here I was being called a faggot, and I was totally lost trying to figure out the purpose of a “homeroom” class and remembering my locker combination while simultaneously not getting shoved into it and locked inside.
So, it came to my surprise not so soon after this incident when I discovered I’d have to be showering with other boys in P.E. class. My P.E. teacher schooling us on what’s normal and what’s not while taking showers with 30 other boys for the first time in your life. As it turned out, staring at all the other boys and seeing that they had “peckers” as he referred to them as, was “normal”. Well, if that was the case – I was (and am to this day) exceedingly normal. Extremely, engrossingly, exceptionally normal. Now, mind you that this is also about the time frame when young boys realize that they have absolutely no control over what these “peckers” as Mr. S (I’ll refer to him as Mr. S) called them, actually do. This is the time in a young mans life when simply walking down the hallway with your pecker shifted to the right, or left, or up, or down can cause his sail to fly so right that it takes a crowbar and an act of GOD to bring it under control. Boners people, I’m talking about Boners! Got it? Keep up.
I discovered Edward in this class, and no, not Edward Cullen. Edward held hostage the body of a 22yr old man in a 12yr old’s possession. He had a 6 pack, fully developed – and HUGE pecs, biceps, triceps and a pecker that looked like he was going to trip over it! He was beautiful. I couldn’t stare for too long because my stupid pecker would jump to attention and I’d have to go scurrying out of the shower. You’ve never experienced fear until you’ve been 12yrs old and gotten a woody by looking at another boy in the shower after P.E. You’d be lucky to make it back to your locker alive, literally. Fear ruled my existence. Then there was Joseph, voted best looking of the class of 1988. He sure was. Then there was Victor…who I think was really my first crush. Turns out that thanks to the modern science known as Facebook he sent me a friend request, and he looks kind of shitty and is as dumb as ever. There is a little justice in the Universe, if only a little. Faggot. This was the foray into finding out who I was and the battles it would contain, all the while doing it behind a smile without a glimmer of letting anyone else know what was going on in my head. The ultimate act of omission.
I am now in my late 30’s. How the hell that happened I still haven’t figured out, but oh well. I’m grateful. I am a recovering alcoholic with coming up on two years sober (and clean, although Vodka was primarily my drug of choice, but coke and several other ingestible's found their way into my system quite a bit). I look at it this way, to quote someone I once heard in “the rooms” (for any non-recovery people who may happen to stumble upon this rambling that means the room of an AA or other twelve step meeting) “Alcoholic or Addict: Dog or Poodle - you decide”. Meaning that basically there is addiction and within that there are usually particular drugs of choice be they alcohol, chemical drugs, or food, sex, gambling, etc, you get it right? Right. Moving on.
My Dad was the drunk and I knew I’d never let that happen to me! I hated his drinking. I hated how he acted and having to be scared when he’d come home at night not knowing what kind of mood he’d be in, or if he’d crashed the car or was going to embarrass me in front of my friends (not that I had many who came over much anyway). Never, that would never happen to me. Ha! Never say never kids. As it turned out, both my parents were alcoholics, it’s just that my Mom was so high functioning and so completely type-A that her few cocktails after work when compared to my Dad looked like nothing, nothing at all. I never knew she was an alcoholic. She told me she was an alcoholic when I was 20, the day she confronted me and asked me about my sexuality after finding the very first love letter I’d ever written, to my first boyfriend Tony. As I stood backed up against the hallway wall trying to push myself into it as to become part of the drywall and paint in order to get out of this unexpected confrontation, she told me she was in AA and was an alcoholic. I didn’t believe her. When I told her she seemed bored and should get a hobby I meant join a book club or something – not AA! LoL. What I didn’t know was that apparently she drank herself into stupors most nights after she put me to bed, and it took me years to really come to accept that she wasn’t making this all up. So, two alcoholic parents, two alcoholic grandparents: I would surely never drink. Surely.
Rewind two years to my 18th year and my first real job, which my Mom had helped me get in the financial district of San Francisco. The year 1992, August, to be exact. I was hired as a filing clerk for a mortgage-banking firm. I was so inexperienced I didn’t even file correctly; I guess I should have taken that office administration class in high school, oh well. Anywho…rewinding a little further again during those years from Jr. High onward I looked forward to getting the Sunday paper every weekend. Why? Not because I was a fan of the comic section, but there was a section in “The Pink Section” (how appropriate for a would be gay man, the pink section!) of the S.F. Examiner that I looked forward to gazing at every weekend. The movie section. No, not the movies that were playing down at the local Cineoplex movie theatres…more like adult movies. On the last page of the pink section they had listed the weeks upcoming “performers” at “The World Famous” Nob Hill Theatre. The local establishment for performance artists, aka, strippers. Every week they would list the Hunk du Jour who was headlining that week’s run of performances and a brief description about his rock hard abs, perfect pecs, etc along with a picture of his highly photogenic portfolio. I loved that friggin’ section! I’d been lusting over it for years when I realized that The Nob Hill Theatre was located not too far from my new work establishment. GASP!! OMG!! Dare I consider going? Consider I did, for quite a while until I got the guts, and dare I also did.
I still remember how fiercely my heart was racing as I walked up Bush Street on my lunch hour towards the theatre. I don’t remember how many times I tried and failed to walk through the door, but I do remember getting through the door and not bursting into spontaneous combustion – much to my surprise. The clerk’s register was elevated so that they looked down on you as you approach the counter and I remember this older man looking down at me, and kind of smirking and asking me how old I was? 18 I replied. “Got some ID?” he asks me from his throne on high as I hand him my driver’s license. Handing it back to me he tells me it’s $20 to get in and I had him a $20 without even flinching. I’m so nervous at this point that if I’d been hit by a feather I’d probably have jumped three feet in the air and ran screaming from the place the general population outside would have thought I just escaped a hold-up robbery! “There’s a show going on right now,” he casually mentions as he reads the nervous tension on my face like a book. I look at him with confused excitement. He tells me that if I don’t want the performer to approach me then to sit in the last two rows of the theatre. I walk through the door and the red walls, red seas, red carpet, red flashing lights and only broken by the white spot light that is following a beautifully chiseled man on stage as he is sensually undressing and caressing his magnificent chest, abs…I won’t go on…you get the picture. I sat in the last seat, flush against the wall, of the last row as far as I could get to stay away from the stud on stage, while still able to see him. The smell in this theatre was a mix of old English leather, cigarette smoke, and pure unadulterated man musk. I think it was bottled and pumped in the vents to act like some kind of pheromones! Lol. I think it was supposed to smell like sex…gee, ya think it was?
This Apollo who was seductively making his way over to each gentleman in the theatre and smiling down at them and making them believe he thought they were sexy, and that he was having a good time with each of them began getting closer and closer to where I was. He had a way of making eye contact with each guy and me at the same time somehow! It’s like he was a bloodhound tracking my scent of fear and excitement. I’d never seen a naked man, not a full grown one anyway and he was definitely full-grown! He got two rows in front of me and he could make direct eye contact with me now, and pierce me through the darkness with his smoldering hazel eyes. He seemed to somehow enjoy watching me squirm in my seat, it gave him power. That was it, there was no where left to hide he was done with the last guy in the theatre and I was the only one sitting in the back two rows trying to “stay away” from the mean evil stripper-god that I’d paid $20 to see in the first place! He must have seen me start to freak out as he began to cautiously approach me because he skillfully turned away un-offended and made his way back to the stage to finish his performance. I glanced down at my watch: 12:54pm. I had six minutes to run as fast as I could back to the office so I wouldn’t be late coming back from lunch at my new job, my first job ever. Off I ran down Bush St. and into a new chapter of my life.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)