... blocking out the scenery, breaking my mind

While shopping this weekend, I felt some sparks from the sales boy who was helping me. We talked and laughed and he suddenly asked me what my star sign was. After telling him that I was a Leo, his whole demeanor changed dramatically and he was suddenly bitter and cold. "You're a born cheater!" he told me as he turned and walked back to the register.

I was a little confused because he was in the middle of helping me with the clothes I had on and he just walked away. He knew very little of me and yet he chose to believe whatever he read in a $.99 astrological scroll that he purchased at a car wash.

A born cheater? The only thing that I cheated on was a Chemistry test in high school, and that really wasn’t even cheating. Sure, I had the answers to the multiple choice portion of the test. I only did it so I could see what my score would be without having to wait a bloody week. The point is that the sales boy didn’t know anything about me and he was holding out for a Gemini or something. What’s up with that? There is a definite possibility that he will go through life without ever meeting someone with that star sign. I think that astrology is a bunch of hooey. It’s fun to talk about, but it’s just stupid to let it dictate every choice you make in life. “Oh I can’t go out today because my horoscope told me that I’d have bad luck.” BAH!

Frank Herbert once wrote that to know the future is to be burdened by it. Forget variety! Uncertainty is the spice of life. Uncertainty is what keeps me going every day! Astrology takes all the fun out of life because people are locked into one idea and one way of living. Two people who are poised to get their swerve on should not be separated just because they were born under different stars.

Speaking of being under a star, I had that dream about Toby McGuire again.

Follow your damned bliss

One of the sales reps that I work with, who also happens to be a good friend of mine, came in today and we had a nice visit. Nancy talked about how her husband almost died of a heart attack earlier this year and how it made her think about her own life. She'd worked so much when she was younger that she never did the things that made her spirit soar. I told her about how it took me so long to plan my weekend trip to Houston and she told me that it should have been easier.

EH!??! Easier? What she was trying to say was that my decision to do something for myself shouldn't have been bogged down by the excuses and whining. I'm too tired. I'm broke. It's too cold outside. I don't have anything to wear. My calves are too skinny. There really is no excuse when it comes to doing things that you want to do. Langston Hughes put it best when he posed the question, "What happens to a dream deferred?" Not only does it dry up like a raisin in the sun, but it turns into one of those poisonous and resentful raisins that goes around making other people feel miserable because it never came to be.

If you don't do the things you dream of doing, you're fated to end up alphabetizing your DVD collection on a Saturday night while you watch old movies and sip cocktails in your bunny slippers. What's sexy about that?

Mole Cajole

For months, I've been toying with the notion that I need to remove the moles on my face. I just thought that in order to be beautiful, I need a mole-free mug. But when I talked to my doctor about referring me to a dermatologist, he had that cartoon character question mark above his head as he looked at me puzzled. My doctor has guided me through many rough patches in my life, including the addiction and the depression. He wondered why I was worried about something as superficial as a mole-free face, especially after having survived two potentially life-threatening instances. He said I was gorgeous, but that's what cute people tell others. That stirred my pot a little, but not enough to change my mind right then and there.

It wasn't until I talked to another friend of mine that I decided against the procedure. He did it in a very surreptitious manner, asking me questions and forcing me to come to my own conclusions. He asked me: "Why do you want to look like everyone else? Beauty is in the individuality of the person."

At that moment, everything came into perspective. I had flashbacks of all of times that I aksed people what they thought of me removing my moles. All of my close friends and family thought it was ridiculous to do it, and all of the people I would only know for a few hours told me to go ahead and get rid of them. I felt like the guy in a comedy club that finally got the meaning of a joke ten minutes after everyone else.

I don't know where the crazy idea came from. Why didn't I see that the people who really mattered to me didn't care what I looked like on the outside. I also wouldn't want to be with someone who urged me to change something about my body. God, that's just insane. Beauty comes from the energy we project when we're around others. It's a feeling that makes other people feel good.

A lot of gay people in my life have a different definition of what beauty is. They think it's clear skin, washboard abs, Abercrombie white boiz who sport faux-hawks and are dumber than plaster. These are the same gay people who are alone and bitter. Go fig!

The Karmic Law and My Guffaw... Richie has a tragic flaw!

Hindus and Buddhists believe that everyone is responsible for his or her own actions in this life and the next. The things we say and do help to shape our futures and this is called Karma. Basically, if you do good stuff, you get rewarded. If you're a mean son-of-a-bitch, then you will get your ass kicked either physically or spiritually. Being the man of science that I am, I never put much thought into the idea of Karma... until yesterday.

I was at the gym, watching tele while on the stair master. They showed the Canadian ice dancing duo, Dubrueil and Lauzon, and their unfortunate mistake during their performance that landed Dubrueil in the hospital which later caused them to withdraw from competition. When I saw her fall the first time, I made the 'yikes, that looks like it hurts' face. But then those damned news teams went a step further and showed the fall at different angles and in slow motion. That's when I let out a thunderous laugh. I really wasn't laughing at the fall. I just found it ridiculous that they deconstructed that moment so meticulously! I think they played the clip at least eight times.

As soon as I threw my head back in laughter, my machine stopped suddenly and I was thrown forward. I almost fell over the top of the machine, but I caught myself on the rail. It turns out that a medicine ball had rolled underneath the machine, stopping the stairs and allowing inertia to propel me a few inches off of the steps in a horrifying moment of divine retribution. I looked around and saw no one using the medicine balls. How very odd...

Here's what I don't understand: If this was 'instant karma,' then why didn't anything bad happen to the queens next to me who were laughing at MY misfortune? Shouldn't that have set off a karmic shockwave throughout the gym? It would have been a chain reaction, triggered by my laugh. I laugh, I fall, they laugh, they fall, other people laugh, they choke on their gum, others laugh, they get stuck in their pilates machines... it should have been a catastrophe. Let's face it, a lot of gay folks at the gym take pleasure in seeing others suffer. I've been to Melrose and I've seen the whole restaurant clap when the server drops his tray! I just don't understand how karma works. Maybe it's a point system where you get immunity from misfortune if you've done enough good deeds for the day. If that's the case, I should have a karmic wall around me. I'm the king of good deeds!

Since yesterday, I've personified Karma. To me, Karma is a beautiful Indian woman who stands behind me with a clipboard and a remote control. As she keeps track of my life actions, she keeps her finger on the remote control. If I do something bad, the remote will trigger an accident that will make me sorry I ever stepped out of line. Ah, the lovely law of cause and effect. The Hindus and Buddhists really hit that one on the nail.

Hero Worship

ABC Daytime has an annual event called "Fan February," where fans can win a chance at a walk-on role on their favorite soap opera. I didn't win this year, but I was filled with a sense of relief when I saw the winners on tv. Yeah, they were cute and a little on the ditzy side. I saw them interact with the soap stars and it just looked extremely fake. It was completely phony, like the stars would roll their eyes and say mean things about the fans when the cameras stopped rolling. If it were me, I'd be crushed. One of the fans called one of the stars her hero.

Everyone has someone who they look up to. We call them heroes. We put our heroes up on pedestals as reminders that we're capable of doing great things. I think that a hero's purpose is to inspire people to do the things they think they can't do. But what happens when your hero is a person and you meet that person? It's a catastrophe in the making, is what it is!

I was a huge baseball fan when I was a kid and I almost crapped my pants when I heard that Barry Bonds was going to visit our elementary school. I imagined him to be a paragon of excellence - not only in sports, but in public relations. He'd always be smiling and laughing with reporters and fans and everyone looked like they were having such a good time when they were around him. The sad truth is that Barry showed up to our school LATE and TIRED. He didn't sign any autographs and only stayed for an hour. I didn't get to meet him and I didn't want to meet him after all of the hullabaloo. Good lord, he was 3 hours late and he looked like he slept in the street. That's so gross to me. When you're able to see your hero on his or her pedestal from your own pedestal, the lure is somewhat dissolved.

To avoid the disappointment, I try to idolize fictional characters or things in nature. They can't disappoint you because they're not human. The word 'human' is synonymous with limits and boundaries. If you ask me who my heroes are, I'd tell you that I love Superman and Sea Turtles... and you can laugh all you want. But how many planets have you saved? And how many times have you avoided perils as you made your way from the beach to the ocean in order to start your life unshielded from the predators and natural enemies? Hmm?

Keep on truckin

Someone laughed at me this morning for saying that something was 'the bomb.' They told me that I was behind the times and that no one says that anymore. I admit that this term goes back at least eight or nine years, but when does a slang term become uncool?

Terms like 'cool' and 'awesome' still appear in conversations all over the place, so I guess it's arbitrary when it comes to which phrases are still socially acceptable. I know that 'neat' and 'radical' will get you an atomic wedgie when your back is turned. I just can't believe that I'm losing touch with what's cool. It happened to my mom and now it's happening to me. I can just imagine myself not understanding anything that my kids do. They'll be like: POPS! You don't understand what it is to be VARSNAX! You still think that things are 'the bomb!' (varsnax would be the new hip word in the year 2020)

There should be an online reference to what terms are cool and not cool. In the mean time, I will stick to my sounds sans words technique. That's when you use a sound and a facial expression to convey how you're feeling, instead of using words. Someone once asked me how I liked a movie and I went: "It was unh... a bit on the meh, nnngana.. ::hand gesture:: " and they knew exactly what I was trying to say.

Wendy's tried to steal my idea with a commercial with people explaining what they wanted to eat using only sounds. They sucked.

Doppelgangbang

If you watch Late Night with Conan O'Brien, you probably know about the little running gag he has with the Finnish people. There's always some random Finn in the audience and he brings them up and jokes about Finland. He also bears a resemblence to the president of Finland, Tarja Halonen. Conan met with her yesterday, which I totally was against. It kills the gag!

Remember when Maya Rudolph and Donatella Versace appeared together during the VH1 Vogue Fashion Awards? Yeah it was funny for two minutes, but everything after that was completely bleh. In order to maintain the balance of the universe, two things that are alike must stay apart.

When I was in high school, our band had to house Australian band students and my band director thought it would be funny to put me up with the boy who looked exactly like me. His name was Matthew and he played the clarinet just like me. He combed his hair the same way I did, his favorite show at the time was The X-Files (as mine was), and he was a closeted gay boy with years of built-up sexual energy. What do you think will happen when you put two horny boys together in a room? If they don't beat the shit out of each other, they'll end up sucking each other off. Guess which one happened to me.

The moral of this story is that no good can come out of two 'likes' meeting together. I won't tell you what happened between me and Matthew. We'll chalk it up as one of those "The Lady or the Tiger" deals. We were unable to look each other in the eye the next morning. Was it because one of us felt guilty for emotionally ripping into the other one's ability to play the clarinet? Or was it because we felt guilty for exploring our blossoming sexuality? The world will never know.

Where there's smoke... there's... um, someone smoking?

My friend Krissy sent me an e-mail yesterday to warn me about our friends Mark and Kevin quitting smoking together. I was warned to steer clear of both of them and to try not to say or do anything to upset them because they're quitting smoking and it's been six days since their last cigarette. What a fucking load of steaming bullshit! Just for that stupid e-mail, I will go out of my way to be a dick to both of them and I'll tell them that Krissy told me to do it. They're not really close friends of mine. They're the type of people who would hesitate and ponder whether they should take a friend to the hospital or go out on a date with someone they hardly knew.

Mark and Kevin were the only smokers in our circle of friends and we always had to sit in the fuckin smoking section just for them. They never volunteered to sit in the non-smoking section and they never did anything to accommodate their non-smoking friends, so why do we have to act all goody goody lolipop when we're around them? So not only do us non-smokers have to die of passive smoking, we also have to walk on eggshells when we're dealing with people who are trying to quit. Oh yes, let's rearrange our lives and cater to their every whim. La dee da. Would you like a foot rub as well?

"But Richie, you don't know what they're going through! You don't know what it's like to have to quit an addictive substance!"

HA! I am the authority on quitting addictive substances, bitch who said that to me. People actually treated me like shit while I was recovering from my addiction. Smokers get encouragement and 'warning e-mails' sent on their behalves, so I don't want to hear that bullshit about them having a hard time. Waah! ::mock crying::

One moment I will never forget is the time I saw Cyndi Lauper perform at a club in Houston. She stopped after her first song to ask the audience to put out their cigarettes saying that "you're all young and cute! That shit will kill ya, seriously!"

AMC Theatres had a policy regarding smoke breaks that I had a problem with. Apparently, employees were allowed to take five minute smoke breaks as long as they smoked in the back of the building. To combat this, I proposed a bacon break. Employees who enjoyed bacon should be allowed a five minute break to partake in the salty sweet goodness of bacon. My proposal was unanimously shot down. What the fuck is that all about? Too much bacon can lead to heart problems the same way cigarette smoking does.

It was on this day a year ago that I left my boyfriend, Bradley. I channeled various personnas that day, including Columbo, Tina Turner, and Keanu Reeves in the Matrix. While the details of the breakup will remain out of this blog, the lessons I learned will be shared with everyone.
There's really only one lesson worth learning: Never try to outwit someone who's been watching soap operas since he was a kid.

Yep, I'm gonna defend the soap opera angle again. The storylines are pretty much the same as real life, but writers are forced to add little twists and turns to keep things fresh. This allows the viewer to recognize and predict what will happen next. They are able to pick up on subtle hints early in the plot line and predict (with about 85% accuraccy) what will happen next. In real life, the conditioned soap watcher can watch for the warning signs of a cheating boyfriend or an impending hostile takeover of their successful cosmetics company and prepare for the worst case scenario while wearing a cute outfit and having a dramatic speech ready.

I am the last person who should be giving relationship advice, but this isn't relationship advice. It's life skills 101.

Icelandic Fury revisited

February marks the tenth anniversary of the time Bjork beat the tar out of that reporter in Bangkok. Apparently, "Welcome to Bangkok" is Icelandic for "Step up, bitch!" The footage is all over the place and you can google it if you want to re-live the tender moments of our girl Bjork opening a can on that woman. Who knew?

If I could get away with unleashing my fury like that, I would do it more often. If someone in a car comes out of a parking lot and stops right on the sidewalk as I'm coming along, I will put my man bag down and issue the challenge like they did in the old days: "Sir, you have obstructed my path with your mechanical contraption. For this, you must pay!" Then I'll take up a fighting stance reminiscent of some lost Eastern martial art and I'll let out a warcry so fierce that he'd freeze with intimidation. Man would that be cool, or what? You can't do that now. I got in trouble for spitting on someone's car when they stopped on the sidewalk like that. Yeah I know, spitting is so hetero.

Now we live in a world of restraining orders and permits. Oh, don't come near me because I've got a restraining order out on you! Boo hoo. Do you have a permit for that knife? Let me see your permit! While we're at it, let's see if you've paid your iPod tax. You don't have an iPod? What kind of conformist are you!?!? You're coming with me!!!

Forty Days, Wicked Ways

There's an episode of "The Vicar of Dibley" where everyone on the parish council gave up something for Lent and they had to put money in the Lent box every time they broke their promise. Owen gave up swearing and Dawn gave up chocolate. If you haven't seen or heard of Dawn French or The Vicar of Dibley, you need to rent the DVDs or tune into PBS when they show the British comedies.

I think it would be fun to start something like that with my group of friends. My friend Kelly loves chocolate and I'd love to torment her by eating a whole tin of Godivas right in front of her. Hey, it's my duty as a non-practicing Catholic to act as the demon with the tempting and the goading. What good is participating in the Lent if you're not going to be tested by someone evil? To be fair, I'd let people decide what I should give up for Lent and let them torment me as well. I think I'd do pretty well if no one suggests that I give up watching porn. ::hoping that no one suggests that I give up watching porn::

Oops, she did it again!

Britney Spears is under attack this week for being caught with her baby in her arms instead of a car seat. I'm sure she can afford a good quality car seat for the little bugger. Her excuse was that she was protecting him from the aggressive paparazzi that were stalking her, but we all know that's bullshit.

I wonder why celebrities are so fucked up all the time. She hasn't lost the baby fat, so we know she's not on drugs. She could just be stupid like 87% of the world is. Some people say that it's not fair to judge people based on what the media reports, and that they could be doing some really meaningful stuff that we don't even know about. But the fact is that one stupid act cancels out a hundred good acts. It's kind of like a figure skating routine. It could be perfect for the first three minutes, but one fall could be fatal to your chances of getting that gold necklace at the end. ::cough:: Michelle Kwan ::cough::

In America, talk is CHEAP!

I hate when people give unwanted advice. Whenever I see someone I know, I'll engage in the usual banter and they'll ask how I'm doing. If my response doesn't contain at least five synonyms for the word 'fantastic,' then people automatically assume that I'm suicidal. The phrase "things are fine" just doesn't seem to cut it anymore. I love it when I tell them that things are ok with me and they put their hand on my shoulder like I just found out there was no Santa Claus. Then comes the unwanted advice: you know what you need? (insert mindless blather here)

I wish we could just do away with language for a day and see how people interact. I think people will learn a lot more about each other if they were forced to read a person just by their facial expression or body language. It's much more intimate, and a little sexy in my opinion. I have some of the best moments with people just sitting in the same room with them, giving them coy smiles and the occasional raised eyebrow. A fun example is when you're out with a friend and you both see someone acting really stupid or wearing something hideous. You look at the funny thing, you look at each other, you look back at the funny thing, and you both burst into laughter simultaneously. That's when you know you're on the same wavelength as someone else. Just don't get too chummy with someone like that or you'll get on the same menstrual cycle.

Quien es esa nina?

I guess hell has frozen over, because one of my favorite movies of all time is being released on DVD next Tuesday. "Who's That Girl," starring Madonna and Griffin Dunne, was the second movie I saw in a movie theatre. I begged my sister to take me along with her and her friends to see it. They told me I wouldn't understand it, but I felt that I absolutely needed to go. Madonna's inherent gay magnetism attracted me even at the tender age of eight.

Everyone is so critical of Madonna's acting ability and they bitch/moan every time I mention how great I think this movie is, but there hasn't been a movie night where people didn't enjoy it. It's one of those pleasant surprises like when you try someone's cooking but they tell you that it has capers in it before you take a bite. People are like... oh my god it's got capers in it! But when they taste the dish, it's fantastic. Madonna as Nikki Finn is the acting equivalent of capers.

I will be spending Valentine's Day with this DVD because I have no man and I am actually ok with it. And fuck anyone who waves their finger at me and says "denial ain't just a river!"

Tweakerz

I took the bus home last night, against my better judgement. I try to avoid the bus at all costs because the worst people seem to take the bus all the time. This time, I had the immense pleasure of sitting next to an obvious drug addict.

It was really cold outside and he wasn't wearing a coat. Certain drugs, namely crystal meth, increase the body temperature. That could have been why he didn't think he needed to dress warmly. He was the type of guy that would be cute if he had some more weight on him. His sunken eyes were bloodshot and I barely noticed the full dilation of his pupils before he caught me staring at him. I noticed the incessant lip-licking, leg tapping, and head darting that are telltale signs of drug use. He pulled out his cell phone and pressed the buttons with trembling fingers. After a few seconds, he explained to the other person that he just got some money and wanted to party.

I thought back to my time in that dark place and wondered if there were people staring at me the way I was staring at him. I felt nothing but pity for him because I knew exactly where he was headed. As my stop approached, I got up and looked directly at him. He said "WHAT?" and I told him to get help. With that, I stepped off the bus while he shouted various obscenities at me. I know from personal experience that the words of other people have no effect on a drug user's decisions because their mind has been trapped by the drugs.

His only hope is to save himself and he can only do that if he makes the decision to do it on his own. What did it for me was remembering various situations which alone seem insignificant, but become undeniable when put together. The situations ranged from my nose bleeding from snorting too much, to showing up on my friend's doorstep in the dead of winter with no coat and a dozen needle marks in my arm asking for a ride home. I hope the guy will remember a fabulous young man telling him to get help. I wouldn't wish the downward spiral of drugs on anyone.

Stupid Gym Folk, vol. 4: The Line King

If you go to the gym from 6PM to 8PM, you should expect to wait in line for a machine. Fortunately, I was able to snag a free stairclimber without having to wait because I'm cool like that. The stairclimbers are in a high-traffic area next to the personal trainers' offices so there's no clear area where people can wait in a line to use them.

Five minutes into my workout, a machine opens up (still covered in sweat) and two men make a beeline for it. It was like two women reaching for a dress at Marshall Field at the same time. The two men who were obviously queens started to argue about who was waiting first. I expected one of them to give it up to the other, but that didn't happen. And here I thought grown men could be civil to one another. Apparently I was wrong.

The men argued about stupid things like where the line was, why the line couldn't start where the other guy was waiting, and why they should be first to use the machine. I looked down at my machine and it read 9:35. The argued for over four minutes about the line. The more feminine of the two men went to get a staff member so they could resolve the issue and things got worse from that point. The poor staff member didn't know what to do because quite frankly, they're used to people being more mature than that. I looked down at the time on my machine and it was past 17:00.

After the staff member was unable to resolve the issue, the feminine man finally got frustrated and gave up the machine. He waited in the spot where he argued the line should start and guess what happened thirty seconds later... go ahead, guess. Yep, the machine right next to the other guy opened up and the feminine man had this look on his face like Karma bitch slapped him. The feminine man had an opportunity to save his dignity by going on the machine next to the guy he was arguing with, but he chose the cowardly path as so many feminine gay men do. He waited twelve more minutes for another free machine to open up.

Was all that hulabaloo worth it? I just don't understand effeminite men sometimes. Why do they have to be such bitches? They swallow so many things when they're whoring around with other peoples' boyfriends, so why can't they swallow their pride?

El pollo loco and the power in my pants

I'm beginning to understand why people act all crazy when they're obsessed with working out. Margaret Cho said that when you go on a diet, the first thing you lose is brain mass. I used to go to the gym three times a week and now I'm there every day for at least two hours. And just when I think that I'm at a point where I feel comfortable with myself, along comes a guy with a fantastic body. Then I get all discouraged and I feel all stupid and ugly. Fortunately, the voice of Frank Sinatra still booms in my head whenever I find myself confronted with a self-esteem issue like that. He keeps me sane =)

But sometimes I get mired in the precarious web I've unknowingly woven for myself with every pullup and situp I've performed at the gym. Yesterday I ate at KFC. I wasn't even that hungry. It was just... there. As I bit into the chicken, I heard myself screaming FAT! GREASE! SODIUM! FAT! FAT! FAT! like I was betraying my body with the anti-nutritional value of the chicken. The rest of the day I kept beating myself up over my poor meal choice. Where the fuck did all of that come from? I only hope that this behavior doesn't progress in that direction. I don't want anyone to make a website called feedrichie.com.

As I left the gym this morning, I passed a woman and her child. The wind blew my coat open and it revealed the tight pants that I was wearing. The woman looked down at my package, looked at me, looked back at my package, and covered her son's eyes. She hurried along past me and I smiled sweetly, comforted with the knowledge that all of that working out was worth something... the power to frighten small children with my killer thighs.