This is the second (and last for now) of my bloggetory about invitations to and attending dressy events.  I sparked a spirited conversation with yesterday’s post.

Goodness knows, I get more than ample invitations to such events.  Such is the nature of my civic work and spirited community activism.  But despite some people’s thoughts that these events are enjoyable, they aren’t to me.  That’s “to me” — not to others.  But the mere thought of having to dress up — and in the case of “black tie,” wearing a tux or formal wear (as my friend SJ’s comment from yesterday, where a Scot may wear formal highland regalia) — just doesn’t work for me.  At all. Period.

In the last several years, I have declined all such invitations.  And I don’t lie about it.  I just tell whoever is inviting me that I don’t like such events because I don’t like to dress up, and do not want to come. (I also have to admit that I hate shelling out money to rent formal wear, as I never would own any, though I love watching the rental proprietor’s face when I tell him that I will be wearing boots; no formal shoes for me!)

To me, it’s worse if there is dancing involved.  Some of these events have a band or DJ and and dance floor, inviting people to dance in whatever way works with the music being played.  Gawd I hate to dance.  I am such a friggin’ klutz that everyone — I mean everyone — who has tried to dance with me (or teach me to dance) has run for the hills (my partner included.)  Seriously, when everyone else goes “cha-cha-cha,” I go “bing-bang-boinnnng — fumble-crash-fall — oh, I’m sorry I stepped on your foot again.”

My huge family who seem to have weddings often (the “greats” are all getting married now) kinda know that when they extend an invitation to me for their wedding, that my partner and I will show up for the church service, see the family, smile, shake hands — then as soon as the service is over, we go home.  That’s my doing, though my ever-reluctant-to-socialize partner has no qualms about ditching the reception, either.  And I don’t attend weddings held out-of-town, where I can’t “escape.”  (One fairly recent exception, where I was Best Man for my twin brother at his formal wedding in Venice.  But even then, the minute I gave the toast at the reception, I left.  My brother and my new sister-in-law knew I was going to do that, and understood.  They didn’t like it, but they understood that I would be sooooo very uncomfortable, they let me go as soon as I could gracefully exit.)

Some people think that all gay guys like to dance and are good at it, as if the gay gene is also in control of the ability to dance.  Not true.  There are a number of gay guys who don’t like to dance, and there are a lot of straight guys who dance well.  The ability to dance and the interest in dancing has nothing to do with one’s sexual orientation.

Plus, I don’t know if all families are this way, but I see a lot of behaviors that I would rather not see after they become lubricated with alcohol which usually occurs at wedding receptions.  Tongues get loose, and people say the silliest, strangest things.  Not nasty, mind you.  Not about my being gay.  They’re all long past that and know not to say things like that.  But they boast and brag and just drive me crazy because I know “the real them” and know that a lot of what they’re saying isn’t quite the truth.

I seriously have wondered if my choice not to attend these events has held me back in some way.  Perhaps by choosing “not to play the part,” I possibly have excluded myself from being considered for a promotion or an appointment to some prestigious group, board, or panel.  I don’t know what I don’t get asked to do, but I do hear the a few others brag about the big gig they were invited to participate on because they attended such-and-such an event, or played golf with the big cheese.  (I’m not a golfer, either… oh my, what great lack of social ladder-climbing skills have I!)

But I digress… and perhaps am feeling that I am a bit unusual.  Heck, we all are unusual in our own way.  But my strong feeling of “ick” keeps me away from these things.  Black tie?  The only black tie you’ll see on me is a leather tie I wear sometimes with a leather shirt.  That’s it.  Just me.

Life is short:  learning to say “no” helps maintain sanity.

I went to see a surgeon the other day to arrange to have a hernia repair.  Yep, I have a small hernia which will require surgery to fix.  I got it from all the friggin’ work that I do around the house and on my rental properties.  I have to face it, I’m not getting any younger.  Oh well, it’s small, doesn’t hurt, and for the moment, it’s a good thing because it releases me from the ongoing, perpetual, long list of projects that never cease to end around our house.

While I was there, the doc remarked about my significant weight loss.  I was last weighed at the health plan office back in May.  On October 12, my weight had dropped by 30 pounds.  I knew I needed to lose weight, and the diet-and-exercise recommendation that we always hear is what did it.

When I took my “summer vacation,” (that is, when I was laid off my job this summer before being offered a new one), I vowed that I wasn’t going to pile on the pounds, snacking away whilst whiling away the hours on a computer.  I made a promise to myself to work at weight-loss with some of my “free” time.

That’s hard for me to do, because I’m not a gym rat.  I hate gyms.  Ever since grade school where the gym teacher and classmates teased me incessantly for being a klutzy runt, I hated working out.  But I knew, deep down, that’s what I needed to do.  My twin brother-the-jock gently reminded me and encouraged me on this matter.

I can’t stand to use weights or machines or whatnot related to workouts and weight loss.  Call me cheap, but I will NOT pay for a gym membership.  Fortunately, the benefits of being a life member of the alumni association of the university from which I graduated, I am able to use all of their recreation facilities for free.  So I go swimming once a week.  Unfortunately, that’s not enough, and I am not a runner, so running on the track was out.  Unfortunately, I can’t get there during the week (open swim time for alumni is only in the evenings… too late for me.)

So I began walking.  At first, I would walk around my neighborhood.  Then I began changing it up, and walking further down the road.  I walked to my Aunt’s home, three miles away.  I walked … and walked … and walked.  My partner bought me a pedometer so I could count my steps.  I “upped” my steps from an average of 5,000 per day to, now, an average of 20,000.  That’s ten miles, more or less.  I walk up and down stairs instead of using an elevator.  Each morning at home, I walk the full length up and down three flights of stairs in my home for about 20 to 30 times.  (No “stairclimber” for me!  I do it for real, and make good use of the steps by carrying stuff, like rearranging my boots from my upstairs closet to my basement storage room.)

Diet-wise, that’s always a challenge because of my severely restricted diet due to chronic conditions I must live with.  I can’t eat most vegetables, salads, beans, tofu, tuna fish, yogurt, or such.  Facing multiple “runs” to the bathroom when I eat such things, I decided to forgo eating lunch instead of eating “healthy” crap that would make me sick.  I now have a small breakfast composed of a plain (home-made) roll w/o butter or margarine, and orange juice.  I drink about six large glasses of water throughout the day — on hot days and when working strenuously, I double that.  Then I prepare a regular, but sensible dinner for my partner and me.  Dinner isn’t diet junk — it is real food, such as chicken, beef, or home-made, light pasta.  But I limited my portion sizes and left off the condiments, such as mayo (a weakness), since I can’t use mustard or ketchup, relish, or anything else.  Salt & pepper add to taste, and I even keep those in moderation.

Most folks, including me, need a caffeine shot in the morning.  Not being a coffee or tea drinker, I might have gone for a soda.  I was finding that diet sodas, even Coke Zero, gave me the trots–must be the artificial sweetener.  So I just went “cold turkey” and when I really “needed” caffeine, I drank caffeinated water that my partner found for me in the store.  I don’t like to use bottled water, but in this case, one-half of a bottle of caffeinated water in the morning would stave off the caffeine withdrawal headache.

All-in-all, this worked for me.  I dropped 30 “real” pounds.  I think I finally found a weight-loss plan that works for me, and I intend to keep it up, because it’s part of my regular routine now.  When I get a craving, I drink water.  It fills me up and I lose my hunger pangs. 

Life is short:  manage yourself in ways that work for you.

I sense this will attract my buddy “SJ” from the UK who is into bondage.  Sorry, bondophiles, the title to this post is misleading (deliberately).

I’m just busier than a beaver and don’t know where I’ll have the time to get everything done.  But, then again, that’s me.  Mr. “can’t-say-no.”

Last week, I replaced batteries in smoke alarms for over 50 senior pals.  I made ravioli from scratch for my partner and me, but also brought some to a friend who recently broke her foot.  I baked six loaves of bread — also for senior pals.  I made a couple videos and updated my website.  I wrote letters kvetching on behalf of some of my friends who were wronged.  And each day, I visited my lovely aunt at least once, often twice.  I took her to get a blood test one day, which is quite an undertaking considering how frail she is.  And at almost each visit at my aunt’s home, I would find a note that a caregiver left for me indicating yet something else that I had to get at the grocery store.

I did repairs at three properties that I own and rent as affordable housing to community heroes.  Fortunately, the repairs were minor and mostly preventive in nature, but nonetheless, they each required time, tools, skill, and (of course) work boots!

I attended a public hearing and several other meetings with community groups concerned about certain local matters.  I tried to make peace, or if not peace, at least let each side be heard.  I missed a meeting of officers for a group in which I participate, as my aunt’s needs had priority.

Then I packed up with my partner and went to visit his mother in “da ‘burgh” this past weekend and while I am writing this before I left, I am absolutely certain that I was quite busy and enjoying very noisy meals (giggle).

I am anxious to begin working at my new job … my start date is imminent yet not precise.  Meanwhile, the honey-do list grows twice as long for each item that I scratch off.

So, this is my form of bondage:  to my community, my family, my partner, my friends, my home, my investments, and my hobbies.  Not bad things… just BUSY!

Life is short:  keep out of trouble!

It’s the last day of Fire Prevention Week here in the good ol’ USA.  Throughout the week, I have been doing a number of things related to fire safety.

Last Saturday, I went on a major motorcycle ride in honor of fallen firefighters.

On Sunday, I brought my partner to the bedroom, blindfolded him, and turned off the lights.  Then I yelled “fire” and we practiced our home fire drill.  (Get your mind out of the gutter!)

On Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, I visited senior pals and changed batteries or entire smoke alarms as needed.  Smoke alarms last only ten years, so if the alarm was older, I put up a new one.  

Also on Wednesday, I had a chimney sweep come to our house and clean our chimney, and a service technician check over our furnace as winter heating season will soon be upon us.  

On Thursday, I dropped by my local fire station for a visit, and to thank the firefighters, EMTs, and paramedics who are there every day protecting us.

On Friday, I blindfolded my partner again… oops… not for fire prevention activities….

Life is short:  thank a firefighter!

Here I am, doing what I love to do… spending a rainy day in the kitchen with my partner making pasta, sauce, and bread.  I love to cook and prepare meals that freeze well for the busy week when I don’t have as much time to cook our dinner.  

I believe in making our own food when we can, or at least preparing a meal from ingredients we harvest from our garden or buy at the grocery store.  I prepare a hot meal every evening for my partner and myself.  

We never eat out.  It’s too expensive and wasteful.  Further, with my odd assortment of food allergies, there are so many things that I can’t eat, preparing my own food ensures that I don’t accidentally ingest something like mustard, which can throw me into anaphylaxis. 

Life is short:  prepare your own food! (and wear leather while you’re at it!)

Today, October 1, my home state of Maryland finally begins moving in the right direction by having a law take effect that prohibits talking on a hand-held cell phone while driving.  You’d think this is a no-brainer, and the law would have passed long ago.

The new law is weak and requires much work.  For example, unlike in California, a cop can’t stop someone just for yakking on a cell phone.  He/she has to see the driver commit another infraction and stop them for that before a citation for a meager $40 is given for the yakking infraction.  Further, the penalty is way too low. 

Texting while driving has been against the law in my home state for over a year, yet I haven’t seen it enforced nor make any difference.  I see people texting while driving all the time.  Scary!  Us motorcyclists have enough to worry about ignorant drivers who don’t see us anyway than to worry about their distractions causing them not to see us.

What is it that talking on a phone all the time is so critical?  I promise you, the world will NOT end if you let a call go to voice mail, or if you have to take a few minutes to pull over to a parking lot to place a call that is important to you at the time.

I am remembering my friend who died while out riding his motorcycle and was creamed by a cell-phone-yakking yuppie.  His children and all of his friends and family still miss him very much.  

Life is short:  hang up and drive!

Most people remember September 11 as a date in 2001. I remember it as a date in 1998, the day my Mom died. I’ve described it before, here and here. No need to repeat.

Part of my reason for taking a blog break is to remember a great woman who meant the world to me, who nurtured me, who loved me … regardless … and who let me make mistakes and learn from them. She taught me right from wrong, to be civil, caring, and loving. She led by example. She nourished my soul, and supported me as I grew up and became the man I am today.

At first she was bewildered about the fact that I am gay, but was determined to learn more about my sexual orientation and grew to understand… and continue her love. She never gave up on me, though I sure put her through some trials. She grew to love my partner, understanding that he would keep me safe, sane, and supported. That’s all she really wanted for me: to have a good life and to share it with someone I love and who loves me unconditionally.

I sure miss her… lots… today and every day I think, “what would Mom say?” and then use her gentle guidance to lead me in what I do, and to care for those I love. What a treasure it was to have her for the 41 years that I did, and to continue to have her spirit lead me toward my future.

Rest in peace, Mom. I always love you.

By the way, please remember that the date is September 11, 2001, not “nine-eleven.” That media shorthand term always bugs me. end-of-rant.

Gosh, it’s hard to believe that I graduated high school 35 years ago. In some sense, it seems like yesterday, and in another sense, it seems like forever ago.

I credit three classmates for holding us together, and planning reunions every five years. I credit my classmates for keeping in touch and attending. We had over 200 classmates come to a reunion gathering on Friday night. That’s pretty good attendance for a rather odd-year event (unlike 10, 20, 50…).

All the old “who talked to who” stuff is long since over. I had great conversations with the “jocks” as well as the “nerds” and everyone in between. “Who is who” on high school pecking orders is long since over.

At the ten-year reunion, the talk was about degrees earned, work endeavors (better than others), marriages, and children. At the 25-year reunion, most people had relaxed somewhat, but there were still those who made sure the rest of us knew of their status symbols: the huge mansion with the fleet of BMWs and Lexuses. By the 35th, none of that stuff is important any more. We all are who we are, and the talk with everyone from all groups, levels, etc., was about who we are today and what we’re doing, interested in, etc. Fun stuff, not status stuff.

Unfortunately, the gathering was in a yuppie bar that was loud. I got hoarse from making myself heard. And I stayed up waaaay too late — past 10pm. When I got home I was exhausted. My partner didn’t come with me as he hates social events, but he was happy that I was happy.

My high school friends know that I am in a committed, monogamous same-sex relationship. They don’t care about that. They remain concerned about me as a person, and were interested in the things I’m doing in the community.

What did I wear? My side-laced leather jeans, a short-sleeved (regular) shirt, and my Chippewa hi-shine boots with lug soles. Why those boots? Well, I rode my Harley to the event, of course!

Had a great time, but I really dragged ass all day Saturday. I just can’t handle staying up after my usual 8:30pm bedtime. Oh well, I made up for it by going to bed really early on Saturday night.

Life is short: enjoy the memories!

I believe in thinking positively — that this hot-as-blazes summer here in Maryland USA will eventually end. So today is the first day of Meteorological Autumn. Think Autumn — cool off! Happy Autumn! (Okay, we’re still eight weeks away from having fall colours like this, but it’s the thought that counts.)

And to my friends in the Southern Hemisphere: Happy Spring! Woo-hoo!

Life is short: celebrate seasonally!

Sorry, fellas, this isn’t an invitation for you to come to a vacation home that I own. I don’t own one. This was an invitation that I received from a good friend.

“Come chill. Do nothing. Sit and watch the water, read, relax.”

… sounds inviting.

However, when she extended the invitation to me, I was caught off-guard. I mean, who wouldn’t want to take a weekend and just go “veg” … “chill out” or whatever you want to call it.

Well, who wouldn’t is me. I admit. I thanked my friend for her offer, but declined.

Why? Well… first of all, I’m really too much of a “Type A” guy to sit and chill for any length of time. I always seem to be up and doing something from home repairs to caring for my aunt and elderly friends to preparing chef’s creations in our kitchen to … writing blog posts. I dunno, I’m the type of guy who can’t sit still for very long.

I’m afraid that if I were to go to my friend’s place, I’d be fretting about the stuff I could have been doing had I been at home. Isn’t that sad, in a way? Oh well, it’s just how I am.

Further, I wouldn’t go off somewhere without my partner, and my partner is so antisocial that he wouldn’t want to “chill” with other people around. So I have a conundrum of knowing that taking a day completely “off” and relaxing would be good for me, but not something I would enjoy.

So be it, I am very much of a “home-body” these days. I choose to relax by helping other people (that really is something I enjoy), riding my Harley, cooking in my chef’s kitchen, and sharing company with my partner. Even if we don’t go anywhere. He has my heart, and you know what they say, “home is where the heart is.”

Life is short: enjoy it your own way in your own space.