On The Road Again

Actually, I just returned. Was visiting family and friends back in Buffalo and the surrounding Indian-inspired named towns. I have plenty of stories to blog about and will get to it ASAP, but for now the fridge is empty and I need to hug and kiss my dog.

Very Bad News

Riley is sick and has been admitted to the hospital. He is getting IV fluids and having more tests done but they are afraid that he may have some sort of intestinal blockage. If that's the case, the surgery and hospitalization will be over $5,000.00.
I don't have it and nobody I know does either.

I don't know what to do.

UPDATE: Riley is in surgery and I'm waiting to hear that he is out and recovering.

I just got back from a Gay-A "gratitude meeting". All that I could think about was that I am grateful that even though I was experiencing DEFCON 1 on the stress indicator, the first thing that I thought of once I had a free hour or two was that I needed to get to a meeting, pronto. I am grateful, as the "old me" would have poured a shot of vodka with a vodka/cranberry chaser on that problem and it would have been downhill from there.

I'm equally grateful that I have managed to repair relations with my brother enough to not only get a hug at Christmas, but to have someone to turn to in an emergency, and this seriously qualifies. He is generously arranging to co-sign a credit application that will allow me to finance Riley's surgery and pay it off in installments. And while I need another credit payment like I need a hole in my head, I would gladly get a hole in my head if that's what Riley needed to get his medical care.

Hopefully, he will be out of surgery soon and home in a few days.

UPDATE II: Riley made it through surgery and is recovering. The vet thought he had an obstruction as well as an issue with his intestines. As it turned out, he had eaten a plant or a branch of some sort that ended up to be indigestible. Part of the plant was in his stomach, and the other part, while still connected, was in his intestines and he couldn't get either part out. His innards turned inside out trying to get rid of the branch, and eventually he probably would have ended up with an infection and something like sepsis. Dead.

Fortunately I got him to the hospital and he should be fine.

For $5,000 he better come back with gold plated ear tips.

Self Help Thursday

In an effort to minimize needing to take multiple days off or having to keep track of what shift I am available on which day, I decided to simplify things and put all of my standing commitments on one day -Thursday.

So Thursday morning I leave the house at around 11:30 and walk across town, about 1/2 an hour, to see my therapist. After that, at 1:00 I walk back across town to be at my Gay-A group to chair a 2:00 meeting. 3-5:00 can be errands or lunch or I may try to get in a work out. Today was lunch. Then I take Riley out for his second walk of the day. After that I walk back across town to the Gay/Lesbian Community Center and meet up with my HIV+ support group. That lasts from 6-8:30, after which I may try to work out if I haven't already, or I sometimes join the POZ guys for dinner. Then I walk back across town to my apartment, where I eat (if I haven't already) and take Riley down five flights of stairs (again) for his last walk of the day.

By this time I'm usually pretty pooped. But I'm not sure if all the walking back and forth from East to West and up and down five flights of stairs has done it, or if it's because I've just spent most of the time of an entire day thinking, talking and evaluating ME, ME, ME!

In any event, my therapy session today was particularly rewarding, and we addressed one of the reasons that I was so keen on starting this round of self-absorbed navel-gazing, and what I hoped to accomplish with it. Rather than trying to preserve an air of mystery about it, and quite frankly, there's not enough people reading to justify that kind of a rating's stunt, I will just go ahead and tell you that my plans to make use of the foster parent certification classes I completed last year are back on, if not the front burner, definitely the middle burner, and if not at full boil, something's definitely bubbling up.

Upon Reflection

It was a bit of a whirlwind visit to my ancestral homeland but in spite of that, there were many interesting twists. I'm still digesting.

I'm happy to report that Cat is alive and well and thriving. Cat didn't fare very well as one of two cats at my niece's home, so he became a permanent resident at my parent's house. Surprising as my father has never shown an affinity for cats. But he's a fine looking fellow with a borderline dog-like personality. Best of all for a couple of older owners, cat doesn't need to be walked or have his poop picked up. And he wisely co-operated and allowed my parents to locate his litter box all the way down in the cellar near the furnace. Cat is fully grown and filling out, and the only danger that lies ahead for him is he may become Fat Cat some day. We tend to over-feed our animals.

The family is looking a little worse for wear. Everyone is in acceptable health, they just look a bit ragged. Pale and in desperate need of some moisturizer and a spa day. I honestly have been feeling very insecure about my own rapidly aging face, but next to these people, I'm gorgeous.

I didn't get to spend very much time with my niece this trip. We made plans to go see Avatar during the afternoon on Christmas Eve. There were only six people including us in the theater during our show time. Granted, it was 3:30pm on Dec 24th in suburban Buffalo, but I'm not seeing Titanic numbers here. I liked the film, but I don't think it's by any stretch a blockbuster. It tries to be too many things (War picture, Love story, Sci-Fi Action) and ends up diluting it's own impact. My niece simply said parts of it were silly and she didn't like the prolonged war and death sequences. If you don't appeal to teenage girls, can you do Titanic numbers? I don't think so.

On Christmas night, I got the strangest, most unexpected present of all. My brother ... hugged me. In the forty (mumble) years that I have been alive, that has never happened. I'm still trying to figure out what it means.

Countdown To Christmas Update

Mr. Riley's hotel accommodations are complete and paid in full. Instead of a kennel he will be staying in a private apartment only two blocks from our place. The owner is on the ground floor and the apartment opens out on to a fenced in back yard that has grass and dirt and even a bit of AstroTurf. There are already two dogs staying there and by Christmas time Riley will be one of six rambunctious pooches, most of them also pit bull mixes. I took him by to meet the owner and see the space and Riley took off through the apartment out to the yard and spent the next half hour tumbling around with the other dogs. When we left I had to get him out from under the bed where the two bigger boys had chased the girl. He is going to have a great time and I am completely relieved.

One more Christmas present to go, and I have no idea what to get my father. When we were little he used to answer the same way every time we asked what he wanted for Christmas. "I don't want anything be good."

Maybe I'll tell him this year I am being good for him. It would certainly be cheaper.

What's Doin?

I've been working quite a bit, trying to get some money put away as I'm afeerd that right after Christmas will be a little lean. I have all the household bills paid in full (unfortunately not the credit cards) and I am working on trying to get a little ahead so January's bills won't be quite so daunting and I can relax if the work does indeed dry up for a bit. I do have one or two other projects on the back burner so if there is no work and money isn't a big issue, I can just happily live like a church mouse and work through the month on other things.

I do have to hunker down and finish Christmas shopping. Almost every year around Christmas I at some point will have a dream where I end up at home with the family on Christmas morning having forgotten what day it was and without any presents for anyone. Last week I headed out to try to get some shopping done and returned with a case of dog food and a new seat for my bicycle. Both of which I needed but not appropriate gifts.

Something unpleasant that I was hoping to avoid came up last week during my second therapy session. Not unexpectedly, I am finding that some significant issues from my childhood are front and center. I am finding myself a little torn about whether or not I should share these things here. I have been aware for a long time that family members have found their way here. Whether or not anyone is a regular reader or not, I have no idea. If the issues in question only had to do with me or my behavior, I would vomit them up as readily as I have everything else. But that's not the case. And I worry about putting down a record of my stream of consciousness musings that could impact other people. A person's memory can be a tricky thing. Particularly mine, as it is full of holes. And 40 years has made some things abundantly clearer, while rendering other parts decidedly open to interpretation.

As I read that last paragraph back, I have to laugh at myself. Something "unpleasant" is it? Ever the lady, even in the face of adversity.

Dogs Don't Fly At Christmas Time

Before we even go there, let's just get two things out of the way.

I don't have a driver's license. I live in NYC and when my license expired after I had been here close to five years I sort of let it happen. At the time, I was militant in believing that I would never leave New York City and would never need a license. Besides, I always hated driving. I thought it was a necessary evil that was no longer necessary and was happy to let my license lapse.

And Pet Airways does not fly to Buffalo. Nobody flies to Buffalo unless they really have to. Sorry Buffalo, I couldn't resist.

But I wanted to take a little longer Christmas holiday this year since I am not working full time and I am just a lowly cog in the great machine. I thought it would be nice to take an entire week and spend some quality time with the family. I last visited home during the summer for my brother's 50th Birthday, and while I found everyone seemingly hale and hearty, I am mindful that both mom and dad are now 78 years old. Knock wood, they both seem to be doing just swell. Mom still holds down a part time job, working a cash register at a discount department chain store. Dad was working part time up until recently, and it wouldn't surprise me in the least if he found another part time job in the next couple of months. I personally wish they would work less and travel more, but they have their reasons for why that doesn't happen and I respect their right to make that call. Besides, I seem to be the only family member that developed wander-lust. And even though I've been in the same New York City apartment for 20 years, If I could afford it I would travel all over the world. Well, except India. And the Middle East. And Alaska would be the very last state after I visited all the rest.

In any case, what I really wanted to do was visit home and bring Riley with me. First, if I was going to be gone a week, I didn't want to spend all that time, particularly Christmas, without my dog. Second, my mom loves dogs. And she hasn't had one in the house for many many years. They have Cat now, and I can't describe how unexpected that development was, but mom is a dog person. I thought bringing Riley might give her a much needed fix, and Riley could spend a week being spoiled and fussed over by someone other than me. Also, as much as I try to deny it, Riley really is about the cutest most loving dog I've ever seen. When he's not destroying your bed linens.

So I set about making inquiries as to which airline, or really any mode of travel, would be the best and cheapest to get me and Riley from New York City to Buffalo. Turns out, you can't get there from here.

The train was out straight away. Amtrak doesn't allow animals, even as cargo. Period. Some of the major air carriers don't take pets, and the ones that do are talking about small animals that can fit in carriers and slide under the seat in front of you.

Some, like Delta, will in fact take your pet as checked baggage, but unfortunately the only direct Delta flights to Buffalo I could find are on their commuter partner, and those are much smaller planes that can't take medium to large dog crates. Continental was my last hope, as it seemed on their web site that they had some sort of pets as cargo shipping service. But when I called them originally they flat out refused to take Riley because I described him as a Pit mix, and they "only fly Pit Bulls as puppies". Fucking bigots.

And when I called back two weeks later and made another inquiry, the reservation agent helping me first claimed that it would cost $250.00 EACH WAY to fly Riley as cargo, and then backtracked and claimed that they didn't fly Staffordshire Terriers, which is what Riley's breed is, kind of, unless they were under 20 lbs. Which sounded suspiciously like Pit Bull racial profiling if you ask me. And at that point, there was no way I could afford a ticket for me, at around $325 and then add another $500 for Riley. Not counting what it would cost to buy him an "airline approved" plastic kennel as well as a veterinary visit so that he could have a doctor's note clearing him to fly. It all became far too expensive for a week in Buffalo.

This being New York City, AKA Scams R Us, I got some information about where I could secure the documentation and a harness to try and pass Riley off as a service dog, but 5 minutes in to the flight that bit of subterfuge would surely disintegrate when Riley would likely jump up on the service cart and gorge himself on bags of blue tortilla chips.

So as it stands now, my week in Buffalo has been cut to 4 1/2 days. And Riley will be spending four nights in a local kennel, which kills me every time I have to leave him there. Not that they don't take good care of him, or that I have any doubts he will be fed and walked. But the kennel cage he sleeps in has a concrete floor, and Riley sleeps in a bed. My bed. With me.

I'm going out this week to get him a big fuzzy blanket, which I will stink up real good between now and Christmas. And then it's going in the cage with him, so at least it will be soft and smell like home.

Totally Random

The mail brought some surprises, one expected and one totally not. I got sent a copy of Monster, a book by John Dunne recounting the period when he and Joan Didion were writing a screenplay based on the life of Jessica Savitch. It should dovetail nicely with my just digested helping of Magical Thinking. Which, by the way, now that I finished I recommend highly if you haven't read it. She's a no-nonsense writer, so I was surprised to find out she was born and lived for most of her life on the west coast. I would have guessed New England based on her economy of words. I have found that west coast writers are usually more decorative. The book was the expected surprise.

Last week I was having a conversation with my father in which he related he had a bit of a windfall courtesy of the Casino Niagara. It wasn't a life-changer, but somewhere in the neighborhood of 3K. Which is a neighborhood I rarely visit. Of course, I immediately asked where my cut was. I was joking, he laughed and we moved on. So imagine my surprise on Friday when I opened the mail and found a card from the parents for no apparent reason. Inside was a check and a note:

"This check is from Dad, as your cut of his winnings!! He wants to make sure you buy your TV with it."

I had related to my father on several phone calls that I have begun saving money for a new TV. My old TV works perfectly well, but it's one of the bulky older ones and only 20". I've been feeling TV deprived, and now that a decent sized LCD flat screen can be found for well under $500 I thought it was finally in my price range. My dad decided to speed up the process, claiming that he would have ended up giving it back at the casino if he didn't give some to me. Not a gesture I'm accustomed to from my parents, which of course made it even more amazing. I did briefly consider getting completely caught up on all my bills with the money, but if dad is going to make a grand gesture and tell me to buy a TV, then by god a TV is what I'll buy!

And in keeping with the theme of today's post, yesterday I left my house to get some brunch and a newspaper. As soon as I walked out my front door, who did I spot strolling by but Academy Award winning actress Susan Sarandon. We had a moment. Our eyes locked. Our non-verbal conversation went something like this:

"Hey, it's Academy Award winning actress Susan Sarandon!"

"Yes, it's me, and I see that you know it's me but it's Sunday afternoon and I'm just walking by like normal."

"I understand, Susan Sarandon, I won't bother you or stop you for an autograph. Mostly because I don't ask for autographs. I think they're stupid."

"OK then."

"OK bye, Susan Sarandon."

And with that we both went on our way.

That Darn Cat!

As I reported from my visit to Buffalo, my arrival was precluded by the daring escape of one Fritzee the cat, who ran out when some friends of my niece left the door ajar. My niece took a stoic approach, and while they placed a newspaper ad and checked the animal shelter for lost cats, she decided that the cat was gone for good and quickly secured a new kitten to take it's place. This may have something to do with how she processes loss, and could be some insight in to her current difficulties, but that's another post.

Truthfully, I didn't see much chance that Fritzee would survive on the outside very well. She had been de-clawed, which meant hunting her own food would be next to impossible. Indeed, the only time she saw the outside was in a carrier to the vets' office or wherever my niece would take her. Making things more difficult, while my niece has spent many many days and nights sleeping at my ancestral homeland, Fritzee had only been there for a week or two the year before, and was completely unfamiliar to the neighborhood, the smells and whatever visual clues she would need to survive and find home. Although it's not like my old neighborhood is home to coyotes or bobcats, a house cat without claws could meet a terrible end any number of ways.

So it was with great surprise that I learned after a phone conversation on the 4th of July that at 5 am that morning, 13 days after going over the wall, Fritzee the cat found her way back home safe and sound. As my father related, both he and my niece were awakened by a cat loudly meowing. They assumed it was the new kitten, but after locating him they realized it was coming from outside the house. Indeed, the cat was outside my niece's bedroom window. Some trick considering she was sleeping on the 2nd floor. Apparently, there was some debate and disbelief that this could possibly be Fritzee, but when they removed the screen from the window, the cat leaped in to the bedroom. And they quickly realized that miraculously, Fritzee had survived and returned home. Even more remarkably, a cat with no claws had somehow made it up to the 2nd floor roof overhang to find the correct window. Somehow, either by climbing a tree or a fence or up on to the garage, she had made it back. She had obviously been fed, as she wasn't starving or dehydrated, and she was also clean. So a human being was more than likely looking out for her, but what the circumstances were, where she was, or how she came to leave will forever be a mystery.

As it stands now, my niece and her two cats are all living happily with my parents. Fritzee and my niece will probably be returning to her home in time for school to start, and the fate of Cat, the kitten without a name, is undecided. That's because Cat has turned out to be so wonderfully goofy that my father has admitted he's grown kind of fond of him, prompting my parents to consider making Cat a permanent resident. Either way, both cats are now safe and sound and have a nice home. They just don't particularly like each other right now.

No-Name Cat

Because cute cat pictures used to be a sure-fire way to increase your blog visits, here's one of the new kitten that my niece adopted while I was visiting the family. Poor guy still has no name so I took to calling him Cat.

I'm back in NYC now, reunited with Mr. Riley, who spent three days boarded in a kennel. He is none the worse for wear and even got a bath and a nail trim while he was at the doggie spa. However there are repercussions. Unlike most dogs who usually give their owners the cold shoulder after a separation, Riley has glued himself to me and follows me from room to room, curling up right next to me whenever I sit on the couch or do some writing. He seems determined to make sure I don't leave him again.

I was at the airport this afternoon going through security screening when I began my little ritual: cellphone, loose change, belt if there's a big buckle, house keys ... house keys ... house keys ARE IN MY JACKET IN THE CLOSET AT MY MOM & DAD's! Not enough time to drive back, I boarded the plane hoping that at least one of my roommates would be around and accessible so I could get in. All is well and I already have a replacement set of keys but I'm currently locked out of my own mailbox until my real keys arrive in a couple of days.

Report From Buffalo

Found a quiet moment this morning as the niece had to get a quick orthodontist visit. The teenage braces have wiggled loose and need an adjustment. Currently, there's a brand-new kitten curled up behind my back in the computer chair. He arrived yesterday afternoon after a visit to the ASPCA in search of a lost cat that escaped from mom and dad's house in a bold move I first used almost thirty years ago. That is, wait for an open door when nobody is looking and run like hell. The cat belonged to the niece, as does the brand new kitten, so clearly she has moved on from this crushing blow. I have to admit, although teh kittehs are not my first choice of pets, this 2 month old boy is pretty cute. Typically, he loves me. As I have always said, I'm aces with kids and animals, it's the damn adults I can't abide.

Much high drama has broken out in my ancestral homeland, as the niece and her dad have taken their ongoing discord to a whole new level. She has temporarily decamped for grandma and grandpa's house while phone calls are made, State Troopers have been called in, counselors are summoned, and everyone takes a week or so to calm down and decide how to get this kid out of high school and in to college without ending up pregnant or a drug addict. During one discussion I did in fact offer to take her in. I was already on the verge of becoming a foster dad to a troubled stranger, so my own niece didn't seem so crazy. But of course, I totally knew grandma and grandpa would sooner die than agree to a separation that far. I thought it needed to be offered anyway.

My brother's 50th birthday celebration was a low-key affair, dinner at a nice (for real!) restaurant, a little ice cream cake and some well-wishes. I finished the night by pointing at him and laughing while quietly and cruelly observing:

"You're old."

He smiled.

On Location

A little travelin' music as From The Ashes relocates for a brief weekday visit with the family in bucolic Tonawanda, NY. That's suburban Buffalo in case you don't feel like Googling. My brother turns 50 years old this week. As Roseanne said "I don't mind you getting older, but why do you have to take me with you?"

Although considering I could technically have been already dead or dying by the time I reach 50, my birthday will be triumphant and heroic, whereas my brother is just getting old. Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!

My Dad Called Me Gay

So I'm on the phone, commiserating with Mom and Dad about my lack of gainful employment. This was a couple of weeks ago, before I found out that I was getting hosed with a bad reference from one of my former employers. At one point, as we were speculating about what might be going wrong or what I might be saying wrong or how I might re-write my cover letter or my resume, my Dad interjected with a surprising question.

"Do you think it might be because you're gay?"

This was not a surprising question as in "Hey, I never thought of that". This was a surprising question because it was the first time since the night I came out to my father, about 25 years ago, that the words "you are gay" came out of his mouth. And as I recall, that particular conversation on that particular night ended with my father and I on the front porch, me yelling something hateful at him and him slapping me in the face.

Back to now. I tried to play it off and answered the question. "No, I seriously doubt that's an issue here in New York City. I do try and not apply for jobs where I think it could be an issue. I tend to steer clear of sports bars, beer gardens and anything with a country western theme. I have heard that gay guys do quite well as bartenders in titty bars but I've never put that one to the test. Otherwise, I seriously doubt being gay has much to do with it."

That was my verbal response. But in actuality, I almost dropped the phone. Did my Dad just acknowledge my sexuality? All casual and in conversation-like? We finished the phone call and I continued about my day. But it took me about an hour or two to process the enormity of the situation.

Nice to know at their age and mine they can still surprise me.

God Bless Us, Everyone

No. I haven't gone all religious in my old age, it's just a phrase that pops in to my head repeatedly during the holidays. I found myself too cash poor to afford tickets for myself and Riley to go see the family, so we'll be spending Christmas just the two of us here in New York City.

I'll have an apartment full of people after this weekend as both of my new roommates will be moving in. I've spent the last week going through every storage space and closet throwing out anything useless or broken that I've been "meaning to" fix or use. If it hasn't happened yet, chances are it never will and I'm just getting rid of it.

I just finished a late breakfast of green eggs & ham, after which we opened gifts. One of us got new cookware and the other got a huge bone. Had I been on the receiving end of the huge bone it would have been a much better day, but life's not fair like that.

I'll be putting the finishing touches on today getting the apartment ready for the new arrivals. If there's time, Riley will be getting a bath as well. Tonight I'll more than likely take in a movie. Not too exciting, and I certainly wish I could have gone to Buffalo to hang with the fam, but it will do.

I'm In Hell

I trust you remember last month, when Riley decided to completely demolish my eyeglasses. I ended up scraping together what turned out to be my last bit of available credit to have a new pair made up. Not wanting to take a chance, I erred on what I thought was the side of caution, and kept the new pair in their case, under my meds and a bag of quarters I keep to do laundry with.

At the end of last week I left the house for about 40 mins. to do said laundry. I also moved my bag of meds to the coffee table, so I wouldn't forget to take them when I came back with some breakfast.

In case the picture is not illustrative enough, Riley took the opportunity to dig out my new glasses, in the case, and completely destroy them. That black object in the middle is what's left of the glass case, and the shiny twisted pieces on either end is the metal plate inside the case. He also climbed up on my desk and pulled my wallet off. Somehow he got inside and took out all my credit cards and ID. He completely chewed up one of my cards. I included my cell phone in the picture because he also chewed off the antennae, but that was on another day. You can add a shoe and two different belts to the tab as well

I completely lost my shit, screaming at him and shaking the chewed up objects in his face as he cowered on the bed. I also spanked his butt. I'm not proud of that, but it's what happened. My reaction was completely over the top, and I shocked even myself how angry I got. It wasn't until later, after calming down, that I realized I was really angry because I knew I couldn't afford to replace the glasses. I can't afford much of anything right now beyond enough groceries and dog food to keep us going. There's nothing extra.

And I'm embarrassed about that and sick of living hand to mouth.

I called my parents right after it happened, mostly to vent, which I did. Surprisingly they generously offered to pay for a replacement pair. Even more surprisingly, they immediately sent a check overnight mail for twice what I needed. I have some theories for why that is, but that might have to be another whole post. And while I accepted the check most happily, I also have understandably mixed feelings about needing my mom and dad to give me cash at my age.

If I can't get Riley to stop chewing up my things, I have decided he will have to be penned up in the kitchen whenever I'm gone. And we will both hate that.

You Must Read This!

Look, while I am personally against the whole gay marriage thing FOR ME, I appreciate that it is an issue that is very important to a lot of my peeps. One of the collateral issues surrounding gay marriage I am ever more concerned about however, is how the issues of equality under the law for medical decisions and hospital policy and the rights of gay people and their kids are being threatened, ignored, or in the case of Arkansas and those ridiculous bigots, completely trampled upon.

With that said, I urge you to read this heartbreaking story posted by Jake over at NoFo. If it doesn't leave you shaking with indignation and make the threat to gay families crystal clear I don't know what will.

Proposition Hate

Thomas (not his real name) came to live with us on October 13, 2007. Developmentally disabled since birth, Thomas had been essentially abandoned by his father years ago. He’d been living with his mother for the last 15 years in a personal hell he still doesn’t have the skills or even the understanding to describe. From what he’s been able to tell us, she was grotesquely abusive. Instead of merely beating him, she’d make him bring her whatever she was going to beat him with to prolong his terror and humiliation. When she beat him until he bled, she wouldn’t let him clean up the bloodstains on the walls and floor … so he couldn’t escape the reminders of his beatings anywhere he went in the house. When he didn’t make his bed the way she wanted, she made him sleep on the floor next to it. For five years. When a man she was having an affair with committed suicide, she told Thomas she wished he had been the one to kill himself. She clearly had never taken him to a dentist. Or even taught him how to brush his teeth. And while she was constantly dressed in sequins and hats, she dressed him like a retarded, homeless stereotype: pants that were too short, used underwear that was 12 sizes too big and cracked plastic shoes that made him walk with a limp.

Once the domestic partner and I realized what was going on and rescued him (his mother had left him alone for a week while she went on a cruise, telling him he couldn’t go outside or even watch TV while she was gone … and that she’d call the cable company when she got back and beat him severely if they told her he had turned on the TV in her absence) we brought him to live with us. The poor guy was a shell of a man, afraid to talk, assert himself on any level or even make eye contact. And he was clearly terrified that he was going to be punished for causing so much fuss on his behalf. In those first few days in our house, he even apologized to me when I “caught” him using one of our glasses to get a drink of water.

Over the last 13 months in our home, he’s learned to smile and talk to strangers and make terrible jokes and hold a part-time job and be responsible for the simple chores we’ve assigned him and feel safe functioning in a world where he knows his caretakers won’t repeatedly, relentlessly abuse him. In our house, he’s free to watch the shows he loves (which, to our chagrin, involves heavy rotations of WWE), socialize with our friends, sleep in a big comfy bed, and live a life free of the fear of beatings and psychological cruelty. In short, we’ve been the first to give him the responsible, loving parenting that gay-hostile “Christian” conservatives arrogantly declare can come only from straight people. And Thomas’ very existence blows massive holes in the meaningless “every child deserves a mother and father” inanity that these cretins parrot endlessly in their emotionally violent crusades against marriage equality. NO child deserves Thomas’ mother and father, so what these moral charlatans are saying is a grotesque oversimplification of the truth. Rational people call it a lie. Legitimate Christians and their autocratic, jealous god call it “bearing false witness.”

Now consider the fact that Thomas is my domestic partner’s brother.

If the domestic partner dies, their parents have legal access to all our shared property, including our house. The mother who told her other son that Thomas “made her” beat him could share ownership of our home and have every legal right to move in and resume abusing him. The father who has NEVER ONCE contacted us to see how Thomas is doing after surviving 15 years of abuse and then living for more than a year with me, a complete stranger, could assume half ownership of our house and try to sell it, leaving Thomas and me struggling to find a place we could afford to live. And I’d have no legal recourse. Because legally I’m little more than a roommate.

And the blame for all of this falls squarely on the shoulders of “Christian” hatred junkies who are so consumed by their unholy loathing for me and my domestic partner and gay people everywhere that they’ve spent billions of dollars convincing voters across our country to deny us equal access to the legal and financial protection of marriage.

In addition to “every child deserves a mother and a father,” these self-professed “Christians” use meaningless, grotesquely misleading catchphrases like “sacred institution” and “threat” and “protect” and “redefine” and, when they don’t get their way, “activist judges” to further their loathsome agenda to vilify gay people and teach the nation to hate and fear us. The fact remains that nobody—“Christian” or otherwise—has yet to articulate a plausible or even fact-based justification for denying us marriage equality. “Sacred institution,” “threat,” “redefine” and their ilk are nothing but a lazy, artless code for “religious extremists are consumed by a pathological loathing for gay people.” And whether or not they choose to own up to it, they know in their cold, black hearts that it’s the truth.

And while these cretins spent a staggering $73 million in California alone to scare voters into passing Proposition Hate, the domestic partner and I struggle to pay exorbitant dental bills to undo decades of damage wrought by Thomas’ parents’ neglect. And after 13 months, we’re still searching to find someone who will provide him basic health insurance and a social services caseworker who isn’t too overwhelmed to return our calls and help us understand how to care for him and help him build a network of peers beyond the adult gay men who come to our house for the occasional movie or game night.

This grotesque juxtaposition of robustly funded propaganda vs. cash-strapped social services is the perverse, inexcusable legacy of Proposition Hate and the so-called “Defense of Marriage Act” and every related money-wasting act of gay-hostile social, political and emotional terrorism wrought by the American Taliban.

If you have ever used words like “sacred institution” or “redefine marriage” or “threat to family values” without irony or—worse yet—harbored thoughts or cast votes against marriage equality, you are not my friend. You are not welcome in my life. I honestly see you as intellectually compromised. And I don’t care what you think your god tells you to believe. Your mythology does not trump my reality. And if you try to defend your indefensible thoughts or words or actions to me, be prepared to have your vile, repellant opinions reduced to the vile, repellant garbage that they are.

And when I’m done with you, the domestic partner and I will calmly go back to caring for Thomas and working to repair the decades of damage caused by the celebrated heterosexuals who are apparently free to marry and divorce and have affairs and abuse and ignore their own children without generating interest a single constitutional amendment, television ad, campaign platform or even a godfuckingdamned T-shirt by the American Taliban.

Apropos Of Nothing

As I mentioned previously, I signed up tonight to take a speaking commitment at a Gay-A detox group out of a local hospital. It's two weeks from tomorrow so I have plenty of time to obsess about it and convince myself I will stink it up.

I also broke down and ordered a new pair of glasses, even though I really can't afford them. Cujo decided to demolish my reading glasses one night last week, and by reading glasses, I mean the pair I need to get out of bed in the morning and find my feet. Blind as a bat I am without them and I don't always feel like putting in my lenses first thing. Plus, I like to put my glasses on at the end of the night before bed to watch TV and rest my eyes. So I juggled some credit while I have any left and ordered a replacement. They wanted to charge me over $600 until I explained I needed glasses to be able to get up in the middle of the night and pee, and I didn't require glasses with laser beam stud finders and a built in GPS navigation system that will also Google up a restaurant reservation and start your car. I ended up escaping with a $240 tab and I feel lucky for it.

Earlier this week I sent my mom a couple of pictures. One was of Riley, just so she could see what he looked like, and the other was a shot I had taken a few years ago of my brother and neice. It was at sundown along the rocks of a small town waterfront. They are partly in shadow and my brother has his arm around my neice. There's a single boat off in the distance and a little duck in the water next to them. I absolutely love it, and that's all that really matters. Still, I wasn't so sure my mom or anyone would see what I did. So I was strangely thrilled when my mom genuinely thanked me for the picture and gushed:

"You could take pictures professionally, I think."

I realize that's my mom talking, but she's not given to random bursts of encouragement. So to my ears it was a ringing endorsement. And it's not lost on me that even at my advanced years, apparently a compliment and approval from my mommy still can make me feel good all day.

This N' That

I find it almost impossible to believe, but I may have actually finished decorating one of the rooms in my apartment. The bathroom, while not perfect (and given the age of the building and the condition of the pipes, it never will be) feels like it's actually done. I've painted and repaired the molding around the (crooked) door, I've glued down the floor tiles I've used as a wall treatment, and all the towel bars and fixtures match. There's also plenty of storage with room to grow if need be. I suppose if push came to shove I would replace the bathroom sink and I could clean up the paint and shelving inside the window, and I might, but I don't look at the room in any direction but up (where the ceiling is splitting from leaky pipes) and think "ICK". I've also been working on the spare bedroom, but I think my own bedroom will be the next to get some attention. It could use a paint job if nothing else.

Another stunning development occurred this month at the dentist. Specifically, that I've been going religiously. This root canal I finally agreed to is taking forever. I've already had five appointments over the last month or two. The first two appointments seemed to be the bulk of the digging and drilling but in actuality it was this last appointment that was kind of "YUCK" as he had to give me another shot and file down the tooth and fit me with temporary crown. Again, beyond the discomfort of the initial shot, it didn't hurt, but it took quite a while and the sound of my tooth being repeatedly filed down from different directions and the vibration in my head wasn't what I'd call pleasant.

But what I found amazing as I calmly sat there with my hands folded in my lap as two people stuck all manner of drills and files and suction in my face was the fact that I've come this far. I wish I could describe the absolute abject panic I used to experience when anyone would even talk about going to the dentist, let alone the few times I actually managed to pill myself down and climb into the chair, but suffice it to say between the rapid heart beat and the overwhelming feeling of terror, I was afraid to even get my teeth cleaned. Now a dentist appointment is no more stressful than my quarterly blood draws or any other medical issue. It falls in to the category of a major, massive breakthrough and I absolutely attribute this one as a direct and demonstrable benefit to getting sober.

My brother and his wife are in town the next few days, mostly so he can attend a couple of last games at his beloved Yankee Stadium before the celebrated old ballpark is shuttered and demolished ahead of next year when the Yankees move across the street to their shiny new home. I'm not really up for attending a game but we do have plans to meet at least once or twice for dinner and a little sightseeing.

Leaving On A Jet Plane

I'll be heading back to New York City and my Castle High Atop Second Avenue early this evening. I should be sitting on my couch by 9:00 and masturbating by 10:00, as it's been a week since I've had any "personal" time and I find myself hungrily eyeing well-muscled teenagers whenever we pass them in the car. It's dirty and sad but there you have it.

I'm very glad to see that my parents seem well and healthy. It won't always be so but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, and I'm in no hurry. I'm also glad to report I didn't need to avail myself of the AA meeting list I brought with me. I never really thought that my parents bore very much responsibility for my alcoholism in the first place, beyond simple genetics. I suppose you could make a case that some of the underlying issues that helped my drinking take root might be traced back to my childhood, but I am a firm believer that blaming your parents for your failed adulthood is a uniquely American exercise in not taking personal accountability for your actions.

I started drinking, I kept drinking, I took drugs and I lost control of it all, assuming I ever really had it. Maybe at some point along the way I was compensating for or covering up something painful or hurtful that was instilled but ultimately, I was hurting myself and when I finally faced that truism, my road became easier and clearer. I enjoyed quite a bit of clarity this week.

And some surprises. Had you told me before this week that both of my parents absolutely loathed George Bush and the current administration, so much so that they are both not only for, but actively for, vociferously for and voting for a black man for President of the United States I would have felt your forehead for fever, but that is indeed what is happening. And from all that was said this week, short of Barack Obama actually joining the Taliban and declaring jihad on the Town of Tonawanda, there's not a thing that John McCain and the Republicant's can do or say that would change their mind. And if they reflect the sentiments of most semi-conservative, disaffected, lower-middle class Americans, I'm ready to call this a win for Barack and tell John, Sarah and her slutty teen aged daughter to fold up their tents and go home.

Greetings From Buffalo

I spent a bit of my time this weekend helping my technophobe family work out some of their computer problems. Aside from the aforementioned internet service I decided my Mom couldn't go another minute without I also took a look at her printer, which she insisted wasn't working. Last time this happened she had gone so long without using the printer that the ink had simply dried up. I doubted she would make that mistake again as she clearly knew it could happen. She didn't. This time somehow the printer that's hooked up to her machine was no longer the default printer on her system, so nothing would print unless you manually forced it to, something that wouldn't be figured out in a million years here. I tweaked her settings and all was well.

This afternoon I took a ride out to my younger sister's home deep in the suburbs of suburbia and helped her renew her anti-virus software and sign herself up for an online poker site. While i was there I re-assured her that the computer wasn't a magic tunnel whereby someone could reach through and pluck her credit card information from her purse and that as long as she didn't sign up for anything by using her credit card, chances were pretty slim that she would be charged for anything she didn't want. But apparently her desire to play poker online superseded her fear of The Internets.

Yesterday I had the great pleasure (seriously) of going out to breakfast with my Dad and three of his four brothers. They apparently meet twice a month on Saturday to argue about who among them has more money, who among their acquaintances has died or is hospitalized, and generally dish the dirt on missing friends, relatives and each other. An activity I as a gay man was quite comfortable with. Considering my dad's six brothers and sisters are all still living and the oldest one at the table that day was (I think) 85 years old, I considered it a privilege to be included. I'm thrilled to report that all of them (while wrinkly) seemed to be in good spirits. My 85 year old uncle was eager for his once a week bowling league to begin next week. Encouraging. Will I be bowling in 40 years? Will they have an old gay single seniors league by then?