All My Kisses

Welcome

2006-08-18T14:06:00.000-07:00

Illustrations by Marcus, Grumblebee.com

This is All My Kisses. I undertook the huge task of writing about every job I've ever had (check that blog out HERE) and it was quite popular, so I decided to write about all the kisses I've recieved. And here you are. Click here to start at the beginning, with the first kiss.
As I've done with all my jobs, I will eventually work on this offline, add details, clean it up and see if I can't make a book out of it. For now though it's a pretty fast paced fun romp through one persons love life.
This blog is probably for adults. There's some sex and some drugs and some less than polite comments made about Pat Boone (not really, I wouldn't dare.)
Enjoy.
Keith

Comments from MetaFilter.com

2006-07-12T07:29:00.000-07:00

Here are some things posted by members of MetaFilter.com about All My Kisses.

I'm not into "love stories", but I did enjoy reading "All My Jobs".

Best of luck with the blogging!
posted by gomichild at 6:47 AM on July 3

Good project - I like the series-of-posts-linked-by-a-common-theme. Just the right length to read in between doing actual work. Keep it up.
posted by primer_dimer at 7:00 AM on July 4

There was a lot of kissing involved in All My Jobs (one of my favorite parts), is there really more to tell? After reading the site, the answer is yes, but I can't help but think that it would be better if you integrated the two narrative threads.
posted by blasdelf at 9:58 PM on July 11

Writing Letters and Going Home

2006-07-11T19:16:00.000-07:00

Corona sucked. My hometown was no longer my home. I felt lucky to have escaped it once and anxious to escape it again. I was working as a plumber, living on my brother Erick's couch and writing Bryna every day. In the beginning I was actually suggesting she join me in Corona. I dropped that idea as things got worse. The work, the rednecks and the fact that I had no connections for any kind of work outside of construction finally got to be enough.

I was heading to see Bryna in Yosemite and then on to Sacramento I decided. My mom drove me to the airport and I caught a plane to Sacramento. I grabbed a rental car in the airport and drove up the hill by myself. It was a gorgeous drive and traversing the windy montain road in the black of night felt perfectly dramatic. I stayed the night with Bryna at the lodge and the next day, her day off we took a day trip to Santa Cruz. It felt great to be driving with her at my side once again.

We sat on the beach and watched the sun creep toward the horizon. A naked couple went running past us into the water. We spotted their twin piles of clothes and shared a laugh. We had a room for the night and in the morning we made our way back to the lodge. We didn't make it official, there were no words or agreements, but I knew we were back. I kissed her goodbye and headed back to Sacramento feeling great.

I'd arranged a job for myself before I'd even headed back, and I had a couple more in no time. I went from a friends couch, to my own room in another friends apartment, and eventually I'd end up making a deal with an old employer to rent his five bedroom victorian for me, bryna and too many of our friends.

Paul and a friend of his from Germany had made it to California and we all met in Yosemite. We drank and swam and there was coupling every wich way, resulting in a couple of photos that certain parties would love to see destroyed (not a chance). Byrna and I were brough closer by having such a great time with our mutual friends and I told her about the victorian. She would have her own room next to mine, with an attached sun room that she could use as a studio. I could see her warming up to the idea.

Back at home, I'd begun hanging out with my old friend Ally. We'd both come a long way since she teased me about my tube socks. I was now proud of my tube socks and of my poverty in general. I loved the scene that I'd become part of, a vibrant, eventful scene created from scratch with little need for money. Just as long as we could scrape together enough for a few bottles and maybe some gas if we get bored with the usual surroundings.

Ally was excited by this group of people and she and I became inseperable. I was equally impressed by Ally. She was beautiful, smart, well spoken. She was looking for a passionate, fulfilling existence and open to finding one. We had a great time drinking wine, trading stories and going to shows.

I told her about Bryna immediately, and then, having been up front I didn't think twice about spending so much time with her. I crashed at her house one night after having too much wine. In the morning we drank coffee and a terribly odd eleven year old let himself into her house. "Hey sex-fiends, you done humpin?" he asked, by way of introduction.

"What the hell. Get the hell out of here." I stood.

"Come on man, hump her some more." I chased him away.

"What the fuck is wrong with that kid?"

"He's harmless, but definitely a strange one." Ally seemed unphased.

"Well see how harmless he is when he gets a bit bigger." the kid had really freaked me out. It put Ally and I's freindship in a weird lite. I realized that I had just crashed at her house. Sure, it didn't mean anything, and it had been fully platonic, but it felt an awful lot like the games Bryna and I played when I was dating Eve. Was Ally hoping for such an 'accidental' kiss.

I finished my coffee and headed out. As I climbed in my bus the little brat reappeared. "Did ya fuck her?"

A bar of soap sat on the floor just inside my bus. I grabbed it and chucked it hard at the kid, hitting him in the chest. "Wash you're ass kid." was the best I could do on such short notice.

A few nights later Ally and I sat in the dark still empty victorian house, on beautiful hardwood floors. Power hadn't been turned on yet, so we ate our take out food by candlelight. The only furniture in the place was my matress in the middle of the largest bedroom and we ended up on the matress making out. I stopped short of having sex with her. What the hell was I doing? I was betraying Bryna and myself, playing the 'Well, we didn't officialy put it in words yet. There was no agreement made, no signing on the dotted line.' I stopped myself and I told Ally I needed to go to sleep.

Bryna arrived a few days later. We set up house, confessed our sins and we began the long process of learning how a couple works. Over time we would learn rules that our parents could have used; no sarcasm, no play fighting, no yelling and no stupid temper tantrums. Punching a wall, or breaking something was no way to act. I worked hard at learning to control my anger or to not get so angry. We were doing much better than we had on our road trip, though it was of course a slow process and an ongoing effort.

We went to a show, still glowing the way lovers do when reunited. Ally was there and I introduced her to Bryna. I never saw her again. It didn't occur to me until years later how much she'd been hurt. I behaved with Ally exactly as I'd behaved with Bryna when were reluctantly falling in love, and while I thought that Ally might have liked me, might have had a crush on me, what Bryna and I had was so much more than a crush. We were younger. We played the game of being friends. Ally was older, wiser and knew better than to play that game. I'd lead her on, unintentionally and I hurt her.

I was looking forward to moving out of the phase of life that is an endless cycle of confusion and heart break. It made for some amazing memories and terrible poetry but I would now dedicate myself to the constructive potential that I saw with Bryna. We became a family together. Bryna, my best friend, my adventuring partner and my lover.

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This may be it. I don't know. I'm going to work now on rewriting and cleaning up the whole thing, and I'll see how it feels, this ending. I don't think endings are my strong point. There might be a a good story that illustrates where we got to and where we're heading as a couple. I bet there is, and with a little distance from this I'll find it.

Click Here to read All My Jobs, my other humongous blog.
I plan to work on a BUNCH of fiction that I've been putting on hold so please check out the fiction blog over the next few months, and let me again say how much I appreciate the donations and the links to my site. If you enjoyed these stories, and you want to donate a couple of bucks, the button is in the column on the right.

I will keep writing and if I keep writing I will become a better writer. That's how it works. Your support is helping me get there. Thanks.

The Night...

2006-07-11T15:17:00.000-07:00

The night we arrived in Sacramento is a blur. I do remember that too many people showed up to pick us up. My friend and former roommate Sean was waiting for us as was whoever actually took us to Bryna's mom's house.

Bryna's little sister, who may have been fourteen, if that, offered me some punch. The international drinking contest gold medal was not with me as this teenager drank her punch like it was punch and I myself landed on the bathroom floor.

There is great debate as to what happened next. I recall that I needed to use the batrhoom for it's intended purpose and being quite shy I kept locking the door. The sister(s), I can't remember how many there were, I'd guess forty but that seems unlikely, kept picking hte lock, claiming I was passing out rather than doing business and of course I wasn't doing any business as I was worried that the door was about to spring open again. The next memory is of lying on the cold tile sqeezed between the bathtub and the toilet. I did say the word bitch. I don't recall that I knew I was calling Bryna a bitch. I don't recall having any reason too. She was not exactly proud of the boyfriend she'd brought home, the one squeezed between the bathtub and the toilet, even before the word escaped my lips. "Oooooh busted." the teenager was heard to say.

The rest of the night is black, but I woke up without a girlfriend and headed down to Corona to live on my brother's couch and write many letters.

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Mutiny on The Hound

2006-07-10T17:01:00.000-07:00

I thought I was an experienced Greyhound Bus rider. I thought I knew the Greyhound experience. I'd taken trips from Sacramento to Berkely, San Francisco, Santa Cruz even as far as Riverside. When we signed up for the three day trip from Syracuse New York to Sacramento California I thought 'No Problem. It'll be fun.'

We climbed on board, grabbing seats toward the back. The deluxe seats were the very last row, which extended a little further since there was no need to make room for an aisle. We kept an eye open and at about one in the morning, at a stop in some small town the seat opened up and I jumped on it. I moved poor sleeping Bryna back there, failed to convince her that having sex on the bus would be exciting in a dangerous, 'Oh my god, I can't believe we did that' sort of way, and then I tried getting to sleep myself. Failure again, so... hours of watching the highway go by. The American highway realy is one of the more beautiful things I've experienced, and seeing it through a large tinted bus window at night is a great vantage point.

In the morning we stopped at Carl's Junior. For vegeterians Carl's Junior offers... salad, ice berg lettuce and dyed red tomatoe salad, maybe fries, if you're willing to adopt an 'Ignorance is bliss/fuck it, what else am I gonna eat?' attitude. No problem, I was sure we'd hit a little grocery store, or even a convenience store where I could score some mixed nuts, maybe some fresh fruit. Hell, even canned fruit tastes wonderful on the road. We downed our salads and poorly mixed Cokes or Pepsi's, it didn't matter what they had, it always tastes like shit from their taps, and we were rollin' again, ready to make friends with our fellow passsengers.

We fell quickly into a conversation with Badhar, a Pakistani Arab who was attending school in Canada and now was heading to Riverside to work with his uncle.

"So what does your uncle do?" I asked.

"He works for 7-11, what the fuck else do us people do?" I cracked up. "American's always think it's so funny that we know about that stereotype. You think we all work at 7-11 and somehow we never noticed?" To further prove his point he played me some amazing Pakistani hip hop. I couldn't understand a word but the music, with fast break beats soaked in samples of traditional arabic music sped up and warped was awesome. And then the beats come to a sudden jarring stop. "Welcome to 7-11, can I help you?" comes across the headphones. The beats crash back in. Badhar, seeing me laugh knew exactly where in the song I was.

We talked about the Kuwait war and the anit-Arab feelings that rose out of that. "Even people who assume I'm one of the 'good arabs' also assume that I praise America for that war." he tells us. He also shared with us that this tip from New York to Northern California, and on to Riverside is about as close to the American South as he ever plans to get. I want to tell him how beautiful the south is, but I remember the KKK family in the restaurant and I wonder how different that experience might have been for Badhar.

With good company the trip was not too bad, though my stomach was flip floppin' from the grease laden breakfast and a touch of motion sickness. I had to visit the tiny bathroom frequently. Getting access to the facillities involved knocking on the door to let Princess Zsa Zsa know that someone else request temporary use of her private room.

One can get away with smoking on the 'hound by blowing the smoke down the toilet. The large gaudily over dressed black woman who we named Princess Zsa ZSa decided to spend the entire trip blowing smoke down the toilet. A knock on the door would bring her scowl peeking out at you. "Yes?"

"Um, I need to get in there." Of course I needed to get in there. Why the fuck else am I knocking? Did you think I was delivering a pizza? She clutch the door with her fake fingernailed, heavily jeweled claws and she made it apear an enormous effort to maneuver her way out of the john. Bryna was getting a little pissed that I was smoking in there, but at least half of my visits were legitimate, and a couple more were just for the joy of upsetting Zsa Zsa with smoking just an added benefit.

We hit a Carl's Junior for lunch and I asked the driver if we could maybe hit a Taco Bell anytime soon. No chance; It seems the bus company has a contract with Carl's. Not only do they always stop at Carl's Junior, at least on this route, they won't stop at places with multiple restaurants, even if one of them is a Carl's Junior. There will be one exception. That night for dinner, we'll have a 30 minute stop at a 'family style' restaurant. So, when I spotted a small grocery store across the street from the next Greyhound station we visited, I asked for time to grab a few things.

Badhar and I jogged over to the store along with an older man who had been joking with us from across the aisle. Bryna stayed and watched our stuff. I grabbed a bit of food, and several bottles. Beer for now, tequila for later, a couple of ice cold cans of Coca-Cola and back on the bus.

Now things were lightening up. The older man's name is Earl and he was happy to share his bottle of fairly decent vodka with us. He even bought a big ass soda cup full of ice to help keep the booze cold. Vodka's antiseptic qualities makes it a great drink for sharing with new friends, however toothless they may be. Bryna was really starting to worry about the drinking, and the smoking. This trip hadn't been pleasant for some time and she wanted very badly to get home without anymore unplanned adventures. "Relax sweetie. We have someone to drive. Nothing can go wrong. We may as well enjoy the ride right?" I slurred at her as I had another shot of Vodka with a Coca Cola chaser.

At the 'family style' restaurant my choices were much the same as at Carl's. I ordered a baked potato, pretending that the butter was margarine, another salad and I decided to brave some apple pie. My stomach was killing me and the Cokes and alcohol weren't helping. I backed off a bit on the drinking as we headed toward midnight. I even caught a bit of sleep, but only a little as I was soon waking up to the sound and smell of Earl vomitting in his seat. I snapped into action, grabbing all the paper towels from the bathroom and getting them on the floor. I moved Earl into the little room. Thank god Zsa Zsa had taken a break when too many people interrupted her due to a bad 'family style' experience.

With Earl tucked away I went about fishing out the plastic bag that had held my groceries. I stuffed the puke soaked paper towels in there and tied it up as tight as I could. With Earl's window open the smell began to fade, and I was hoping this was the end of drink related problems. Earl came out a few minutes later and fell fast asleep.

It wasn't clear if the driver had even noticed until we reached a bus station sometime just after midnight. The Richard Nixon looking man behind the wheel stood in the aisle, facing us passengers as the lights came on. "All right. Someone puked on my bus. Now I aint lettin' anyone off the bus until I find out who it was."

Amazingly, nobody said a word. I assumed the majority of the riders knew it was Earl, but nobody would give him up. The driver stood his ground, and so did we; not to say everyone was happy with Earl. He was being poked and prodded to give himself up.

Richard Nixon addressed us again. "Look, whoever it was, you need to let everybody else get on with their trip." I looked at Bryna and she looked away. She knew the drinking was a bad idea and now she wanted nothing to do with the resulting mess. Earl looked ready to cry.

"So, what happens to the person who puked?" I asked. Bryna flashed me a sharp look.

"They're not getting back on my bus." the former President of the United States answered.

"But their ticket will be good for later?"

"They'll keep their ticket. They can catch the next bus in the morning."

Earl got the message. He stood up. I felt bad for the old guy, still stumbling drunk. I stood with him, helping him navigate the aisle. "Don't worry Earl, you can get back on the bus in the morning." The rest of the passengers were now piling off the bus and heading to the bar across the street. Bryna had skipped the drinking on the bus but she was feeling like a cold beer might taste just right about now. It was becoming a longer and longer trip for her.

Earl of course joined us, he even bought the first round. We finsihed our beers and the whole crowd started heading back to the bus. We were in the back of the line and as we attemted to board the driver blocked us, well specifically, he blocked me.

"You're not getting on." Tricky Dick said as he put his hand in front of my chest.

"What? Why not?"

"You've been drinking."

"We all went across the street for a drink. We're allowed to. You're the one driving, remember?"

"You were drinking on my bus."

"Says who?"

"You were with the guy who got sick. I don't want him on my bus and I don't want his friends on my bus."

"Dude, I was doing YOU a favor. You wanted him off your bus and I helped that happen. Are you pissed that I was nice to him? Should I have kicked his ass down the aisle?"

"There was a lot of noise from the back of the bus where you were sitting. I don't want my passengers being bugged. Now you're not getting on my bus."

I looked at Bryna. "I'm going home. I'm sorry, but I have to get back up the hill for work." I was dumb struck. But could I blame her. She had asked me not to smoke on the bus, not to drink on the bus, not to chance this trip getting any worse. As the driver moved aside to let her on I stepped with her. Stopping on the top step I addressed my fellow passengers.

"Hey everybody, the drivers is trying to kick me off because I was friendly to the drunk guy. I helped clean up his mess. I helped get him off of the bus and now the thanks I get is that I have to spend my night in a cold bus depot instead of getting home to my family. Please, don't let him do this. Come off the bus with me, he can't leave with no passengers." To my utter amazement, and to the drivers as well, the passengers all started to stand up, to grab their bags, to prepare to exit the bus. It was a mutiny.

"Everyone sit down. I'll let him on, but first. Is there anyone here who saw this guy drinking?"
And wouldn't you know it; Princess freakin' Zsa Zsa raised her hand. "That's it..." The driver started to say.

I interupted, "Who on this bus thinks this woman is absolutely insane?" Every hand shot up.

"Alright, go ahead." Richard Nixon was pissed at losing control. He needed to reclaim his power, so he kicked the foreigner off the bus.

I jumped to my feet again. "Oh come on. Badhar didn't do anything. Let him on." A few others shouted as well, echoing my protest and Badhar was on. A tall bearded man who was quite drunk was the last to attempt to board that night. He was not permitted despite Badhar and I's protests. We failed to rally the troupes a third time. We bitched about our fellow passengers for letting this guy get booted, but I think we were pissed at ourselves. After all, we were warm and comfortable, well, comparably.

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Sudden Death

2006-07-09T16:02:00.000-07:00

My sweetheart came from a beautiful place. Vermont was quite a contrast from the quick tour of my old neighborhood that I had given her. The air was fresh and clean as was the water. There were trees everywhere, and lovely streams and covered bridges. People didn't hop up expecting a drive by if you drove by them too slowly. It was like she'd grown up at summer camp.

We were with great people the whole time we were there. When we first made a trip to see a bunch of Bryna's old school chums I got worried driving into a very rural looking area and seeing a bunch of bearded men in overalls and flannels. I'd been taught that such scenes meant certain death for fruity little city boys like me, but as we got nearer I heard the sounds of Diggable Planets coming out of their speakers and I noticed they were drinking good micro brewery beer. It seems in Vermonts the rednecks are all right. We had a great time drinking and swapping stories. The boys told me I could become an honorary Green Mountain Man by drinking a cup of pure maple sugar, harvesting the stuff was how they made their living. I chugged it down. Bryna tries to play it off like they were teasing me. She's just jealous. She liked being the only Vermonter around.

We were feeling pretty good before heading back into New York. We had no idea what hell awaited.

We arrived at Bryna's grandmother's farm house just days after she'd been hospitalized with a broken hip. We visited her in the hospital and agreed to stay at her house awhile as she got diagnosed and a determination was made of how much assistance she would need. We were staying in a house. We had some room for once. Surprising that after all them weeks cramped in that little bus it should be here that we'd take up fight as our all consuming new hobby.

I'd always admired Bryna's devouring of books but now it started to drive me crazy. How could I get any attention from her, much less have a chance at seducing her if she was always away in some author's world for hours on end? I was resenting her, and I imagine this wasn't expressed in the best way.

We were at each other's throats. I took lots of walks through the farm land. I sat on the road one night drinking a big bottle of wine and seriously considering sticking out my thumb and continuing on down the road by myself. There wasn't much traffic to speak of on the quiet farm road in the middle of the night, so the temptation wasn't too hard to resist.

The lack of sex and physical affection was what agitated me the most and of course being agitated, I didn't do a great job of putting Bryna in the mood for physical affection. I also noticed a big difference in how we fought. I'd blow up, yell, get vicious and an hour later feel relieved. It was good to get out of the system, now let's talk calmly. Bryna was slower to fly off the handle but she stayed angry. Of course I was sure that this was her problem. She'd just have to learn to forgive a bit quicker.

We somehow survived and headed south Bryna's Aunt's place near Syracuse after I'd gotten another oil change and tune up done. I was glad to be back on the road, hoping things would get back to normal soon. There was roadwork being done and the freeway was reduced to one lane which was sandwhiched between walls of concrete. Traffic was still moving pretty good though. We were probably cruising at a good fifty miles per hour when I heard the sound.

"Oh shit. Did you hear that?" I asked.

"Yeah. What the hell was that." Bryna'd heard it too. It didn't soudn good. There was no place to pull over. I saw then that black smoke was coming out of the bus. More bad noises and the engine died. Behind me was a huge semi and I was guessing he'd sooner run us over than stop here. We rolled on, slowing. We were probably down to about 5 miles per hour when at last the big wall to our right ended and we had shoulder again to pull over.

A tow truck picked us up and took us to a garage with a motel next door. The motel began eating our money. It cost a fortune to eat, to get water, to do anything. We were in the middle of nowhere with very limited options. Fixing the bus would mean a new engine, shipped over from California. It seems we'd blown our main seal, and then thrown a rod, punching two impressive holes in the engine. Poor Beatrice was not looking too good.

The very embarassing Road Trip Automotive Lesson 3: There is a such thing as too much oil.

I didn't grow up working on cars. I doubt my father's ever changed his own oil in his life. Hours of reading and watching Pete work on his bus were clocked before I even considered doing my own mechanical work. I sat behind my bus staring at my engine, identify the parts and the systems, consutling my idots guide. It did my self esteem wonders to be doing my own tune ups, and even bigger jobs. I changed my own CVJ boots. I synched my own carbs. I replaced my own broken windows after visiting the You Pull It yard.

Nobody told me that there was such a thing as too much oil. They assumed that this was a given, something every kid knows. It made no sense to me what so ever. There's no such thing as too much gas. You put as much as the tank holds. Why should oil be any different? So, the lesson was learned the hard way.

We got up early to see if the crappy local country radio station that we got on our rooms clock radio would read either of our birthdates. If they did, being the third caller would put us back on the road. They didn't. We abandoned the bus and Bryna's aunt came to rescue us.

Aunt Linda ruled. She was a midwife, with a great son named leaf. They made us feel welcome to stay as long as we wanted. But, we wanted to get home. Bryna had made some calls and she could go to work at the lodge as soon as we got back. I would go to stay at my brother's place in Corona and figure out what to do next. First though, we had to get back to Sacramento. And that unfortunately, meant cross country by Greyhound Bus.

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Coasting

2006-07-09T15:33:00.000-07:00

Things from Florida on went fairly well. We met a hitchhiker as we headed into Alabama. We're on the opposite side of the country from our home and as we pull over to pick this guy up his first word is, "Keith?" He knew me from the animation festival. So he leads us to a rainbow gathering. From there we visit Eve in Nashville. We get along better than on my last visit, though the first thing she says to me is that I can't be 'wild' in her nice home, and I almost bail right there. An oil change performed in the snow and then we're off to New York City.

New York, as a whole, seems very amused to see two Californians arriving in a VW Bus and we make friends and draw giggles as we try to find my Aunt and Uncle's place in Brooklyn. Uncle Andy finds my almost dreadlocked hair hilarious. He keeps Bryna's wine glass full at all times and is determined to see us married before we head back out.

Next is Boston. We run into Pete, in town with Spike and Mike and we visit Jon who has moved to Boston. Jon gives us back the matress from our bus and we give him the foam egg crates we'd been sleeping on. Monica had lent the bed to him at some point. He whines about not having any where comfy to sleep, but he does have a really nice camera, and no sypmpathy from me. I did have an impressive bowel movement in his bathroom, and I used his camera to record the evidence. I wouldn't be around when he found the footage. Monica and Jean live there too but we're unable to get in touch with them.

It's hard to park in Boston so after seeing Kristin Hersh perform at a record store and laughing at Pete's habit of making color photocopies on sticky paper of bus passes and money, which he then affixes to the sidewalk, we headed up to Portland Maine, where Bryna's childhood pal Rebecca is going to art school. Portland is an awesome little coastal town. We met lots of cool artists and had some great coffee, the thing I was most missing from home. Rebecca and I got along great in bratty, flirty sort of way.

Our next stop would be the highlight of the trip for Bryna; Burlington Vermont, her hometown.

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The Florida Gay Scene

2006-07-09T10:53:00.000-07:00

Florida was great. We stayed with Bill and Rob in Tallahassee, parking our bus on their lawn, with their bust next to it for Paul to sleep in. Two instant guest rooms. I visited Stephanie. It was the first time I took the bus out without Bryna, my trusty navigator. Sure enough I ended up lost with my keys locked inside the buss. Our friend Muffin bailed came and bailed me out. He was able to find me after I described the trees I was parked next to and then for his second magic trick he had a key ring full of VW keys. The third one we tried fit my bus.

"Wow, Muffin, thanks. Can I buy you dinner or something?"

"If I decide you owe me anything, I got keys to your bus."

Bryna and Rob hit it off especially well. He owned a landscaping business and he took her to work with him a couple of days. "I usually have guys help me," he explained "and I tell them pick up any stick that's bigger than their stick. I guess I'll have to tell you to pick up any stick bigger than Keith's."

Seeing a set up the loyal and quick on her feet Bryna refused to pick up any sticks at all. Rob had a good laugh and then chose a stick for her to use as a guide.

Paul was amazed to be there. "Oh my god. My friends in Germany will never believe that I ended up in the middle of the Florida gay scene!" he said as we sat on the front porch smoking cigarettes and drinking cold cans of Coca Cola.

Florida's a big state. I was pretty we hadn't found THE Florida gay scene, but I couldn't take that away from him.

Rob and his one employee, Doug, took the three of us camping at a national forest and we took and amazing canoe trip. Paul and I's canoe was floating past a thirteen foot Aligator when another canoe, this one full of kids, pulled up beside us.

"Argh, we're pirates." they shouted.

"Well alright." I replied. It wasn't the reply that was gonna keep them from knocking our canoe around with their paddles until we were dumped in the water. I'm not sure such a reply existed, but there was little time to ponder as we were in water with a giant aligator sitting a few yards away. Paul went nuts and started throwing our shoes in the water while yelling what must've been German obscenities.

"Paul, what the fuck are you doing!" I yelled, shaking him. He finally calmed down. We grabbed the shoes, and somehow got back in the boat. At the end of the line a van was waiting to take us all back to where we started. Paul chased the kids literally up a tree. I explained to their father why the crazy German was so upset and he assured us the kids would be punished.

"Shit to punish, I want to feed the little monsters to the aligator." Paul was yelling as we pulled him away. The father decided he and his boys would wait and take the next van. Wise idea.

The camping was wonderful and Bryna and I were once again getting along great. We snuck in a bit of lovin' where we could, when we had the bus to ourselves, but we were self concious about having friends always in such close proximity. After dropping Paul off at a bus station where he would start making his way to Jamaica.

For a few hours we enjoyed having the bus to ourselves again. We had breakfast at a roadside diner with a large family seated at the table next to us. They seemed so nice and wholesome and the smiled and said hello as we took a seat. I noticed their matching t-shirts and figured they'd had a family reunion or church function that morning. I squinted and could just make out the writing; "The fraternal order of the White Nights of The Klu Klux Klan." I instantly felt flush with butterflies in my stomach, the way I fell before a fight. I just wasn't used to racism being flaunted so openly. The racists I'd known, and there'd been plenty, kept it hidden away. I had now idea what the right thing to do would be in such a situation. Of course it was to do nothing. What could you do?

We finished our breakfast and headed toward Nashville.

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Gators and crack heads

2006-07-08T19:28:00.000-07:00

Louisiana is crossed via an amazing set of elevated highways. From our vantage point the entire state was swamp and we were on a never ending bridge zooming over it on our way to New Orleans. A sign reading "Gas and Oil Park" mandated a stop. We had to know. There was no gas or oil that we could see, but there was a pool full of alligators.

Inside the visitors center we learned many fascinating and frightening facts about the large green monsters. Bryna listened intently as these dangerous reptiles both horrify and fascinate her. The high point of the Gas and Oil Park visit was meeting Pierre, a baby alligator who we were permited to hold. He was hard to hang onto as he was solid muscle. I asked if it was true that flipping an alligator on it's back and rubbing it's belly will hypnotize them. "No, that's just a myth." our guide answered.

I decided to give it a go anyway. I flipped him, pet his belly and within seconds he was hypnotized or at least sleeping. When I turned him right side up again he snapped back to life and he started chirping. I'd now hypnotized an aligator. I could cross that off my list.

So Bryna and I were in a good mood as we pulled into New Orleans. We decided to stay at a youth hostel despite the fact that we'd have to sleep in seperate rooms. It would be nice to have access to a kitchen and hostels are nice places to meet interesting people. Sure enough, I had just dropped my bag in the room where I'd be bunking when I ran into a German who started speaking to me in his native tongue. I responded with the one of very few German phrases I know. "Da"

This excited the curly haired Deutshlander and he started speaking a mile a minute. I nodded my head in time and when he finished I responded again; "Nein."

He looked at me, confused."Sprechen Sie Deutsches?"

I don't know what came over me. Before I had a chance for rational thought it came out. The third and final German phrase I knew, and the only one I'd not yet used. "Heil Hitler?" This did it. My new friend was yellling and jumping up and down.

"No. You are stupid American. This is not Germany, this stupid Hitler thing. This is terrible thing that is no more. You are so stupid. You are a bunch of shit."

"Woah, relax. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, it was a bad joke. I shouldn't have said it. I'm sorry. I don't speak German."

Miraculously I got him calmed down and we became friends. His name was Paul, pronounced with two syllables, almost like powell. After introducing Paul to Bryna we came across a group of international hostellers debating which nationality could drink the most. I nominated myself to represent America and the drinking Olympics began.

We hit several bars, including a hillarious basement heavy metal bar set up like a dungeon. At another bar I spotted a Sacramento t-shirt and said hello. "Hey, are you from Sac?"

"Yes I am. And I left. I didn't leave so I could talk to people from Sacramento. I left so that I wouldn't have to talk to people from Sacramento anymore."

"Wow. You're an asshole." I was winning the drinking olympics; It was the best come back I could come up with. By one a.m. Paul, Bryna and I were the last three people drinking, and they had switched to diet Coke. I'd won the gold.

On our way home we were approached by a midget. "Hey, you want some crack? I can get you some crack."

For the second time that day my mouth failed to check with my brain before spouting off. "You can't get crack. You can't get shit."

Bryna yanked on my arm pulling me away from the tiny crack salesman. "Wait. I can get you a one oh. I'll get it for you."

With Bryna leading the way I stumbled along. She was not interested in taking us the most direct route focusing instead on not being followed. Despite the mazelike trail we took, we were found. "Oh man, I've been looking for you. I got you a one oh man, just like a said. I got you a rock man. Gimme ten dollars."

Bryna stared in disbelief. She had nothing to worry about of course. I was on it. "I didn't say I wanted crack, I just said I didn't think you could get it. Good job. You proved me wrong. Bye bye." I slurred.

And then the tears came. The tiny man stood before us, crying and then fully sobbing. "Oh man, I can't go back without the ten bucks. They gonna kill me. They gonna kill me if I don't bring back the ten dollars." he blubbered. I looked to Bryna, and she just looked away. Then she realized what needed to be done.

"Keith, give him ten dollars." I reached in my pocket and gave him a ten, just as Bryna instructed. And he handed me the crack, much to Bryna's dismay. "GET RID OF THAT." she demanded.

"No way. I paid for it." and with this I resumed the stumble back to the hostel. I climbed in my bus when we got there.

"What are you doing?" Bryna asked.

"I'm looking for a can."

"why?"

"So I can smoke my crack." I found a can and I started to bend the surface of it.

"If you smoke that, I am leaving. I'm catching a Greyhound bus in the morning, and I'm out of here." I could see she meant it. I looked at the crack. It didn't seem like a fair decision to have to make. It would be wasteful to toss it. I mean, I HAD just paid ten dollars for it.

I was as drunk as I'd ever been, but even through the haze of alcohol I slowly realized that I preferred Bryna to the little white speck that was probably just a soap chip. I tossed it out the window of the bus and made my way to my room.

In the morning I got up before everyone else, somehow not in the least bit hung over. I chopped and diced and sliced and fried and served up breakfast to the disgraced losers with a sunny, "Top o' the morning to ya!" They responded with "Fuckin' American beer. You're just able to hold more water." and "I was still a bit hung over from the night before is all. I'll out drink you tonight for sure."

Bryna made it down eventually. I had her coffee all ready for her. We'd be heading off to Florida and Paul had invited himself to go with us. Having him along was a great distraction. We would forget to fight for the next week, and the crack incident wouldn't be mentioned until enough time had passed for it to become just another funny story.

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Everything's bigger in Texas, except the pony tails

2006-07-08T16:45:00.000-07:00

As long as we were in San Antonio, I figured, why not look up my old friend Jim. I don't know why I figured this would be a good idea. Jim, who had once recommended I enter the pimping profession, had always been a bit of a bully. Had I not been so desperate for friends after moving to Northern California I can't imagine I would have put up with his asshole behavior.

There was more to him than the bullying of course. He was a smart guy, and fascinatingly amoral, in an honest and straightfoward kind of way. I guess I figured I'd come far too far to be any bully's victim and I wanted to see how he'd turned out.

So we called Jim and we stayed a night at his house. Jim didn't bully me in anyway, but he was everybit as obnoxious as I'd remembered him. His short round Texas bride just adored him. He'd be dumping her soon he told us. She was just a temporary wife to keep him until he made something of himself. He was in school now, working on making something of himself. The funniest thing about seeing Jim was the way he embraced the ressurgance of cowboy culture. He would get so offended when kids in California asked him if everyone in Texas wore cowboy boots and hats. Now they did, once again, Jim included.

We couldn't wait to get away from him. Back in the bus, driving through buckets of rain on roads that seemed designed to hold water Bryna and I were doing all right. We laughed at what an odd trip we'd had through the longhorn state and we stopped to get something to eat.

I should have been mature enough to ignore the little prick. Why should I care if some highschool kid wanted to show off for his friends by laughing at my wild long hair and my girlfriends very short hair, which by now was mostly blonde again? But I did care. And the longer it went on the more I felt I needed to address. We payed our bill and on the way out of the restraunt I stopped by Mr. Hang Ten t-shirt, knee length shorts, leather sandals' table. I took a hold of his tiny little pony tail and gave I light tug. "I like this. This is cute. A cute little pony tail for a cute little boy." Nervous giggles were offered and I responded with a friendly smile before making my exit.

I can imagine what happened next. Needing to save face the rude little Texan told his friends what he'd do if he saw us again. Of course he had no way of knowing that were crossing back through the restaurant parking lot after having picked up a six pack of beer and some lottery tickets from the store next store. He would now have to live up to his brags. He poked his head out the restaurant door.

"You shouldn't have done that." he squeeked.

"Well, you should be more respectful when in the company of strangers. We just wanted to eat our dinner and piece and because you still dress like it's ninteen eighty three you had to make fun of us and act like an ass."

"Uh. Well, you shouldn't have done that."

"Yeah. You said that."

"Well, what the hell. Why'd you do that?"

"Because you were being rude, as I've already explained."

"Well that was lame. You shouldn't have done that."

"You keep saying that. Maybe you're right. Maybe I shouldn't have. I can't take it back though. It's done. What do you say we both learn a lesson and call it a night."

Maybe he saw this as me backing down. He puffed up a bit and stepped further out the door. "Yeah. You shouldn't go messing with someone you don't even know."

Bryna had grown bored and she could tell I was playing it nice mostly out of concern for her. She took over. "Hey, it's done. Now what? Do you want to step out her and get your ass kicked or do you want to go back inside with your little friends? Either way, do it quick, we've got a long drive ahead of us." I loved that girl of mine.

"You shouldn't have done that." Tex pushed out as he backed up quickly into the restaurant.

We walked to our bus parked around back. The cook came out through the back door. "Hey, what was going on with those little brat kids." he asked in a heavy Mexican accent.

We filled him in and he told us they act like jerks all the time. "Spoiled brats." he said several times. Bryna amazed me by telling him to put a drop of visine in their food.

"They'll spend the rest of the night in the bathroom." she said matter of factly. "Don't over do it though. You don't want them going to the doctor." He thanked us with a big grin and we were on our way to New Orleans.

Tex had his revenge though he'll never know it. We rented a room that night. When you travel with a female you rent a room once in a while to shower, and you even wash your clothes at least once a month. I didn't sleep a wink worrying that we'd been followed and that our bus and belongings would be fucked with.

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Trial by fire

2006-07-08T15:41:00.000-07:00

Trying to live together, in a little tiny box for two months may not be the best way to get a new relationship off to a good start.

The first town we visited, San Diego, went pretty well. We stay ed with some friends who had rented one whole floor of a downtown office building; from the circle of couches that served as a living room over to the sink and stove that designated a kitchen and then off to the bathroom, the one room with actual walls. We dranks and listened to music and Bryna helped paint the floor, tracing out each of our bodies until we formed a circle of human figures for her to fill in. She painted until blisters formed where the brush rubbed her fingers.

Our friends helped me find a 'pass or don't pay' Smog Inspection so I could get my bus registered and then we were off, heading to the Carlsbad Caverns. By the time we reached the caverns we were fighting. I don't even recall what we were fighting about. We were not in a good place with each other as we checked out the stalagtites and stalagmites. I think we were doing a bit better by taht night when the bats flooded out of the cave to find bugs.

Driving out of Carlsbad, pitchblack desert and our gas gauge on E was a bit intense. We made plans for how we'd deal with running out of gas. It was looking pretty scary. We'd neithter want to split up, nor would we want to leave our stuff unattended. I reasoned we'd roll a long way when the engine quit as we were on flat land. Then it started raining.

The car finally quit, just miles short of a gas station according to the sign on the side of the road. As I predicted, we rolled a long ways. I fired the bus up and was able to get up to about thirty mph before dying and rolling some more, and there it was, the gas station. It was even open. I pushed, Bryna steered and we were closer for having weathered the storm together.

A few night later, in Texas, we stopped at a rest stop to use the bathrooms and makes some dinner. I was teaching Bryna how to drive stick and I let her pull us out. Unfortunately she popped the clutch. We slammed into the car in front of us which was attached to a motor home. Nobody saw it happen so I jumped out and had the unlicensed Bryna scoot into the passenger seat before knocking on the door of the motor home. An sleepy eyed old man answered.

"Did someone hit our rig?" he grumbled.

"Yes sir. We hit the bumper of your car. I'm sorry, I just popped the clutch. Are you okay?"

"Well, my wife's neck hurts."

Oh shit! Here we go. "Does she need to have it looked at?"

"I don't know. Let me talk to her."

He shut the door and I waited back at my bus, trying to reassure Bryna that it would be okay. The old guy came out and we looked at his car. He muttered something about a new bumper.

"Look, I have to level with you. My insurance is lapped." I was being honest. "I'm trying to get to Florida where I've got a job waiting." Not entirely honest. "But I'm a good person and I want to take care off this. Here's my license. You can write down all the information, and get my license plate number as well. We'll meet you wherever you're going and we'll pay whatever it cost to get this fixed."

"Well..." He was obviously disturbed to hear that the guy with the half dreadlocked, bleach blonde hair in the VW Bus with the girl with short purpleish hair did not have insurance. "My wife says her neck hurts."

"You let me know what this costs you, and I'll take care of it."

He didn't sound convinced as he gave us directions to where we could find him in San Antonio. We took the directions and found somewhere to pull over and sleep.

We woke up at a small pull off and I made breakfast. I loved waking up in the bus and meeting all of the motorhome men as we all went to fetch water. It seems that men made breakfast. It was the rule. Then we all took turns admiring each other's vehicle's as our wive took their time waking up. The grey hairs always got a kick out of my bus.

"Ha. That things got to be older than you. I drove one of these in the sixties."

On this particular morning, I said goodbye to my senior friends and since we had a day to kill before meeting up with folks we'd colided with the night before I decided to get a tune up done.

Road Trip Automotive Lesson Two: Do not do tune ups miles from any auto parts store. When you're valve adusting screw breaks you'll spend all days getting you're valves set.

Lesson one was that coffee that comes in tea bags tastes like crap. Lesson three would turn out to be much more expensive, but we'll get to that.

We made our way into San Antonio early the next morning. Texas is sure proud to be Texas. No other state reminds you so often where you are. Every bumper sticker, every street sign, every bathroom stall let you know you were in Texas, and dam lucky to be there.

We found the Motor Home gathering. This was an amazing peek at a beautiful American subculture. There were old folks whizzin' about on scooters, drinkin' wine on porches that extended from their giant rigs, and waving at us. Everybody we passed waved and said hello. This was a Rainbow Gathering for the geriatric set. The event was so large they had to organize it into neighborhoods. Some of the motorhomes even had mailboxes out front. We found Cow Poke corner with the help of a nice man in plaid pants driving a golf cart with flames painted on the side, and then we found our friends.

They were thrilled to see us. "Come in, come in. Oh great, you found us, come in. Have some wine." The inside of their RV was amazing.

"Wow. This is bigger than my apartment." Bryna shared as they poured her a glass of merlot.

We exchanged travel stories, and old jokes for an hour. Our wine glasses were never allowed to get more than half empty. Finally my anxiety got the best of me. I had to know if our trip would be cut short.

"Well, I guess we'd better have a look at that bumper then."

"Oh, the bumper. It's no big deal. Let's go have a look. You ladies relax. We'll check it out." He led the way.

The plastic bumper had a small dent and some scratches. I ran my hand over it. "I'm pretty sure this will come right out. I don't think we could have damaged the frame or anything else." I suggested, hopefully.

"Oh sure. It's fine. They got these hot irons, they'll take her right on out. Don't you worry about a thing."

"Okay. We'll what do figure that'll cost?"

"No. Don't you worry about it. I don't want your money. You need it for your trip. Come on back inside. This is fine. I'm just so glad you showed up. You've restored my faith in the young people of this country."

And so we had a few more glasses of wine. I took some coffee and after my buzz faded I climbed back in my bus. Our new friends stood waving and beaming. They loved us, and we loved them, and we loved each other, for now.

We were back on the road.

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And we're off...

2006-07-08T09:58:00.000-07:00

Working in Riverside, I waited for Bryna to join me, talking incessantly about her to anyone trapped in the car with me as we dropped flyers at every video store, record store, 7-11, and campus in the area.

Mike, co-owner of Spike and Mike had seen me bounce around from girl to girl. I wanted him to know how sincere I was about Bryna. I was having a hard time convincing him, but I figured when he met her and saw us together he'd understand.

I wasn't the only person asking Bryna to be the love of my life and when things with a coworker in Yosemite got uncomfortable she came down to Riverside early. Pete and I were already crowded in the studio apartment the festival had rented us. With Bryna added to the mix it would have been unbearable had we not all gotten used to cohabitating in Pete's VW Bus.

One of my coworkers asked why we were together when we fought all the time.

"What are you talking about? We haven't had a single fight since she's been here?" I asked, getting defensive.

"You were just fighting last night about politics."

"Oh that. That's not fighting. That's just what we do. There's no hard feelings. We enjoye debating."

"Okay. Call it what you want."

Pete decided he was sick of baths and so took a shower despite our apartments lack of a shower curtain. He had a simple solution. When he was done, he spread out his newspaper all over the floor, figuring he'd just scoop it up and toss it when he got home. That night, as we chiseled newspaper off the floor with a spatula and tried in vain to scrub the newsprint stains off of the bathroom tiles, Bryna may have started to feel the need for space. And so Bryna was happy to answer the call when my brother Erick's wife broke her leg and needed help managing her three littlee monsters, my nephews.

I visited my brothers on Bryna's second day there. Sitting on the porch, drinking malt liquor, Erick leaned toward me. "Dude, did you see her with those kids? This girl is mommy material. If you let her get away, or turn her into a lesbian I'm going to kick your ass."

While I had no desire to see Bryna being a mommy anytime soon I appreciated my brother's sentiment.

Mike was equally impressed when he hired her to work the t-shirt booth at the weekend shows. "I'm telling you Mike, she's the one." I told him after he'd spent most of the night playfully flirting with her.

The show came to a close, and we said goodbye to Mike and Pete and the rest of the crew. We loaded the bus up with more stuff than you'd think would fit and Bryna then added a few well placed pillows and blanket and made it look like a home.

Armed with a pile of cassette tapes, an atm card with access to not nearly enough money and a few credit cards, we headed to our first destination; San Diego. Just me and my sweetheart rolling down the highway.

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GG

2006-07-08T08:27:00.000-07:00

Mom drove me up the hill, had tea and went home, a good five or six hours round trip. The next day she'd do it all again to come back for me. Bryna was apparently what she considered good daughter in law material, or more likely, Mom would do anything to make her sons happy.

Bryna and I had a great time, walking in the woods, sitting on a large rock and watching the sun rise over Yosemite valley, and basking in the lack of complications, at last, in our enjoyment of each other.

We agreed that she would come down to Riverside, where I'd be working with Spike and Mike again and we'd leave on our road trip from there, figuring our relationship out as we went.

I got back to Sac and Pete wanted me to meet the woman he was falling for. She was neurotic and overly dramatic, bossy and perfect for Pete at that moment. Her roommate, GG, was a cute redhead who I'd known for years but never really hung out with. I was about to enter into a relationship contract, one that I hoped would last me the rest of my life. This was my bachelor party, my chance for a final goodbye fling. The same instinct that led me to have one last blowjob in a closet pushed me now, but this time I would be more mature and honest with all parties involved.

"GG, you're very pretty." I told her as it dawned on me just how pretty she was. "Can I kiss you?"

"Yes." she, leaned forward and we kissed.

"I have to get home tonight. Can I come back tomorrow night and spend the night with you?"

"That would be nice."

When I told Pete I was going back the next night he shook his head in disbelief. I felt like I was making a mockery of his attempts to find a relationship by having a fling under the same roof. He may have felt the same way.

I showed up the next night and GG and I drank a bottle of red wine while listening to some mellow electronic music. She lite a red lantern over her bed. I liked her style. We kissed and pet and it all would have been delightful, with the wine, the music, the red glow over everything, if only I didn't have a piercing headache. I went ahead with the sex, I didn't figure I'd get another chance, but I'm sure that with blinding pain as a distraction I wasn't the most connected lover. I fell asleep quickly, exhausted and eager to be unconcious.

In the morning we had coffee and scones. I felt bad, GG really had set everything up to be a delight of the senses, right down to breakfast. After a goodbye kiss I was on my way.

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Home

2006-07-07T10:47:00.000-07:00

I came home, all the way home, to my parent's house, only it wasn't my parent's house anymore. It was my mom's house. Dad had moved in with his girlfriend and the home that I had left, the home that had existed in various houses through the years was no more.

I was sad to see my mom suffering but I couldn't mourn the relationship. I had in my adult life grown aware that my parent relationship was not a role model for what I was seeking. My stay in Florida had provided me with something to aspire too. I loved Bill and Rob's relationship. They talked, the were considerate, they spent a-lot of time together but they each retained their seperate identities as well. Rob was the philosopher, nature boy and Bill the artist, tech geek, club kid. I watched them eat a loaf of french bread together. Rob liked to eat the inside. Bill loved the crust. They were perfect together.

Their far from traditional, non-monogomous, gay marriage had lasted 13 years. I wanted some of what they had and I knew, with all my heart who I wanted it with.

I called my best friend Bryna. She was working at the lodge in Yosemite but managed to find a ride down the mountain. I picked her up and brought her to my mom's house. She looked adorable. A failed attempt at having red hair had left her with a short eggplant purple pixie cut, which suited her full jaw and big eyes perfectly. We went to the park with a couple of my old school friends, and then we grabbed some groceries and made dinner for my mom and my little brother.

That night we sat in the garage having a smoke.

"Hey Bryna. I love you. I'd like you to be my girlfriend." I said it point blank.

She stared at me, and a hint of a smile appeared. "It's about time." She said. Then her thoughts caught up with her, and she tried to be cautious. "How do I know I can trust you?"

I knew that it would happen, that we would happen. That smile had made it clear. I was patient. We could have the conversations, we could put the pieces where they needed to be, but I knew that it was inevitable. "You have no reason not to trust me. I may have been slow, but I've always been consistent. What I say, I mean, to a fault."

She wanted to be careful. This was fair. I'd been hurting her for years. But we'd been unable to stay apart, even when we tried, since the day we met.

That night I set her up to sleep in my little brother's room, to keep my mom happy. I joined her in my brother's bed just as soon as mom went to sleep and we spent a few hours making out and enticing moans from each other.

In the morning we had breakfast and then my dad picked me up and took me to finally get my lisence. About time as I'd been driving for years. This was all part of getting ready for the road trip, the grand plan. Bryna and I were the only two left, but we were still planning on sticking to the plan. Come March we'd climb in the bus and head off across country. I couldn't wait to share with Bryna all the places and people I'd met and to discover new territory.

For now, it was time for her to head back up the mountain. As soon as Bryna was gone my mom asked me what was going on.

"So, what's between you and Bryna?" She always knew when something was up, usually before I did.

"I don't know mom."

"You like her don't you?"

"Yes. I like her a lot."

"Why don't I take you to visit her in Yosemite?"

"Come on mom, it's a three hour drive."

"That' alright. It's pretty. I'd be glad to drive you."

"No, that's too much."

"We'll go tommorrow." And that was that. Mom was determined. She was crazy about Bryna and she could see that I was too.

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The Perfect Relationship; Six Weeks

2006-07-06T14:22:00.000-07:00

Passing out flyers was a great way to meet new friends. You had an ice breaker, and part of the job was being out amongst people your own age, the Animation Fest's demographic. Stephanie took a flyer from me on campus (FSU Tallahassee). She was a cute, petite girl with an amazing smile. Her lips didn't seem to want to cover her teeth, as if it took effort not to smile. We talked about music, from Smashing Pumpkins to James to Psychic TV. I wanted to see her again, and I'd been wanting to go ice skating on the outdoor rink by the crappy Howard Johnson's where I was staying. So, I asked her if she'd meet me there the next day and she agreed to do so.

It was a novelty ice skating outdoors on what felt like a warm spring day. It was in fact December. We held hands while we skated. We took breaks to drink coffee and trade life stories. Stephanie grew up in Florida, not far from Orlando. She had an older brother who she looked up to with reverence and awe. She was pretty fond of her family in general. She'd been raised in a good home, did well in school and was now in college. She was open to life and exciting, but she hadn't found a whole lot of adventure. I guess that was a big part of my appeal. Here I was, a high school drop out with a job that had me vagabonding about the country.

She snuck me into her dorm for some great make out sessions. She was a virgin and owing to bad past experience, I didn't want to be the one that took her virginity. I wasn't going to be around long enough afterwards. So, we did lots of kissing and cuddling, which was delightful.

I found my friends Bill and Rob, a couple who lived in town. Rob and I had hit it off when I met these two in Sacramento, where therr VW Bus trip led them. On my visit with them I had more of a chance to get to know Bill. I hated my roommate at teh motel so I crashed at my friend's house. We had a blast, Bill and I, shopping and checking out the Tallahassee gay scene. It was a scene Rob wanted nothing to do with. "I can't believe my boyfriend is such a fag." he'd complain.

Bill and I hit it off almost too well. Rob had expressed some jealousy, despite their open relationship, and Bill asked me what there was between us. "I don't know." I answered honestly. "I consider myself straight, but it's kind of by choice. I mean, I could probably be bi if I wanted to, but it would take getting over a bunch of hang ups and what not, and I'm pretty content just dating women. It keeps me plenty busy."

"I never heard anyone say it like that, but I totally get it. I would say I'm gay by choice. I've been with women, and I enjoyed it, but it's just easier for me to deal with guys."

"So, we're cool. Friends and all?"

"Of course." We had a hug, and then proceeded to get stoned out of our minds. Rob nudged me awake none to gently with his foot in the morning. Bill was passed next to me.

"If you want to come out of the closet that's great, but you got to get your own boyfriend."

"Shut up Rob." I laughed, and I think he could see by the fact that I wasn't freaking out, that nothing had happened.

I continued to hang out with Stephanie and with Bill and Rob as the show came close to closing time. I went out for a drink with my boss and the asshole that I was sharing a room. Asshole hooked up with a gorgeous blonde who had the sexy librarian thing down to a tee, including the 'be really smart' part of it. I don't know what she saw in the dipshit, but when he split in one of our rental cars with her, the boss offered me a ride home in the other.

"No thanks, I'm cool." I said, stranding myself at the bar. I sat out front on the curb after last call, enjoying the cool night. Two gorgeous girls came along and asked me if I was okay. I told them I was great but could use a lift to the Howard Johnsons. And so, I ended up in a hotel room with two tall, curvey girls. Silver Kao was Native American with long straight black hair. Melody was a white girl with honey blonde hair. She looked a bit like Cheryl Crow, but in a good way. They were younger than me, and a bit easily impressed which is cute but not a turn on. So, I talked too much and I let them think I was the coolest, but I didn't make any kind of move. For some reason I had them call Bryna at three in the morning.

Asshole came home to find me with two girls in the room. He was suitably impressed and I let him believe whatever he wanted to believe. I got their phone numbers but I never called them.

I was embarassed at having called Bryna. I wrote her a few letters, mostly about Ayn Rand. The more I went through the more Bryna seemed to be the one constant in my life. My parents were divorced, my brothers had families and careers, my friends were scattering everywhere, but always Bryna was available to share my adventures with. I made a point of telling myself that she and I would never work as a couple. I don't know this idea got so implanted in my head. She had said it to me once, that we'd just kill each other, and I told her not to say that. It hurt my feelings to hear her say it, but I seemed to believe it as well.

I got ready to head home, back to Sacramento for Christmas when Stephanie invited me to come to her parents house for a week. I agreed and got my return ticket date changed. For whatever reason she asked me to tell her parents that I was a student at SFU. This seemed strange and I felt like I was an obvious fake as I sat at their dinner table telling them that I was just taking general Ed for now, thinking about an art history degree or maybe philosophy. If I was going to lie about what I was doing with my life, at least I would be honest about being totally impractical.
Stephanie's friends seemed a bit concerened about her choice in male companions. They were rich kids and all in college. I was, what, a hobo really. I had no home address and no real plans for the future accept to try and be happy. When I picked up the tab at Sushi they warmed up a little. Stephanie's buddy Kevin was recently out of the closet and he showed us some hillarious gay porn. The airplane's tall black pilot walks to the restroom, but when open's it, it's already in use by a hunky white guy. "Oh, sorry excuse me." he says as he pulls the door shut. But then he thinks better of it and re-opens the door. "Say, you ever had a big black cock." and in one amazing motion the big black cock in question is out the dude's zipper and in the other dude's mouth. I was howling.

Back at Stephanie's folks house, I'd get comfy in the guest room, and then Stephanie would sneak in and we'd spend the night fooling around. She was comfortable with her bodie and we had no problem sitting around naked, kissing and cuddling. Several times I reconsidered my decision not to have sex with her, but I stuck with it. I also stuck to my promise to be honest with her and with myself. I knew that what we had was good but temporary. Six weeks, from the time I met her until I left town. Two weeks of getting to know each other, holding hands, kissing. Two weeks of heavy petting, and pushing the limits, and two weeks of being lovers and enjoying it. This last part was valid weather it involved what the bad film in sixth grade defined as sex or not. As long as I didn't get caught up in putting myself on, this was perfect.

When I left Florida I felt as clear headed and healthy as I had in years. I knew what I wanted now and would go about making it reality.

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Over (or under) The Rainbow

2006-07-06T13:18:00.000-07:00

Pete and I landed in Seattle. We met Allegra Autumn Rainbow and we both fell for her immediately. Of course we did. She had big eyes, long insanely curly hair, and a very curvey body. Pete was starting to hate me for many reasons, not the least of which was my abillity to hook up with women that he was sure he was more worthy of and would be more appreciative of.

I didn't pursure Allegra heavily. I figured I'd give Pete time to make a move. Of course I may not have give him room to make his move. I was right there with them, in the hot tub at our posh corporate apartment building. Pete got out to buy a soda, or grab some more wine, or something and while he may never believe it, it was Alegra who scooted next to me, and if she didn't move to kiss me, she did move to be kissed.

The silver lining, I tried to tell Pete, was that I was now occupied with Allegra. I wouldn't be in his way for the rest of our stay in Seattle. His unhapiness with me, and my own guilt over Nora had me not wanting to play the game of a girl in every port anylonger, but I couldn't resist seeking out a woman's attention and affection. I developed strong feelings for Allegra and even entertained the thought of staying in Seattle with her. I was having a bad time with Spike and Mike and now that I was no longer running away from my confusing relationship with Monica I was less sure of what I was doing. One drunken night we decided to run off and get married. Luckily we couldn't get to a wedding chapel since neither of us was in any state to drive. We dropped the subject by morning.

I was looking desperately for something to cling to. I almost quit my job to travel around with a couple of homeless campers that I met. Working with Mike for a few weeks convinced me that I was already on a pretty grand adventure with the Festival of Animation. When it came time to move on to the next city, I told Allegra I'd be leaving. We left open the possibillity of us exploring out potential as a couple down the road but our last days together killed or at least seriously wounded that thought.

When I visited her at her Uncle's house she was really worried about me touching anything. I started to think that I was part of her rebellion, a wild streak. I didn't think she'd be happy dealing with me in the long term, in fact I may have overstayed my welcome already. My last night in town was spent in her room while her Uncle was out of town. She drove me to the airport and I kissed her goodbye.

I heard from her a few months later. She was working at a bookstore or coffee shop up in Oregon. I'd love to be in touch with her again, but we lost each other in the shuffle. She has such an unusual name, I figure I'll track her down someday.

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Beautiful Thumbs

2006-07-06T10:25:00.000-07:00

I hooked back up with the animation festival and got back to touring around the country. Beer and kisses were sought in every town. Beer was more easily found.

My old friend Darcy, who'd given up some kissin' and cuddling in SF, prefered the Spaniard over me in San Diego. I was stood up twice by an art student in Chicago. In Riverside I had my second ever one night stand.

Homes and I were getting on the freeway when we noticed to cute girls hitchhiking. This sort of thing only happens in movie. Watching for the hidden cameras we pulled over and they climbed into our rental car.

"Where are you headed?" one of us asked.

"We were going to go back to El Cerrito, but we don't have to be there anytime soon." the lanky girl with the straight, dishwater blonde hair answered. I was really starting to think that I was dreaming at this point.

So, the girls went with us to flyer a bit, with breaks for pot smoking, making out and at the end of the day back to our hotel for beer and listening to music.

"Hey, before I crack open this bottle, am I driving you guys anywhere tonight, or... do you want sleep here?" I asked, as nonchalantly as possible.

"Would you guys mind if we crashed here?" my lanky hitchhiking friend asked. Oh bless her soul.
"No. That would be great. We'll get you where you need to be in the morning."

So, we drank some beer and eventually paired off into the two twin beds. I was a little self concious about Homes being in the same room, just a few feet away, but after a good hour of kissing and petting in the dark I grabbed a condom from where it was keeping the Gideon's Bible company in the nightstand drawer.

She was not the most responsive lover, but given our lack of privacy that suited me fine. She held onto me tight and her mouth was next to my ear, breathing and giving off soft moans. Afterwards I asked her if she'd take a shower with me, and she was too shy to do so. She definitely prefered the dark, and got dressed again right away. I didn't take it personally, as she was all over me with kisses once she had herself covered. I fell asleep with her head on my chest.
In the morning we grabbed breakfast and dropped the two friends off in an El Cerrito subburb.

"Dude, you didn't fuck that chick did you?" Homes asked, as soon as we had the car to ourselves.

"What? Why?" Did he know something I didn't know?

"She was hella young."

The girl was younger than me, but she wasn't that young. "No way. She was 19 at least."

"No, try 16."

"She bought her own cigarettes. You have to be 18 to buy cigarettes."

"Okay. Believe what you want."

This upset me, enough so that I couldn't bring myself to ask Homes just how young he figured she was. I'd been giving endless grief one of our co-workers who was in his thirties and constantly pursuing teenage girls. I decided to be more careful in the future, just in case Homes was right and I rationalized that I had at least been a considerate and safe lover even if I was a creepy pedophile.

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Wow, I've actually been getting donations. Not enough to grant me any level of financial independence or anything but I've swung by Pete's for the good coffee the last couple of mornings instead of making my own at home. Woo hoo. Thanks folks.
And remember, linking me helps out too, if you aint Mr. or Ms. Moneybags but you still want to show love or support or lust or mild amusement or whatever. Hell, send me ten bucks because you hate me. I'll take it.

Sac Bee lovin' on me

2006-07-05T12:38:00.000-07:00

Rachel LeBrock posted this to the Sacramento Bee's blog. Woo hoo.

Kiss and tell

Sacto blogger Keith Lowell Jensen has added another URL to his Internet oeuvre. Much in the way that Jensen's All My Jobs blog details the comedian/writer/blogger's explorations into gainful employment, All My Kisses journeys into the realm of love and infatuation.

The entries - written in (mostly) work-safe prose - are funny, engaging and more than a little bittersweet. And, who knows, they may sound familiar.

"Look closely, you may be in one of the stories," Jensen wrote in a recent e-mail. "Remember that time you got drunk and kissed the coat-check boy? (I) worked as a coat-check boy!"

For the record, I never kissed a coat-check boy...or if I did, I wouldn't tell...Jensen, however, is thankfully not so discreet.

Thank Rachel. Read the first story HERE.

Nashville Eve

2006-07-04T20:45:00.000-07:00

I didn't know what to expect in Nashville. I hadn't been in touch with Eve beyond a few phone calls in years, and those years felt like decades. It was like driving into my past to the time before Monica, before I turned my life upside down for better and for worse in my efforts to hang on to her slippery affections.

We pulled in, found Eve's place and she was lovely. She had a small clean apartment in a really pretty part of town. I don't know what part of town as my sense of direction is nill, but we were walking distance from an ivy and moss covered building with Vanderbilt's name on it. Pete excused himself to go get some cigarettes and Eve pounced on me. Eve was good at pouncing on me.

It was strange to be kissing her again so quickly, we'd hardly spoken. I considered putting a note on the door aking Pete to stay away for a spell, but I decided against it, instead surprising myself by saying "Hey, Eve. It's great to see you, really great. This is just such a head trip. I need to slow down a little bit. I mean, don't get me wrong, I hope there's more kissin' later, but I'm just coming off a really strange adventure." Eve was understanding. She ran her fingers through my hair while I caught a nap after an all night drive.

When I woke up Pete was back and the three of us went to Waffle House for grits. I loved that Waffle House had records on their jukebox with songs about Waffle House. I will someday own one of those records, no matter what I have to do to get it.

That night, or perhaps the next night we decided to camp out next to a tobacco field. Eve told us a few things she'd learned about Nashville's favorite crop. Pesticides were unnecessary as bugs were smart enough to stay off of the stuff. We laughed at this, and smoked some cigarettes. Pete crashed on the bottom bed and with the pop top up, Eve and took what we'd come to call the attic. We got to kissing again. She was a wonderful kisser. I ran my hands up her side, and as I found her breast things were heating up in a hurry. Eve started Crying.

"I'm sorry, dammit, this is embarassing. I didn't want to cry."

"It's alright Eve." I pulled her to me. She was in a weird space herself. She'd just recently broken up with the man she'd been dating for the past few years and she was still not quite used to the idea. She wasn't even in a good place to get used to the idea as it was an ambiguous break up with some dating and the ever popular attempt at being friends with the ex continuing on.

I tried my best be reassuring and to tell her that I could relate and to not be embarassed. We fell asleep holding each other. In the morning more southern breakfast, followed by falafel for lunch and it seemed the ex would be meeting us for live music that night. He was a music executive and we'd be seeing some bands that he was working with playing a free show in the parking lot of a Tower Records. Sounded fine, as long as we found dinner first. I was starving. Eve took us to a patio burger joint type place for veggie burgers and fries and when we were horsing around she made a comment along the lines of "I hope you don't embarass me in front of my ex." Well, that was one sure way to guarantee we would be on our best behavior.

Pete and I found some 40 ouncers of malt liquor and got to drinking. We hocked loogies, and observed that the poppy top forty new country we were listening to was, well, crap. Eve invited us to get lost and we did. The bus barely made it back to California, dying just blocks from my brother's house in Riverside. Eve and her ex were married soon after.

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Good Bye Monica

2006-07-04T14:41:00.000-07:00

Pete and I were having a great time. Our road trip took us through Vegas. I went into a strip club, an experience I'd not yet had. I was amazed as a stripper shook her ass in my face while her head, seeminly not attached to her body, carried on a conversation with a man on the other side of the table. while they discussed school, and what degrees would yield the most employability a woman in lingerie wrapped her arms around me from behind.

"Hi baby. You want a private dance?"

"Uh, what do you mean."

She was purring in my ear as she answered. "I mean, I'll take you to a private room and dance just for you. You can't touch me, but I can touch you." and with this her hand slid over my chest and over my belly toward my crotch.

"I'm sorry, but I'm pretty broke."

Her hand stopped. "Okay hun. Maybe next time."

I drank my two drink minimum in seconds flat, somehow not getting so much as a buzz. I met back up with Pete who had skipped the club and we headed toward St. John's in Santa Fe where Jon was going to school. Jon and Pete had been best friends. I had a hard time liking Jon myself. He lived off of his grandmother and I resented that he could afford to go to Europe with my girlfriend, and then come home and jump into a really great school. He had been a bass player in a band that was now getting huge and it was too easy for him to walk away from that. I figured I resented him mostly over Monica so I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Pete, Jon and I were sitting on the sidewalk outside of a cafe in Santa Fe when my eyes seemed to be playing a joke on me. "Is that Monica and Jean?"

And holy crap it was. In the strangest of coincidences they had decided to visit Jon on the same day as us. So, the grand reunion took place. We all made our way to Jon's dorm room and Monica asked if she could speak to me alone. We walked to Jean's station wagon. When she actually climbed inside the station wagon and invited me to join her I knew it was to be a serious talk.

"I don't know how to tell you this." She started.

"I'm sure I can guess. Just go ahead and say it."

"I'm gay."

"No you're not." This wasn't quite the reaction she'd expected. "You're so in the moment all the time. You love Jean right now, so you're gay. But when you fall in love with the next person, male or female, that will be all consuming. I don't know why you fall out of love whenever I leave, but you loved me just as much as you now love Jean and as much as you loved Jon. You shouldn't deny it. Fuck. Don't worry, I don't want any more from you. This is it. I'll accept that we're just friends and I hope you and Jean find happiness." We hugged and I made my way back to the room. Jean and Monica slept in the car.

The next day Jon showed us all around campus. Jean handed me a book called understanding homosexuality and suggested I read it. I wanted to hit her in the head with it. She was getting bitchier by the minute and I'm cocky enough to believe that it's because Monica was connecting with me again, instantly. We were having a great time.

Jon and I were even getting along. We were just being competitive blatantly, and having fun of it, making a mockery of it. We went to a Mexican restaurant and we both kept upping how hot we'd order our food to beat the other. We were red and sweating by the time we were done with dinnner. Pete and I said goodbye and handed out hugs. We drove back into the desert.

"How you doin'?" Pete asked.

"Surprisingly well. Like a big weights been lifted off of me. You know, I'm stupid enough to believe I could win her back, at least once more, but I don't want that. If she can't stay in love with me without me constantly there to remind her that she's in love with me than I'll just as soon let her go."

And it was true. I felt fine. It didn't hurt. It would seem I was done hurting over this one. I would have liked more reassurance the we could continue to be friends. She'd given me some story about two hobo brothers she met who always seemed to find each other just when they needed each other. It was at least a creative blow off.

We told ghost stories as we drove through the seemingly endless night making our way to Nashville Tennessee and Eve.

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Nora

2006-07-03T16:50:00.000-07:00

In many ways San Francisco was an extension of my life in Sacramento. It was when I left, making a miserable stop in San Jose and then heading to LA that I really escaped my life.

Of course, I found a woman to center my life around almost immediately. I was on the street flyering, my first night in town when I met Nora, a petite girl with wavy brown hair and baggy old man clothes. I gave her a flyer and we started talking about the comic book Tank Girl, which had not yet become a crappy movie. She hung out with me and the rest of the crew for a few hours and then we said goodnight. I wanted to see more of her and I was excited when she asked if I'd go see a double feature at The New Art with her the next day.

I worked the following morning and then called Nora to come pick me up. She laughed at how I mispronounced Sepulveda, the street where our apartment was. The New Art was showing King Kong and Mighty Joe Young. We brought our own pillows for the long stretch of film watching. I took her hand in mind and she rested her head on my shoulder. It had been a long time since I'd enjoyed such pleasures without a world of complications swirling about. I enjoyed my time with Nora and that was a good thing, simple.

After the film we drove to the beach, found a spot of privacy, something I didn't think existed on an LA beach, and had our first kiss. Nora told me all about herself. She was working as security guard in an art museum. Articstically/creatively, Nora was ambitious but unsure of exactly where to put her efforts. Mostly her creative energy found an outlet in her sense of humor. She was a prankster, often going on missions with the LA Cacaphony society.

Nora and I spent as much time together as we could. Drinking coffee, drinking beer, running around the city. She knew which neighborhood was best for finding a cheap boom box, and good falafel. The neighborhood in question was in Hollywood where the old landmarks were being moved to Universal's nice safe mall. It amazed her that Hollywood could be enjoyed by tourists without them having to actually brave a trip to Hollywood.

She took me to a Cacophony Society stunt at The Griffith Observatory where they or rather we staged a re-enactment of the first moon landing on it's anniversary. There was much aluminum foil and we handed out Tang and Moon Pies. It was an amazing evening. The staff at the observatory didn't chase us away. They loved what we were doing and invited us to fill the VIP seats at the Lazer Show. Afterwards we all went to a Denny's type place to swap stories and ideas for the next stunt.

The complications came when I started to like it too much. I was falling for her and for LA; an amazing girl in an amazing city. I could tell Nora was developing strong feelings for me, and I talked about staying, or coming back at least.

Pete had been hired by the Animation Festival as well, and he seemed to know me better than I knew myself. He knew that I'd move on, and that the strong feelings I had would fade quickly. I didn't believe him. I couldn't imagine such a thing, after all, that wasn't how I generally operated. Pete thought I was a player and he resented me getting together with girl's that he would have liked to see himself with.

Of course Pete, my dear old roommate, had slept with Monica when he knew she was the love of my life. I didn't feel this was wrong of him, given the situation, but it established an ettiquette that he would just have to live with.

On our last night in town we stayed at a Youth Hostel in LA. The rules would not allow Nora to stay since she was an LA resident. We fell asleep holding each other and we got bitched out in the morning. It was worth it. We exchanged I love yous and I climbed in Pete's bus to leave town. We had a few weeks off and were heading to Nashville Tennessee to visit Eve.

As Pete predicted, my feelings for Nora faded. It was a much needed time of self centeredness for me. My life had evolved around my obsession and/or love for various women for far too long. I needed to figure out who the hell I was and what I wanted.

I recieved a couple of letter's from Nora, return address listed as Montel Williams, but we didn't see much of each other after that. She visited Sacramento briefly and I got the feeling she had decided I was an asshole, though it may have been my own guilty conscience projecting itself.

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AMK Illustrated

2006-07-03T12:40:00.000-07:00

Marcus at Grumblebee.com is illustrating my stories. I'm super stoked. If you go back to story numero uno you'll see that the first ten stories now have cool illustrations. More coming. And please, visit Marcus' site, he's got lots of cool stuff.

The Summer of Love

2006-07-02T10:28:00.000-07:00

The final days in Sacramento were amazing. I knew I was leaving so I just let myself enjoy the whirlwind; Trips to the river, afternoon naps with Monica in the dark cozy cave that was Jean's apartment, and lots of wine.

I made Bryna a pile of mix tapes. Leonard Cohen, The Velvet Underground, Jonathan Richman, Tom Waits, the soundtrack to our courtship. She would come visit me in S.F. and she was still on board for the road trip that would decide our lives. I threw myself a going away party. I recieved many kisses, including some from my bearded friend Tim, who was battling between being gay and being a born again Christian. I think I pushed him over to the Christ side.

In San Francisco we stayed on a house boat. I couldn't believe the digs. My fellow promoters and flat-mates thought I was a player. It seemed I could use a revolving door into my bedroom. I had plenty of women staying with me, but I was putting less wear and tear on the bedsprings than any of them would have guessed.

Darcy, an old friend who I'd crushed on for years gave me some kissing and then we fell asleep together.

Victoria came to stay. We were making out hot and heavy and our clothes were all over the floor. I got up to get a condom, and she said "No." So, we kissed some more, things got hot again, we came very close to having unprotected sex. When I got up for a condom she again said "No." It seemed she would only have sex if it wasn't safe. I was confused. I thought maybe I was going to fast. I touched her with my fingers, and she didn't stop me, but she just lay there, not moving.

"What's wrong." I asked. She stared at the cieling. This was a sign of some serious baggage and I didn't want to be party to making things worse. I went back to kissing and cuddling. In the morning we had a shower together. I wished I could help her, but I'd have to settle for not hurting her. I had too many of my own demons to take care of.

When Monica visited it felt sad. I could tell I was losing her again. Absence made my heart grow fonder, but for her it was more a case of 'Out of site, out of mind.' It seemed she fell out of love with me when I wasn't there to win her love every day. We had clumsy awkward sex. She told me I needed to call my mom. She said it with some urgency. When she left I felt unsatisfied and for a moment regretted my choice to leave Sacramento.

Bryna visited and with her too things seemed sad. She seemed to love me as much as ever but I got the feeling she was tired of playing the game with me and my confusing love life. She told me she'd write a letter telling me what was going on with her, but I moved around too much, and the letter never found me.

I met Jill, a girl who was camping, ie living the homeless lifestyle, presumably by choice. She was so brave to let go of all security and live the way she had chosen to live. I entertained the thought of living this way myself but I was already on a course, and would see it through. I was intimidated by her and so I slept next to her, and watched her sleep. I spent a beautiful day off walking around by the docks with her and then I said goodbye as I left San Francisco for the next town.

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The Grand Plan

2006-07-02T10:13:00.000-07:00

We made a plan. Things had to end. We had to find a boiling point. Pete, Bryna, Monica and I would take the two busses and take off on the biggest road trip ever across the US. We made lists of supllies we'd need. We plotted our trip on maps. We would go on the road and we'd figure out who was what to whom.

This was a great plan, but I needed relief sooner. I needed to get away now. Monica was sleeping with a woman named Jean and I felt extremely threatened. Especially when Monica moved into Jean's place.

For my 21st birthday Bryna and Pete threw me a surprise party in the park. The pulled me into Pete's van as I walked home from work and handcuffed me and blindfolded me. Bryna than babysat me while Pete got the party ready. Bryna loved me up one side and down the other leaving the cuffs and blindfold in place all the while. She then walked me ten blocks through town. When we got to the park Pete found he'd lost the keys to the handcuffs. Monica showed up with Jean and was clearly Jean's girlfriend at this affair. I grew sullen. I threw some mashed potatoes at my firend Carrie and bitched about the handcuffs. I asked a family partying a couple of picnic benches over to help me out of my handcuffs and they popped them right off. Bryna walked me back home where I couldn't find my ID on the one day in my life that it was actually worth something. I pissed Bryna off with my moaning and complaining and finally went to sleep alone.

A few days later, Monica brought a couple of boys she'd just met by my apartment to watch movies. They worked as travelling promoters for Spike and Mike's Animation Festival. I saw my escape. I quit my two jobs and dedicated myself full time to getting Mike to hire me on. He finally agreed and I was ready to be free.

I told Monica I would work for Spike and Mike for one year, travelling the country. When I returned we'd take our road trip and figure out what we were to each other. She agreed and I left town for a life of adventure.

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Jenny and her Gin

2006-07-02T09:53:00.000-07:00

I wanted a girlfriend. I wanted the experience of meeting someone new and becoming twitterpated. I fantasized about the wonderfulness that could be. I was on my way to Bryna's house, she'd invited me over for her legendary homemade stew, when I saw a lovely latina girl walking toward me. I wanted to say hello but I knew that women could have a hard enough time feeling safe on an empty street at night and so I just walked by.

"Hey Keith." the stranger said as I passed.

I stopped and tried to figure out how this girl knew me. "It's me, Jenny, Andy's cousin." She was stunningly beautiful. I hadn't seen her since we were kids and, as she was a couple of years younger than me I had never looked at her that way before. Now she was an adult, and what an adult she was.

I invited her to have soup at Bryna's and she accepted. Afterwards she invited me to come by her place and listen to records. We walked to her place and spent hours going through her impressive collection of vinyle and tapes. We hit it off really well. She said she never slept at night and that I could come by any time.

It was quickly apparent that ours was to be a platonic relationship, but it was an unusual platonic relationship. Jenny liked to wear toenail polish but did a miserable job of putting it on. She did a fine job on her fingernails, but just couldn't seem to get the toes right. So, I took care of her toes, and in return she painted mine. This meant hanging out in the bathroom, soaking our feet in an old claw foot tub. Her apartment had a private bath. It was hers and hers alone, but it wasn't in the apartment. She had to cross the hallway and unlock a separate door to get to it. So, rather than pass back and forth we'd just hang out in the bathroom, soak our feet and make each other's toes pretty.

Jenny had a big bottle of gin that didn't mix well with her prescriptions but I made a good dent in it every visit. As I drank my gin Jenny would play and eclectic mix of music on her boom box. When I heard something that aroused my curiosity Jenny would refuse to tell me what I was listening to until I confessed to liking or not liking it. She felt that most people didn't listen to music honestly since they'd already made up their minds about who they like and don't like. This drove me crazy as it resulted in my digging some Bruce Springsteen! I've bought some Bruce since, and have never recreated the experience.

The Gin ran out eventually and Jenny bought another bottle, then another. I asked if she could buy something other than gin and she explained that she didn't buy it for me but just to have on hand. I pointed out that I was the only one drinking it, so she might as well get something more to my liking. She looked me in the eye and said to me with great conviction, "Keith, we're not that kind of friends." I continued to drink her gin, and she continued to replace what I'd consumed.

Eventually Jenny went off to Europe to try and work out a relationship with an x-boyfriend. I really enjoyed the nights spent at Jenny's place, and I really enjoyed coming home to my open relationship. I said nothing as I climbed into bed with Monica, slightly drunk and with my toenails freshly painted. She never asked about my mysterious nighttime adventures and I never said a word.

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