Posts Tagged ‘About Me’

History repeats and you still gotta have friends…


As I’ve been running around like the-little-homo-that-could lately, it’s become painfully obvious that I can’t. At least with regard to keeping up with all my blogger duties. What’s worse, is this is apparently part of some sick pattern of behavioral abuse – as evidenced when I went poking around the posts of the past trying to find something to re-place before you, never pretending to not be blogger hand-me-downs, while simultaneously hoping you wouldn’t actually notice either. LOL!

Now that I’ve blown that evil-ploy all to hell, we’ll move on. As I was saying – upon reading the following post from several years back, I was immediately struck by the fact that I have a pattern – something I’m now looking into having turned into a diagnosis I can go to the doctor and get a pill for. I’m calling it Lazy-blogginitis. And I suffer from it, big time! : )

That being said, I hope ya enjoy this blog-blast-from-the-past!

Because You Gotta Have Friends…

Whew…smells a little musty in here, lemme throw open the curtains and crack the windows in this joint. I feel like I haven’t been here in ages!  Before you go getting all finger-pointy let me just say…it’s totally not my fault!  I mean, I lost my keys…the locksmith wanted to charge a fortune to let me back in…he was kinda hunky so we worked something out in trade.  Can I just say…he had a really nice master-key.

Okay…right.  I’ll end my holiday in the fictional town of Pornotopia now.  I thought it might sound better than, “I’ve just been busy.”  Between the new job, new-book promo, and submitting what I hope to be my third book, the weeks just sorta got away from me.  I can’t help it…I’m a Pisces, I get easily distracted!

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the past, my past…my friends, the boys – the girls.  Obviously this is something we all do, but perhaps not with quite the same vigor and determination we writers do.  Personally I tend to attack my memories like an invading army, or possibly a kid furiously digging through his toy box, desperate to find that one special toy.  The missing strand of story-DNA that will allow us to create our very own Jurassic Park…which in my case is more likely to be over-run with spastic, yet lovable gay boys and snarky, sarcastic females than Velociraptor’s.

I’m more than willing to rape my own experiences for the good of my fiction.  So, is it really that life imitates art so much as the opposite?  Perhaps it’s both?  I have zero qualms about using my friend’s misfortune and personality quirks for my characters.  For those who might think that awful…I’m equal opportunity and take full advantage of my own personal agonies as well.  One of my BFF’s sent me text over the weekend laughing his ass off at something in Dreaming of You that was one of my personal misfortunes which while not fun at the time it was happening to me in my real life, was hysterical after the fact.

I’ve had a lot of people comment about really loving the ‘driving scene’ in Dreaming.  I laughed my ass off when writing that because it was based on one of my gal pals from many years back.  She was from New York and the single worst driver I’ve ever known.  We literally came out of a store one time to find a policeman sitting on the hood of his patrol car waiting on us to come back out.  As he wrote her a ticket, he made a point of letting her know she’d been barreling through town so fast that he’d been unable to catch up to us.

I obviously change the names and sometimes even the genders to protect the not so innocent.  Let’s face it.  None of my friends are all that innocent.  All this playful rummaging about in my memories got me wondering about my friends in terms of gender.  My first really good friends were gay men.  It was upon meeting them that I really allowed myself to just be me.  No pretense, no hiding my light under a basket.  Flame on!, so to speak.  There were two Boy-BFF’s I was especially close to; we’ll call them Beau & Luke.  How very Dukes of Hazard of me, I know.  For a year we were practically inseparable, The Three Musgayteers.  Then of course, Beau moved away with some guy.  He was supposedly in love or something!  I know…how rude right, so much for Bro’s before Man-Ho’s?

And for those of you’ve read my blog titled
Jealous…again, you know how my friendship ended with Luke.  What I like to call the Tourette’s Tragedy of 1992.  Needless to say, after that I’d had my fill of gay boys.  They were apparently only good for one thing…well maybe two or three, but friendship wasn’t one of them!  This kicked off my 6 year Man-haters-gal-pal-only-club.

I’m not sure what draws me toward the women folk.  Perhaps it’s a little nature vs. nurture in action.  While my little head always turns my attention toward the big-beefy-muscles that be men, my big head seems to gravitate to the girls when it comes to actually having a fulfilling conversation.  Despite the fact that I covet the man-meat, I suppose growing up surrounded by women has made the ladies something I derive a lot of comfort from.

Of course, just like the gay boys of my past, the chicks who were my BFF’s kept finding BF’s and thus also ran off to marry their orgasms.  At this point I realized that friendship shouldn’t be determined by genitalia.  And over the long haul, I’ve discovered that while my gay friends tend to desert me more often, they also seem to come back sooner, scratching at the door while licking their rug burns.  My girl friends on the other hand run off to the ‘land of the little people who carry big germs’, hardly ever to be seen or heard from again.  Shady bitches! : )

Perhaps it says more about me than anything that I’ve always valued my friends more than the men I’ve dated.  I keep telling myself that it’s because I haven’t found The One yet.  But to be perfectly honest, I’m sick of looking for the son of a bitch!

The One needs to get off his hairy ass and come find me. ; )  Honestly…what the hell does The One do all day?  Sheesh!

End Rant

Much Love

I’m guest blogging at Jessewave’s today!

I’m a little late getting this posted, but I’m blogging at Jessewave’s today about Southern Decadence!

Here’s the link:

Stop by for a bit when you have the time. : )



I’ve been a little lax on my blogging lately, mainly due to the fact that I’m trying to finish a book. I never was any good with time management. Go figure, I know. I have the tendency to sucked into something and allow the rest of the world to fall away. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not, but I like to think its part of what makes me a decent fiction writer. At least that’s one of the things I tell myself so I don’t have to feel bad about not keeping up with other things…like my blog. : )

So here’s something both old and borrowed to make up for my shameless neglect. I’ve added the something blue via visual aids, though I’m not sure why I have wedding themed nonsense rattling around in my brain. Considering the subject matter of the post is Jealousy, it’s hardly themed appropriate, but then again neither am I most of the time so perhaps it fits just fine.

Jealousy…why do you have to bother me?

Now I’ll be the first to admit I’m far from perfect, but I have never suffered from nor understood this particularly annoying emotion.  Perhaps there’s someone out there who can make me understand, but I suggest you come fully prepared to go to the mat along with a sales pitch unlike any other.

I’ve fallen for an unavailable man or two over the years and been envious of the person they were with, but I’ve never gone Coo Coo for Cocoa Puffs over it.  I don’t burst a blood vessel if I catch the guy I’m with checking out another man…he might catch me at some point and then what?  Those damn glass houses!

Before we continue I do feel I should also state that the first part of the following story all took place back in my early twenties.  I’m much nicer than I used to be.  Back in those days, the old me might have done something evil such as drink too much vodka, hop up onto the roof of someone’s car while pointing at random guys and declaring, “I’d fuck you and you…”  True – that in itself was really only embarrassing to me, but I unfortunately decided to also point at other guys while declaring, “I would soooo NOT fuck you or you…”  Yeah…I was a real sweet heart in those days.

My first real experience with the green eyed monster didn’t actually involve me personally, so to speak.  I know already that I’m going to get some unkind comments over this, but what the hell.  All I have to say is, unless YOUR roommate comes home from a weekend trip to a hair show in Nashville with a complete stranger in tow, declaring they’ve fallen in love while moving this perfect stranger into your home…you aren’t allowed to bitch at me.  Now that I’ve hopefully built up a little sympathy for myself…stranger guy also happened to have Tourette’s.

I was a little surprised by how much I instantly disliked this man.  To be fair, my BFF’s twitchy boy toy was not very friendly either.  I’m sure he’d been made fun all his life and perhaps that made him a little anger ball, because he was certainly never going to win Miss Congeniality.  I know it’s not PC and I realize he couldn’t help himself, but it’s very frustrating when you’re lounging on the couch trying to enjoy your favorite TV show while some dude you never intended on living with is sitting on the floor bumping the back of his head into the sofa and muttering, shit…shit…shit…periodically.  Pretty soon, you too might feel your own sanity slip as your normally Walt Disney-like personality slowly begins to get all Tim Burtony, while you imagine yourself picking up the table lamp sitting next to you and smashing him over the head with it.  Granted…I now know it was actually my roomie who deserved to be bludgeoned, but hindsight and all…you know.

Their relationship was tumultuous at best, and wound up only lasting a few months.  I was witness to things in that short amount of time, well…ever seen War of the Roses?  I’d never seen behavior like that, coming from my don’t-ask-don’t-tell family background.  The accusations of indiscretions, declarations of love, and instantaneous assumptions of guilt were enough to make me swear, *channeling Scarlett O’Hara clutching a handful of dirt*  “As God as my witness, I shall never date crazy as long as I live.”

Something I also hadn’t learned at the tender and impressionable young age of twenty one…never say never.  It wasn’t long after their break-up that my BFF and I became Frenemies – apparently my lack of support during their relationship was unforgivable.

I used to think jealous people were just drama junkies, until I found myself dating one.  In my defense, he wasn’t like the jealous people I’d known in the past.  He totally flew under the ‘crazy’ radar.  In his defense, he told me he was prone to jealousy when we started dating.  He was quiet and sweet…downright loving.  Not only was he interested in me, but he was very curious about my writing as well.  I thought I’d won the man-lotto, cause on top of his seemingly mature and manly demeanor, the sex was also fantastic.  I scoffed at his declarations of being a jealous man.  He was way to level-headed for such non-sense…plus I knew I’d never give him reason to be.

For several months I was walking around in a haze…seconds away from a sugary-sweet diabetic love-coma.  Then, it stopped.  He vanished!  I left a few messages and then stopped myself.  After all, (insert sassy head bobbing here) I was certainly not going to beg.  He finally did call, though.  When we met up to discuss, to his credit, he was completely honest.  I’d given him a rough draft of a book I’d been writing, the soon to be released, Dreaming of You.  He informed me that he’d stopped calling because the imaginary ‘dream man’ character in my fictional novel was nothing like him.  I kid you not, folks…not even I could make this shit up.  The man was jealous of my imagination!

While I did appreciate his honesty…I was also carefully sliding the silverware sitting on the table we were occupying away from him.  In the end, I of course had to jump off the express train to Crackertown, but I still to this day have never understood jealousy.  If there’s anyone out there who can suss this one out for me, I’m all ears.

My Valentine’s Day Post


Good morning everyone! Today, my holiday post, titled My Slutty Valentine – A Singles Guide to Survival, is up at Jessewave’s. Just in time for the holiday weekend! I know…a giant sigh of relief was shared by all. : )

I’m off to work, but I’ll be checking in early this afternoon when I get off…from work!! Dirty minds!!

A great day to one and all!

Click here to be redirected to Jessewaves.

Ahh memories…



The things they never tell ya before becoming an author…for instance, that some people may not like what you have to offer, lol. Shocking, I know! : )  As I’m currently working on the sequel to Self Preservation I thought I may as well re-issue my Norma Rae-like rant – defending poor Davis in all his desperate, panicked glory.

Thank goodness I never followed through on my threat to insert the random ‘crying character’ into all my books though, huh? Well…at least not yet.



The Crying Gayme

I was a little shocked recently to discover some sort of issue had popped up from a few folks in regards to the gay character in my gay novel doing a little too much crying.  At first I thought this was a joke, and I became paranoid as I searched frantically for the hidden camera in my office.  When it became all too apparent that this was seriously an issue, it got me wondering…am I to be considered less of a man, ED_SelfPreservation_coverlgdespite the genitalia that suggests otherwise, should I choose to cry?  Does crying make me a pansy boy?  This wasn’t the worst of it, though.  Apparently, the crying man is almost as bad as…hold your breath folks…A WOMAN!! As if being a woman is the worst thing ever!!  On behalf of my sisters and gal pals, I’m officially offended for you.  Seriously…I totally just had a sympathy menstrual cramp.

This has to be the single most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard!  I’m sorry…but when were magically transported back to the 1950′s and why the hell didn’t I get the memo? *Paging Tab Hunter to my boudoir!!* What…as long as I’m here I may as well make the best of it! : )

I hate to break it to you people, from-the-land-of-no-crying, but some of us do leak when faced with desperation and strong emotions.  If you honestly feel like a man who cries is weak, or less masculine than one who doesn’t?  Let’s just say I’m thankful I don’t live in your world! 

It takes a hell of a lot more strength and courage to allow other people to see the real you…ugly crying jag and all, then it does to never let anyone see past the mask.

For me personally, I’m not an equal opportunity weeper.  I can’t let myself loose it if anyone else in the vicinity is already crying.  Before you begin to admire all the butchie strength-in-a-crisis qualities I have…I should probably confess to the near melt-down I suffered when they canceled Gilmore Girls.  My point – you don’t have to be one or the other. 

I know for a fact I would never berate a man-friend (gay or straight) who had multiple melt-downs once he discovered his first and only love was going to marry someone else.  What’s he supposed to do in this situation…scratch his balls and grunt a few times before spitting out his chewing tobacco?

The thing I loved most once I accepted the fact that I was gay – I was no longer bound by the heterosexual model of male behavior.  No more pretending to like sports!!!  Hooray!!!!  If I wanna slap on a wig and heels while doing a Cha Cha down the boulevard…I can!  If I wanna have an all day Doris Day movie marathon…I can! If I wanna crawl up into a sling and let another man do deliciously naughty things to me…I can! And if I wanna cry afterwards, out of either joy or shame, I sure as fuck will.  I may even scratch my balls and grunt a few times in the process! : )   

I may not be able to marry the person I choose to spend the rest of my life with…but I’ll be damned to hell and back before I let anyone make me feel bad for crying about that fact.  You can’t take that away from me – it’s mine and I’m going to keep it.  I’m half tempted to throw in completely unnecessary crying into every single book at this point just to irritate the cold-cruel-dead-inside-meanies out there.  I’ll create one no-name character who’ll be in every book.  I’ll have him periodically walk down the street bawling for no apparent reason.  That’ll learn ya!!  LOL

Maybe I do like to play football on the weekends, or maybe I just like to sit on the sidelines and watch, or drool as the case may be.  Neither way is WRONG or BAD!  And shame on anyone who says anything differently. 

I guess at the end of the day, my message is this:  This is my gay party and I’ll cry if I want to! 

Much Love