Gay Parties in 1981 (Blog #224)

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Introduction

Well, hell. It’s 3:36 in the morning, and I’m just sitting down to blog. This is nothing new, of course, but blogging at this hour always comes as a surprise, since I always mean to start earlier. But for over six months I’ve also been meaning to reread Practical Intuition by Laura Day, and I finally started that project tonight. For the last few hours I’ve had the book open, hunched over it like the monster of Notre Dame. But now the book is closed, and I’m sitting here at the kitchen table slightly more upright and eating pineapple chunks out of a can. It’s a glorious life, I know, but someone’s got to live it.

Earlier today I had the idea that tonight’s blog needed to be presented in vignettes. I suppose that’s often how my writing works, but today’s the first time I’ve thought, Just give the highlights, even if they don’t clearly tie together. And not that I always pay attention to every thought I have, but my relationship with this blog has taught me to trust my hunches more, so I’m going to pay attention to the thought about vignettes and see where it leads us. So far, my internal sense of “this is what I should write about today” hasn’t let me down. My internal sense of “this would be a good person to date,” however, is a different matter altogether.

Scene One

Today I got up at 2:30 in the afternoon and ate my first meal about an hour later. Considering the recent time change and the fact that I don’t see much daylight to begin with, I’ve started feeling like I’m living in Alaska. (I’ve wanted to use that line for five days now.) Anyway, Virgos tend to worry about their health, so I’ve been concerned that I won’t get enough Vitamin D this winter and will develop Seasonal Affective Disorder, a medical condition related to depressed moods with the best abbreviation ever–SAD. With all this in mind, I took myself for a walk today at 4:15, the same time senior citizens have dinner at The Golden Corral and only an hour before the frickin’ sun went down.

Scene Two

Recently I started listening to a podcast called A Mother of a Murder, which is about the murder of Ruie Ann Park that took place here in Van Buren in 1981. My friend Anita Paddock wrote a book, Blind Rage, about the murder and is featured in the podcast. Anyway, the podcast is delicious and takes under two hours to listen to, and I finished it while walking today. My favorite line from the whole thing, referring to some of the murder suspects and said by an older man in a deeply southern accent, was, “They were gay and they were having gay parties.” I didn’t get the impression the gentleman thought this was a good thing, like something to be celebrated or attended, but I certainly did.

Just think of all the glitter.

Scene Three

As the podcast was ending, I looked up and saw a boy, a toddler, running–absolutely running–toward me, his arms spread out as if he were an airplane. His mother was behind him, by their house, and she tried to stop him from “bothering me.” But he just continued his long journey across their big front yard–thump, thump, thump–until he made it to me and the street. His little red head no higher than my knee, he flung both his arms around my left leg as if it were his best friend and said, “Hi!” Wrapping one of my arms around his back, I said, “Hi! You are so cute!” then continued walking. When I turned a corner two houses down, he waved and screamed, “Bye!”

My heart is still melting.

Scene Four

This evening I attended improv class and afterwards went to Starbucks and finished reading Rising Strong, the book by Brene Brown I blogged about yesterday. While sitting at a table trying to concentrate on the book, I kept getting distracted by the conversation at the table next to me, where sat a nineteen- year-old in the reserves and–from what I could gather–a potential mentor who wanted to know the kid’s views on money and whether or not he had a five-year plan. I thought, I’m thirty-seven and I don’t even know what I’m going to do tomorrow. Anyway, while this whole thing was going on, a total stranger asked if he could sit at my table until his friends arrived. I said, “You bet” and returned to my book, but as he sat down he reminded me of that kid running across the yard with his arms spread out, someone unafraid of asking for what they want.

Scene Five

The book I started rereading tonight is about how to use your intuition. The idea is that our inner wisdom is willing and able to communicate with us on all subjects if we would just slow down enough to listen, so each time you go through the book you get to ask three questions. Will I get married in the next year? What stocks should I invest in? Could I pick up extra cash as a drag queen? Whatever you’re curious about–sky’s the limit. When I worked through the exercises in the book five years ago, I wanted to know what profession I’d enter into after dancing. I dug out my answers from an old notebook tonight, and my intuition was obviously spot on and getting me ready, since the pages were littered with words like writer, author, and communication.

As I understand it, your intuition can answer questions about your past, present, and future (and anyone else’s) because a part of you is connected to everyone and everything else. As the mystics say, “We are one,” and, “There is no time and space.” Of course, it’s hard to wrap my head around these ideas, but I’m inclined to believe they’re true. One of the warm-up questions in the book tonight was, “Without thinking, what do you need most?” and my answer was, “A hug.” Later it asked, “Upon reflection, what do you need most?” and I answered, “Authentic connection.”

Conclusion

Only later while reviewing my answers about needing a hug and authentic connection did I remember about the little boy and the hug he gave me this afternoon. And whereas my first thought was, I guess I need more hugs, I later realized my inner wisdom was telling me that all my needs are met before I even ask for them. Now I realize I’ve spent so much time thinking about what could go wrong–what could happen if I don’t wake up in time to get enough sunlight–that I’ve often missed what is going right, including the sleeping in and worrying about Vitamin D that were necessary to get me walking by that boy’s front yard at just the right moment. So in the same way that he wrapped his arms around my leg, I’m starting to wrap my arms around this glorious life, this life that connects me vignette by vignette to toddlers running freely across front yards, strangers sitting down at tables in coffee shops, and even gay parties in 1981.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Miracles happen."

The Big Whine and the Big Ocean (Blog #199)

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This morning I woke up sick. It could be worse, so I’ve been telling myself that I “don’t feel so hot,” but sick is sick. I’m thinking it’s a possible cold or sinus infection. Sometimes that happens when I hang out in high altitudes for a few days. Regardless, something ain’t right. About twenty minutes ago I sat down to blog, and the hotel internet wasn’t working, and neither was my room phone, so I dragged my not-so-happy ass downstairs to the front desk to see what the hell was going on. (I tried to be pleasant.) The manager said she didn’t know about the phone problem, but that, yes, the regular internet network was on the fritz. Thankfully, she signed me on to a manager’s network. Not thankfully, the new network’s signal doesn’t reach to my room. I’m now using my hotspot, which is “fine,” but slower.

Honestly, it doesn’t feel fine. More specifically, I don’t. I hate being sick, alone, and out-of-town, and I’m currently trying really hard to avoid “the big whine,” which is a phrase I picked up this weekend. We’ll see how it goes. Considering my current mood, it’s possible this blog could turn into a medium-sized whine, or at least a small bitch. I mean, I’m trying to have a good attitude here, but when life kicks you in the nuts, you groan a little.

For the last three days, I’m been sitting in a chair staring at the backs of heads and listening to a guru talk about Vedanta. Lest anyone think I’ve joined a cult, I haven’t. (I’m sure they all say that.) Vedanta isn’t a religion, but rather a method, a tool that can be used for self or spiritual knowledge. In their tradition, “guru” simply means one who removes ignorance. (I’ve now started thinking of myself as a dance guru. Maybe my business card could say, “Are you a swing dancing sinner? Call Marcus and prepare to be enlightened.”) Anyway, even if the whole thing were a cult, as a gay man I’d have to insist they adopt more flattering outfits before I could join.

Also, I haven’t figured out what’s so spiritual about taking your shoes off and sitting on the floor.

The Vedanta classes this weekend were taught by James Swartz. Today James said, “Your feelings are the last thing you want to trust.” Having spent a few years in therapy talking about my feelings, hearing that felt a lot like having the wind let out of my sails. On the other hand, it felt exciting because my feelings are constantly changing and not exactly reliable. (Maybe yours are like this too.) One minute I’m frustrated, the next minute I’m angry, horny, tired, indifferent, or excited. If this is how my feelings work, why should I trust them? Part of the problem, I’m realizing, is the way we language our feelings. In truth, they’re only a small part of us, things that show up only to disappear, small waves within a big ocean. But we say, “I’m happy,” or “I’m sad,” as if one word or one feeling tells the whole story about who we are.

Obviously, there’s more to us than that.

For the majority of this weekend, James referred to a particular chart. It’s too complex to go into the whole thing at the moment, but I’d still like to share it for the purpose of talking about one aspect of it. In the middle of the chart, there are three circles with initials–I for Intellect, E for Ego, and M for Mind. James said ideally the intellect is above (and therefore informs) the mind, which in their system is where our emotions and feelings are. For example, if you believe that you’re a spiritual being having a human experience and not the other way around, then that knowledge should inform and affect your feelings about any given situation. What happens with most of us, however, is that the script gets flipped–our ever-changing mind (again, meaning our emotions and feelings) gets above of our intellect and tells us what to think based on how we feel.

Since our feelings are constantly changing, this, of course, is exhausting.

All of this makes a lot of sense to me. I’ve woken up sick so many times, and each time I freak out. I think, Shit, not again, then immediately jump into what I could have done differently or what a terrible person I am. Naturally, this makes me no fun to be around, and since I’m mentally beating up on myself, I start mentally beating up on everyone else too–total strangers in organic fibers just sitting on the floor and trying to learn like I am. Basically, I let the way I feel determine what I think. This sucks.

But the truth is that even though my body isn’t “feeling so hot,” today was a gorgeous day. Colorado is beautiful, and whereas there may not be a lot of air here, there is air. I’m still alive. I spent the weekend with some wonderful people, seekers like me, and I’m currently in a warm bed. And regardless of how I wake up feeling tomorrow, there should be a free, tasty breakfast downstairs. I can think of worse ways to begin a week. I’ll let you know how it goes, but I am starting to believe that I’m much more than my thoughts, feelings, and experiences. Specifically, I’m much more than my sinus congestion, bad attitude, or big whine, since those are things that change, waves that are ever appearing and disappearing within the big, steady ocean of life.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Things are only important because we think they are.

"

Nothing Belongs to Me (Blog #198)

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Currently I’m in Carbondale, Colorado, at a place called True Nature Healing Arts. If you’ve ever been to a new age bookstore, organic smoothie bar, or upscale yoga center, this place is all of those things combined then multiplied by the third chakra. For sale, there are crystals of every color, mala beads, statues of deities–incense, of course–and t-shirts made from hemp fiber (half off). I’m making jokes because it’s one big, new-age/spiritual stereotype, but this is honestly the most warm, beautiful, and professional place of this type I’ve ever been to. (And I’ve been to a few of them.) Because everything is “just so,” I’m assuming a Virgo was involved in putting it all together.

The event I’m attending here started last night, and we just wrapped up the morning session and are on lunch break. I ate organic lamb curry, am sipping hot matcha tea, and am about to reach for an apple inside my bag. I feel so healthy I can’t stand myself. Granted, my insides are in shock, but I fed them Mexican food last night, so they’ll get over it. We’ve got two more sessions to go before the day is over, so I’m trying to knock out some blogging before I have a spiritual experience and–I don’t know–forget how to cuss or put a damn sentence together. (Obviously that hasn’t happened yet.)

I read somewhere that often spiritual disciplines simply become other ways of beating ourselves up. Like, if you feel like a piece of shit because you’ve recently gone up a pant size and then you join a yoga class to de-stress and drop a few pounds, you’ll probably end up feeling even more like a piece of shit because now you’re fat and can’t do downward-facing dog as well as that hot guy in the corner. (You know–the one with the really tight, spiritual stretch pants.) Well, just now I heard a man talking about his personal flotation chamber, which is sort of like a bathtub filled with Himalayan sea salt that helps desensitize the body and quiet the mind (I think). Anyway, part of me is thinking, He has a fancy woo-woo thing. I wonder if that makes him a better person than I am. But now he’s talking about dowsing, like how you walk around with a forked stick and wait for it to fall wherever there’s water, oil, or gold, and it’s all I can do to not roll my eyes. So maybe I’m a better person than he is.

I just put in my headphones and turned on my music so I’ll stop comparing myself to a total stranger.

Because I dragged my feet getting in the lunch line, there weren’t any tables left where I could sit and eat–at least without asking if I could sit down with someone I don’t know. (I don’t know anyone here. Well, I did meet one lovely lady named Wing–as in, and a prayer–in line for the bathroom. I’m assuming our bladders are on the same schedule, since we’ve chatted more than once.) Anyway, sometimes I feel bold and friendly, and other times, I’m all, Fuck that–I can take care of myself. I don’t need you and your–your–table space. Well, I ended up eating outside, and it was cold as a well-digger’s ass. That part wasn’t so bad, but the wind almost blew my table over. It actually turned the giant umbrella above me inside out. At that point, I finished my food, came inside, and sat down in a lone chair by a meditation corner. Then a girl who had a table all to herself asked if I wanted to join her. My knee-jerk reaction was to say, “No, thank you, I don’t need your charity,” but instead I paused and said, “Yes, yes I would.”

So that’s where I am now–across from Emily and her table. I’m trying not to stare, but I’m also trying to stare. You know how it’s fun to people watch. Well, so far I’ve noticed that Emily has a wedding ring, likes frothy tea or coffee, and has a laptop with a bigger screen than mine. She has a notebook beside her in which she’s drawn several hearts. Or someone has. I really (really) want to ask her what she’s working on just two feet away from me, but if she asked me the same question, I’d either have to lie or say, “Oh, just writing–about you–on the internet.” Jokes aside, I guess I could say, “Being grateful for an act of kindness I received today.”

Gotta go back to class.

Now it’s dinner time, and I’m eating at a restaurant called The Goat. I just had a mushroom and swiss burger that was delicious, and I think it had bacon on it. I haven’t blogged about it before, but I’m really not a bacon eater because I used to think pork was sin. I don’t think it’s a sin anymore, but sometimes it bothers my stomach, so I rarely eat it on purpose. When I do eat it, I usually freak out, like, What if I have the runs later? Still, what do yo do? In my case, I just ordered “warm chocolate cake” and coffee and tried to forget about it. Either way, what’s done is done. Things show up–fears, desires, experiences–then disappear, just like this dessert is about to.

I’m intentionally not saying much about the workshop I’m attending this weekend. For one, it’s pretty heavy stuff (my brain is tired and still digesting). At this point, I don’t think I could easily distill it down into blog form, make it understandable, and do it justice. For another, it feels personal. Maybe sacred is a better word. There’s a story about a journalist who waited years for a one-on-one interview with Padre Pio, the saint. When the big day arrived, he attended a group mass with Padre Pio, then canceled the interview. When asked why, he said, “I realized that man has the power to change my life, and I’m not ready for that to happen.” So that’s part of why I’m not running to the internet with a book report of what I’m learning. I want to share, of course, but this feels like it could be a game changer, so it’s something I want to treat with respect.

All that being said, I will say that one of the ideas I’ve been presented with this weekend is that nothing–no object–belongs to me. Having sold most of everything I used to “own,” I’m open to this way of thinking. But here’s the kicker–objects not only include physical items like my knickknacks and jewelry, but also include my body, thoughts, emotions, and experiences. This is because all these things were either given to me or simply appeared–only to disappear, of course. They aren’t permanent or things I can hold on to. The benefit to seeing all these things as borrowed is that I suffer less when something breaks, gets sick, or changes in some way. In short, I’m more free.

As I see it, another benefit to this way of thinking is that I don’t have to compare so much. After all, if everything I have is borrowed, then everything everyone else has is borrowed too. I can feel insecure that some guy has had an experience I haven’t, but that experience isn’t really his, especially once it’s over. This fact, I think, levels the playing field and makes us more alike. More than being our comparisons, our tight pants, or the bacon we accidentally ate, we’re really just all people looking for a place to sit. What’s more, no object, thing, or experience can add or subtract from our inherent value. Thankfully, our essence, our true nature, actually is ours, and I like to think it’s been there all along, just waiting for us to pull up a chair and get curious about it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Your life is a mystery. But you can relax. It’s not your job to solve it.

"

How Wide My Branches (Blog #195)

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Once again, I’m blogging while the sun is up. I hope this doesn’t become a habit. I mean, it’s all right. I woke up early to get ready to go out-of-town. For the last three hours, I’ve packed, showered, and gone to Walmart to get my “subscriptions” filled to deal with my current skin inflammation. I swear, my nipples are so red, it looks as if I’ve been breast-feeding. Anyway, I’ve quite literally packed almost everything I own for this trip. I might as well just throw the rest of my shit in the car and go ahead and move. Maybe I’ll meet Zac Efron in Colorado and that will be that. A girl can dream.

My main stress today has been “getting on the road.” I love a good road trip, but I hate getting ready for them. You know how it goes–all the shit to move around, trip after trip from inside the house to the car. My hair products alone weigh enough to make for a decent Crossfit workout. But I digress. The other big stress has been what to write about. It seems like I just did this last night, and other than spotting a few lesbians at Walmart, not much has happened. I guess we could talk about the yogurt I’m currently eating or the fact that my pharmacist said to not put the antibacterial ointment on my nipples as if it were axle grease.

I wonder if he thought I would enjoy that sort of thing.

Just now a man pulled in our driveway and hopped out of his truck with his two sons. Last week his uncle knocked on our door and asked if he could take some of the Chinese Chestnuts that had fallen from our tree into our front yard. “Sure, take all you want,” I said. Well, I guess our nuts are becoming a town hit, since the guy told his nephew about them, and he later came by and asked if he could bring his kids to get some. I remember being excited about this sort of things when I was younger. My sister and I would put the tops of carrots in little saucers of water, watch them sprout into little forests. Once a man came over and helped plant apple trees in our backyard. I was so excited, like I was going to be Johnny Appleseed or something, spend my summers hanging from the branches. Eventually they died, but before they did, our white-haired neighbor with painted-on eyebrows made a few killer apple cobblers.

As part of getting ready to go out-of-town, I dismantled the Lego set I put together several weeks ago. It’s not for certain, but I’m hoping to see my sister on this road trip, and I’d like to give the Lego set to my nephew. Since he’s seven, I’m assuming he doesn’t read my blog and that it will be a surprise. Anyway, when I put the Lego set on the kitchen table, my dad said, “How old are you?” Well, I put my shoulders back and said, “I’m thirty-seven, thank you.” Tonight I’ll be staying with my friend Megan, and she said she and her son were building a castle this afternoon. Honestly, this excites me. Just because you get older, I don’t think that means you have to lose your childlike sense of wonder. My therapist says that growing up means you don’t act childish, but you can–and should–be curious.

Earlier my friend Kara sent me a text with best wishes for my road trip. I said, “First, thanks! Second, help! I don’t know what I’m going to write about today.” Well, being the dutiful friend and eternal student that she is, Kara sent me a list of suggestions–road-trip snacks, pictures with roadside attractions, etc. My favorite, however, was “How quests have to start with questions.” Until she said it, I hadn’t thought of my trip as a quest, but I guess it is. Ultimately, I’m doing this because I’m looking for something besides Zac Efron–knowledge, self-discovery, more peace of mind. On the surface, the question I’m asking looks like, What’s this all about? Deep down, it looks more like, Who am I and what am I really doing here (like, on the planet)? I don’t expect to have those questions answered in a weekend, but perhaps a piece of the puzzle will come together.

Maybe that’s what I like about it–the mystery of it all. I can pack and plan all I want to, but I really don’t know what’s going to happen. I may stop and see some friends next week who are staying in New Mexico, but they said they may leave early if the weather gets bad. So I’m trying to be up for anything, to remain open and curious. For a planner like me, it’s not easy, and it’s kind of like I’m planning to be spontaneous. This makes even me shake my head. But I do think it’s exciting, not knowing exactly what lies ahead. Like those who plant seeds, my constant hope is to simply remain in fertile soil and tend gently to myself, all the while wondering what will become of this tree and how wide my branches can reach.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"No one comes into this life knowing how to dance, always moving with grace."

Pants and Other Things That Change (Blog #161)

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Okay, this is kind of a big deal. I’m starting a blog before midnight. The reason for this small miracle is because I’m tired. I’d like to get this done and go to bed. As it turns out, when you sleep on a farm like I did last night, you have to wake up early–at least if the farm next door has a bulldozer that beeps every time it backs up. Oh well, shit happens, and thank God for coffee.

I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I think I could actually be a morning person. I mean, I don’t think I’ll ever be “one of those” morning people–you know the type–bouncing off the walls, annoying. But I could definitely function and be pleasant. This morning I sat on CJ’s porch, caffeinated, and watched the butterflies flap their wings and a spider make its nest. I also heard a wasp fly by my ear, but since I was half-naked, I screamed like a girl and didn’t stay outside for any more “morning wonders.” So I went in, took a shower, and almost slipped and fell on the slick floor. And before I could stop myself–just like an old person–I thought, God, a rubber mat would be nice.

This afternoon I made a pit-stop in Fayetteville for lunch (and more coffee) with my friend Ray. Then I went shopping for a new pair of jeans, since last week I split the seat out of mine. Plus, it’s my birthday next week, so I’d like new pants. That is, I’m assuming I won’t be spending the whole day naked. (Sigh.) Anyway, maybe I really am getting old and cranky, but when I was younger, buying jeans was easier. Now every item I pick up is basically a pair of yoga pants–skinny calves, stretchy all over–not flattering for people who eat pancakes for lunch. Still, I always try on these “rubber bottoms,” hoping. But they never work. My ankles are small, my butt is big–nothing fits. Talk about frustrating. The only positive thing to shopping today was all the calories I burned trying to get into and out of all that elastic denim.

It wasn’t pretty. Plus, still no birthday britches.

Tonight in improv class we played a game called Change. Or maybe it was called Try Again. Obviously, I wasn’t paying a lot of attention. But the idea is that two people start a scene, like maybe a couple is out to eat at Long John Silver’s. Then at some point in the dialogue, someone off stage (the director) says, “Change,” and the actors have to keep changing their dialogue until they get a green light.

“I sure would like the shrimp, honey.” (Change.)

“I sure would like the catfish, dear.” (Change.)

“Do these hush puppies make my butt look big?”

One of the benefits of the game is that it teaches you to think on your feet, to quickly let go of whatever you had in mind for the scene and go in a different direction. Of course, it’s hard as hell, but that’s the fun of it. No one has any idea what’s going to happen next. (Kind of like life.)

Back at the house tonight, Mom was already in bed, so Dad and I went to Waffle House for dinner. We both got the same thing, so it was almost like eating at home, except we didn’t have to do the dishes. I had two more cups of coffee, so even though I’m currently exhausted, my arms are shaking. Anyway, I made Dad take four selfies with me, and he was a good sport about it. But when we got home–maybe as payback–I had to give him his insulin shot. Granted, until tonight, I’d never given anyone a shot ever, but I thought, It can’t be that hard. Hell, I can put a nail in sheet rock like nobody’s business.

Of course, sheet rock doesn’t bleed.

Luckily, Dad didn’t either. I just counted to three, stuck the needle in as if I were picking up a piece of cheddar cheese with a toothpick, and slowly injected the insulin. Then I counted to ten, took out the needle, and rubbed the spot with alcohol. Dad said, “You don’t have to take the skin off.”

“Oh.”

Tonight I’ve been thinking that it would be nice to have a “change” or “try again” option for life. Like, there are a few (dozen–hundred–dozen hundred) things I’d like to do differently. Of course, we can’t go back. That being said, things are changing constantly, and I guess we really can begin again at any moment. We can always wake up one day and say, “This isn’t working for me anymore.” Really, I think life is constantly reminding us of this. I met a spiritual teacher once who said we get hung up because of how we identify. For example, I could think, “I’m a dance instructor,” and cause myself a lot of problems if I don’t have any students. He said the truth is always simpler. Like, in this moment, I’m a sitter because I’m sitting. If I wanted to go a step further, I could say that I’m a writer, but as soon as I close my laptop, I’m not a writer anymore.

The truth is right in front of you.

This makes a lot of sense to me, but I often forget to remind myself that each day–each hour–I play many different roles. First I’m a coffee drinker (change), then maybe a yoga student (change), then a friend at lunch (change). Before the day is over, I’m a shot-giver! The mystics say this isn’t a problem unless you get stuck identifying with your past, which–by the way–only exists in your head. So one minute you’re healthy, then you’re sick, then your healthy again. Or one day you have a job, and then you don’t, and then (surely) you do again. And maybe it really is all a game. The mystics say that too, that life’s just exploring itself. One minute it’s here, the next minute it’s there. They say the joke is that the truth (reality) is right in front of you, it’s just always changing, sort of like a pair of pants.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"There are a lot of benefits to being right here, right now."

Any Stuck Door Is Worth Fixing (Blog #153)

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This afternoon I helped my friend Ron with a problem he was having at his massage studio, which is located in an old home. Because the house has settled, both his doors were sticking and difficult to open. The lesson here, I think, is obvious–don’t settle–it only causes problems. But anyway. Two years ago, I would have had zero clue about stuck doors and how to fix them. But while I was living in an old home with multiple stuck doors, my friend Bruce (who’s as handy as a pocket on a shirt) taught me what to do.

Cry.

Just kidding. The first thing Ron and I did was close the doors and look at the edges. Ideally, there should be a gap between the door and the frame, but when a door is stuck, you’ll see wood on wood. (That sounded gay.) So we marked the problem areas, took the doors off the hinges, marched them outside, and went to work with an electric belt sander. Talk about making a mess–old doors are solid wood, and sawdust went everywhere, including in my pants and up my nose. It was great. I felt so butch–like a lesbian.

Fortunately, one door only took one trip outside and back in, and the other only took two. I’ve made up to six trips for one door before, so this was a huge success. Then we did some work to adjust the doorknob mechanisms because those weren’t latching just right. Then we went to the Mexican ice cream shop, which is my favorite part about fixing old doors. (The end.)

Tonight I watched a movie called Prayers for Bobby, which my mom recommended and is based on a true story about a high school student, Bobby, who comes out to his family and his overbearing mother, who tries to “pray the gay away.” In a pivotal scene, Bobby tells his mom that he’s not changing, to which she says, “I won’t have a gay son.” Shortly thereafter, Bobby commits suicide by jumping off a bridge. It takes some time, but his mom comes around, changes her mind about “the sin of homosexuality,” and becomes an outspoken advocate for gays and lesbians.

Honestly, I spent a good part of the movie in tears. Although my parents never gave me a difficult time about being gay, I heard all those Bible verses plenty of times growing up–in church, at school, on the world wide web. I have a friend who used to live in Seattle, and she says that when someone came out, they’d throw them a party. Imagine that, a celebration. My experience wasn’t anything close to Bobby’s, but there wasn’t a piñata either. I see that character in the movie, I look back at my life in high school, and I wish I could tell those people, It’s going to be all right.

Before I started remodel work, I never paid much attention to doors. They either worked or they didn’t. If one got stuck, well shit. But when I lived in that old home, I started looking at doors differently. There was one in my bedroom that stuck just slightly at the top. It was my closet door, so it was an everyday deal. Every time I opened it, I had to push down on the doorknob first and then pull. It was like a ritual. I never got around to fixing it before I moved, but it would have just been a matter of taking an eighth of an inch off the top. The way I see it now, it was a little thing causing a big problem.

When I watch a movie like Prayers for Bobby, my mind immediately goes to a process called The Work by Byron Katie. I’ve spent a lot of time reading her books and watching her videos, so–frankly–my mind goes there a lot. Regardless, The Work is a process of inquiry to deal with stressful thoughts, things like, He should call me back, My hips are too fat, or I need more money. In terms of having a gay son, The Work teaches it’s only a problem if you think, My son should be straight, or, My son’s going to hell, both of which are stressful thoughts because they argue with the truth–reality (my son is gay and he’s currently sitting in the living room). Katie says thoughts like these only do damage if we believe them, since our beliefs have the power to separate us from our children, even drive us to suicide.

The Work consists, in part, of four questions, but the one on my mind tonight is, “Who would you be without your story?” Another way of asking this would be, “Who would I be without that thought (that my son–or I–shouldn’t be gay)?” In my experience, whenever I think, I shouldn’t be gay (and I am), or, My mom shouldn’t have cancer (and she does), I immediately shut down in some way and become less open to–well–life as it is. So who would I be without my story? What would my life be like if I could never think or believe those thoughts again?

In one word–better.

I hate to admit this, but my problems are never caused by something “out there.” A few days ago my hairdresser and friend told me that my hairline was “receding.” She actually used that word. Well, that’s a fact. That’s–apparently–reality, but it’s only a problem if I make up a story about it. I’ll be ugly if I go bald. No one will love me. I can’t afford implants. When I type those thoughts out, they seem rather silly. But just like a door that gets stuck, I know that something small–like a belief–can cause big problems. Honestly, it’s not an easy thing to question your beliefs. Personally, I’ve been believing my own press releases for a long time, and I don’t like admitting I’m wrong anymore than the next guy. But I’m reminded tonight that any story that causes stress is worth questioning, just as any stuck door is worth fixing, especially when there’s someone you love (and that includes yourself) on the other side.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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I believe that God is moving small universes to communicate with me and with all of us, answering prayers and sending signs in unplanned moments, the touch of a friend's hand, and the very air we breathe.

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Hands Down: The Best Part of My Week (Blog #149)

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Before jumping right into today’s events, I’d like to say that I’m no stranger to things most people (at least in the Bible Belt) consider weird. I’ve honestly spent more time reading and learning about meditation, Reiki, Chi Kung, past life regressions, chakras, and “the other side” than I can remember. I like it–it fascinates me–we all need hobbies. All the being said, every time I walk into a room full of crystals or read something online about balancing my aura, there’s still part of me that thinks, You’ve got to be kidding.

So with that in mind–

Today I went to a Spirit Fair (which I’m affectionately referring to as a “Woo Woo Market”) in Fayetteville. My friend CJ invited me and said there would be a lady who talks to angels, spirit guides, and dead people. (There’s a difference.) CJ said she went last year and got a message from her grandmother. When I told my parents about it, my dad said, “See what Dee and Dorothy [his parents, my grandparents] are up to!” I told CJ, “Hum. I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”

She said, “I’ll buy your lunch.”

“In that case, exactly when will the ghosts be arriving?”

True to her word, CJ bought my lunch, which we ate with some of her friends. Afterwards, it was onwards and upwards (metaphysically speaking, of course). The Spirit Fair was held at a local hotel, where one of the meeting rooms had been transformed into–basically–a waiting room for the afterlife. Again, this was not my first New Age rodeo, but I have never seen so many rocks, crystals, and sticks of incense anywhere else. Of course, not everything was “weird,” as there were massage oils and bath products as well. CJ actually found a bar of charcoal soap called Gender Bender and asked if that was my problem. “Have you been using this?” she said.

Chronologically, the most interesting part of the day for me happened next. However, I’d like to skip ahead for just a moment to say this–CJ and her friends and I did sit in on the angel/spirit guide/ghost communicator session that happened later in the day in another room. And whereas it was fascinating and one of CJ’s friends got a very moving message from her mother, none of my relatives showed up. (Typical.) So since I didn’t have a direct experience with it, I’ll refrain from commenting, leave that part of the day in the “uncategorized” part of my brain, and now go back to earlier in the afternoon and the place we were just a moment ago.

You know–Hogwarts.

In the center of the room was a swath of intuitives, psychics, card readers, and so forth. Honestly, I believe in a lot of that stuff, but I also believe in bullshit, so I tend to be pretty picky about whom I let in my aura (energy field, personal space). Therefore, I hadn’t planned on sitting down with anyone. However, I kept noticing a lady who was doing palm readings who “felt right,” and eventually I got curious enough to get in line, a place I stood for about forty-five minutes. This is good, I thought. She’s spending a lot of time with each person.

When it came my turn, I introduced myself and put my hands down on the table. Since the theory is that our hands reflect our minds and souls, it felt like, welcome to my life. (I haven’t read a lot about palmistry, but I have read a lot about handwriting analysis, and the theories are similar. In short, you can’t hide who you are.) Although some palm readers purport to look at hands and tell the future, the lady today–RJ–said it’s really more about personality, things that have happened to you, and assets and liabilities.

So you’re telling me I’ve been walking around my entire life with a pumped-up Myers-Briggs test in my pockets?

The first thing RJ said was that “some stuff” happened when I was six or seven that caused me to become fiercely independent. Check. She said my reaction to the event (which would have been my mom’s leaving home for a year for health concerns) was to become an island, at least for a while. Then she talked about my life line, my head line, and my fate line, the last of which she said went all the way up. (Why thank you, my dad will be proud.) She said that indicated self-actualization, like I’m here on the planet for a reason and ready to go to work.

When we talked about my fingers, RJ said my most developed fingers had to do with social/political traits (index), moral/ethical traits (middle), and creative traits (ring). Ironically, the finger dealing with communication traits (pinky), was less developed, although she did say I was outspoken. When I told my mom that my communication finger was small, she said, “Well, sometimes I ask how your day was, and you only say, ‘Good.'”

Point taken, Mom.

RJ also said that we wear rings on particular fingers for a reason, that if a ring isn’t comfortable, we’ll stop wearing it. In my case, I always wear a ring on the index finger of my right (dominate) hand, which RJ said meant I had something to say or do. According to Google, that finger is associated with ambition and self-confidence. When RJ looked at my fingernails (which, thank God, I just clipped yesterday) she said sometimes I start things I don’t finish. Yes, that’s correct. But, she said, I’m also determined and finish the things that are necessary.

In the fifteen minutes that RJ looked at my palms, she covered a lot more. However, despite the fact that most of my life is right here on this blog (every day, every damn day), I’ll spare you the details because 1) I can’t imagine that it would be that interesting to you, 2) a man needs “some” privacy, and 3) my pinky finger is only so developed. Still, I will say that RJ said my worry lines were being “kept at bay” by a guardian angel and that I have a rather long life line, indicating that I’ll be around for a while. (So deal with it.)

This evening I went for a jog and thought a lot about my palms. Especially I thought about that guardian angel who’s working so hard to keep my worry lines from crossing my life line and that I should probably offer him a raise or at least send him a thank-you card. Then I thought about my long life line, and how whether or not that means I’ll live to be a hundred, it’s still an excellent reminder that my life now isn’t my entire life–it’s just part of it–a phase. I actually thought about Moses, how his major “reason for being here” didn’t really start until he was forty. Hell, Colonel Sanders didn’t begin selling fried chicken until he retired at the age of sixty-five. So I’m reminded that I probably have time to figure things out. What’s more, I’m reminded that every life and every hand tells a story, each a great mystery filled with purpose, heartache, and hope.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Not knowing what's going to happen next is part of the adventure."

Trying to Stay in First Person (Blog #142)

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Last night I found out my friend Brian doesn’t have a smart phone and spends very little time on Facebook. (These people exist.) Additionally, despite the fact that he’s straight and lives in the south, his life doesn’t center around sports. He said, “I try to live my life in first person.” I took this to mean that he preferred to have his own real experiences rather than simply watching someone else’s virtual ones.

Genius.

Honestly, this is something I struggle with. I don’t spend a lot of time watching sports or reading celebrity gossip magazines, but I do tend to get caught up in the lives of others on Facebook, the life of Zac Efron on Instagram. I honestly don’t even follow the man, but I do often get enamored with the online lives and bodies of certain dancers or yoga instructors–people with “perfect” physiques–people I don’t even freaking know. My therapist says that social media is “impression management,” so I try to remind myself that a lot of it is smoke and mirrors, but it’s a challenge.

In writing there’s something called point of view, and it basically answers the question, “Who the hell is telling this story?” Generally speaking, point of view can either be omniscient or limited. Omniscient means that the storyteller knows EVERYTHING–they’re like God. They can know what’s happening in two places at once, and they can also know what every character is doing and thinking. Limited, however, typically follows the experience of one character, and is usually told either in first person or third person. In first person, the main character might say, “I woke up this morning. I cleaned my ear with a Q-Tip. I can wonder what my friend is doing, but I can’t know because I’m not God.” In third person, someone else tells a story about one character, and they only know that one character’s actions and–maybe–his thoughts. Harry Potter is like this. Harry got on the train to Hogwarts–whatever. As a reader, we don’t know what Ron and Hermione are doing–unless Harry Potter is with them.

Now that we have that lesson out of the way.

Today I had lunch with my writer friend Marla. I told her about Brian’s “first person” comment, and she said she recently had an epiphany (or, as Smee says in the movie Hook, “an apostrophe”) around the same subject when she got all worked up about what someone else was doing, what someone else was thinking. (I’ve done this once or twice myself. Maybe you have too.) But then she realized that she’d slipped into omniscient or third-person narrative, instead of staying in first person. In short, she’d started telling someone else’s story instead of her own.

Byron Katie refers to this sort of thinking as being in someone else’s business. She says there are only three types of business in the entire world–mine, yours, and God’s. If I dye my hair blonde or say the F word–that’s my business. What you do with your hair and your mouth–that’s your business. Everything else, like tornadoes and hurricanes and when either one of us dies–that’s God’s business. Katie says that being outside your own business never feels good, and the problem is that you have to leave yourself in order to do it. In other words, if you’re worried about your sister in New Mexico, then she’s there in New Mexico and you’re mentally there in New Mexico, so who’s left right here, right now for you?

Uh, no one, that’s who.

This evening it’s been a challenge to stay in first person and in my own business. I mean, it’s had its moments. I spent a couple of hours putting together the Lego set I bought last week. It turned out to be this tree house thing, and it was super fun. The whole model folds in half, and when it does a bridge automatically collapses. When it opens back up, the bridge automatically raises. I actually laughed out loud with excitement. Notice the bluebird, the telescope, and the little lantern by the flag. How creative!

When the Lego project was over, however, my thoughts started drifting to the future–what will happen next, whether or not I’ll be poor for the rest of my life. This sort of thing happens constantly. But as I think about it now, I realize that this is just another way of being outside my right here, right now business (of putting the Legos together, going for a walk, or writing this blog). Specifically, it’s a way of trying to be in God’s business, since he’s obviously the only one who can know what’s going to happen next.

With Mom having cancer, I’ve been worrying a lot about her future too, the future of our family. It seems the diagnosis and the treatments are starting to affect her mood, her joy, and it’s difficult for me to watch her struggle. Of course, I want to do anything I can to assist her, and at the same time I notice that my mood, my joy, are affected whenever I leave the first person (I love you and what can I do to help?) and enter the third (Mom’s life is so hard and she must be hurting).

Personally, I think I could spend the rest of my life trying to stay in first person and out of everyone else’s business. I mean, it’s not an easy thing to do. It’s MUCH EASIER to get wrapped up in the online lives of others, to start worrying about what someone else is doing or thinking, even to start telling God how he needs to do things, despite the fact that he obviously knows more than I do. (He really does have an omniscient point of view.) But I’m reminded tonight that true joy comes from being present and not imagining you’re life (or the life of anyone else) to be any different than it is in this moment. To me that means that whether I’m playing with Legos or simply sitting in a room with my sick mother while I listen to her breathe, that has to be more than enough because it’s the life I actually have now–raw, honest, and real.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Sometimes you have to give up wanting something before you can have it.

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Nudged Down the Rabbit Hole (Blog #137)

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Today I’ve felt like Alice chasing the white rabbit down the rabbit hole. When I woke up at three this afternoon–as my friend Andy says, “We’re dancers. If it’s before four in the afternoon, it’s morning.”–the first thing I saw was a text from my friend Vicki. She said she was reading a book called Freedom Seeker by Beth Kempton and that I should check it out, that it was currently available on Kindle for two dollars. (Okay. You had me at two dollars.) So despite the fact that I’m currently in the middle of five or six books, I bought the book and started reading it after breakfast, or, as my grandpa would say, supper.

So far, the book discusses practical ways we can regain our sense or feeling of freedom, and it talks a lot about birds and bird cages, for what I hope are obvious reasons. And as if my life weren’t weird enough already (last week I got invited to eat by two total strangers–and said yes), the book says to be on the lookout for birds and bird feathers because the universe can communicate that way. (This is, in fact, something I believe and have blogged about, but I still roll my eyes a little whenever someone else says it. Like, oh yeah, sure–a bird feather is the new burning bush.)

Anyway, the book also said that one way to recover one’s sense of freedom is to be more adventurous. It said that if you have dreams of spending your time rock climbing, you can start small–go for a hike. If you dream of being more flexible, you don’t have to go crazy–stretch for five minutes. The idea is that we often fantasize about the lives we want and think they’ll “just happen,” but we don’t take steps toward them. I wish I could tell you more, but that’s as far as I got before moving on to other projects.

Now I’ll progress to something far more fascinating.

This evening I went to Walmart.

I went to Walmart for the express purpose of buying a bottle of hemp lotion because I like the smell of it and one of my creativity assignments is to do something small to make myself feel special and luxurious. (Apparently using the little bottles of lotion you get from motels doesn’t qualify.) So I was just going to get one thing–lotion–oh, and a loaf of bread for Mom and Dad. Well, as I was walking in the front door, a couple was coming out, and I was thinking about that whole being more adventurous thing, how the book suggested one way to do that was to talk to strangers. So I smiled–and they smiled back. There, I thought, baby steps.

So get this. Immediately after my small adventure, I looked up and saw the word “adventure” on a display by the self-checkout section. Hum, that’s weird. Then I started thinking about another creativity assignment (there are A LOT of these damn things) I have to do in order to indulge my inner child–eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, finger paint, shit like that. So I thought, what the hell, and bought a box of Legos. I mean, I used to LOVE Legos. I collected Legos, had them ALL OVER MY ROOM. But I haven’t bought or built a set in probably twenty years. So that was it–I bought lotion, a loaf of white bread, and Legos. Because I’m thirty-six.

Notice the box says it’s recommended for ages 7 to 12. Also notice–I swear I didn’t see this when I picked out the set–it says, “Treehouse ADVENTURES.”

When I got home, a box of shoes a friend gave me several months ago caught my eye. The outside said, “Fit for adventure.” Okay, we’ve officially entered the Twilight Zone. Anyway, I stuck the Legos in the closet for later this week, and when I did, I saw a light switch cover another friend gave me last year when I was remodeling the house I used to live in. It’s basically a little machine–it has a lever up top with a knob you move from side to side that–through a series of mechanisms–makes the switch go up and down. It’s the coolest thing ever, and I’ve been telling myself, I’ll use it when I have my own place. But keeping with the theme of adventure, I thought, Why not now? It’s fun. It makes me happy. So I hung it up. (See the picture up top.)

Okay, two more weird things. While looking at Facebook, I saw an advertisement for some self-helpy stuff–an online course of sorts. Well, it’s not unusual to see that typle of thing in my news feed, but the website had a freaking bird on it–front and center. Okay, I’ll think about it. I’m not biting yet. Then I saw a posted article about the benefits of lying on your back with your legs up a wall. (It’s a yoga pose called–get ready–legs up a wall). Again, this sort of thing isn’t out of the ordinary, but most of the day I’ve been focused on a low-level pain in my leg that I don’t want to get worse–and I’ve been telling myself that God and the universe are smart enough to figure this damn problem out. So I tried it.

First I’d like to say that it ain’t easy to get and keep your butt up against a wall while lying on your back. I mean, maybe for you it is. But if you’ve never tried it and want to–just take your time. Also, look out for any doorstops on the baseboard. YOWZA. Anyway, while I had my legs up the wall, I discovered a muscle, tendon, or something attached to my right kneecap that DID NOT feel good. In fact, when I tried to stretch it, it hurt so bad that I nearly jumped out of my skin and immediately started doing Lamaze.

HEE–HEE–WHO (Fuck). HEE–HEE–WHO (Damn).

Part of me thinks that I’m crazy for even considering the idea that God speaks to me through shoe boxes and advertisements on Facebook. That being said, I don’t believe in accidents, and there are plenty of days when I DON’T notice the word adventure, when I DON’T stop scrolling long enough to see a bird, when I DON’T have time to try a new stretch that would make even John Wayne whimper.

Whereas I know that I can blow a lot of smoke up my own ass at times, I have been asking God a lot of questions lately, so I like to think that all of these “coincidences” all just God nudging me in the right direction. Caroline Myss says, “Prayers are answered immediately, but how they are answered is often a mystery that unfolds at the pace that I can handle.” So I’m trying to be open to the idea that answers to prayers–at least clues–can show up anywhere, even at Walmart, even in my Facebook feed. And maybe that makes me feel like Alice going down the rabbit hole, but honestly I’m ready to have my world turned up side because it wasn’t working the other way (when I was in charge). Yes, I’m ready for a little adventure, ready to play with Legos again, ready to see where the nudges of God take me.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Even if you can't be anything you want to be, you can absolutely be who you were meant to be. Don't let anyone else tell you differently.

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The Universe Communicates (Blog #115)

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Okay, so I’m addicted to Facebook just like the rest of the world is. There, I said it. Phew, I feel better. Anyway, this afternoon after Bonnie and I went shopping, we came back to the Airbnb, and I took a serious nap while Bonnie took a semi-serious nap and then went for a walk or whatever she did that I don’t know because–again–I was seriously napping. I mean, the sun was down when I finally opened my eyes. I think it was eleven. But the first thing I did when I woke up was–you guessed it–Facebook. Scroll, scroll, scroll–Bette Midler interview–stop.

The next thing I knew, I was caught up in this story about Bette’s rise to fame that started with her singing in The Continental Baths, which I guess was a place in New York City that homosexuals could get naked, take baths together–um, whatever–and listen to the likes of Bette Midler and Barry Manilow–live. So basically it was soap, sex, and a song. I mean, we all need entertainment. Well, Bette said that she and Barry had a falling out, but she hoped they could patch it up. And sorry, said the interview guy, but to find out more, you’ll have to go to our website.

Fine. You have my attention.

I mean, I really didn’t wake up today itching to find out more about Bette Midler and Barry Manilow, but that’s what I did. So now–without meaning to–I’m even gayer than I was before.

I guess some things you can’t avoid.

This evening while Bonnie went to her final Kizomba dance, I went for a jog. One of my closest friends from high school, Neil, messaged me this weekend and suggested that I meet him in Seattle for a half-marathon. “I think it’d be really good for both of us,” he said. “And it will also guarantee me a spot on the blog.” (We all have dreams.) Anyway, I’m lately in the mood of saying yes to life (as well as beer, donuts, and cigarettes), so I told Neil I thought that would be a great idea, both for our friendship and for my waistline. That’s as far as we’ve gotten with the plan, but now it’s in print, so maybe it’s more likely to happen. Either way, I figured now was as good a night as any to start training.

I’m not sure how far I jogged tonight, but I’m confident it was the farthest I’ve gone this year, maybe ever. All I know is I was gone for two or two-and-a-half hours, and I jogged the majority of the time. But I also tried to take in the city and dream about living here one day, so I stopped to look around, explore. I saw a shirt with a kid hugging a unicorn that said, “Hold your horses.” I found out hotels are a great place to use the restroom and grab a drink of water–just walk in and look like you belong.

Here’s a picture of a gay bar that I thought had a great name–Cheer Up Charlies (like the song from Willy Wonka).

My jog took me to South Congress, which if you’re going south to north and cross the Colorado River, becomes just regular Congress and runs smack dab into the capitol building. Anyway, first I went south (away from the capitol), and then I turned around and went north (toward it). I can’t tell you how much I’ve fallen in love with this view and this city while being here this week.

There’s a quote by Chris Prentiss that says, “Not only is the Universe aware of us, but it also communicates with us. We, in turn, are constantly in communication with the Universe through our words, thoughts, and actions. The Universe responds with events. Events are the language of the Universe. The most obvious of those events are what we call coincidence.”

I thought a lot about this idea while I was running, the idea that the universe communicates. Honestly, I used to think that the universe–or God–didn’t notice me, wasn’t interested. But I’ve been coming around to the idea that it does, not just saying it but actually believing it. And I guess you could make a meaning out of anything, but sometimes when I see particular road signs or hear certain songs, I like to think that God is talking me.

Tonight on South Congress, I found the sign above that says, “I love you so much.” After that, there was another sign on a hotel that said, “Let love in.” Neither message was earth shattering, but both were subtle reminders that there’s a lot more good in the world than I’ve previously believed. I can’t prove to you that I was “meant” to see those messages tonight, but I could have ended up on any other road tonight, run by any number of other signs. And of all the signs I did pass, those are the ones that caught by attention. So whatever you call it, I think there’s something “out there,” or more likely “in here” that’s nudging me in the direction of “life ain’t so bad.”

Cheer up, Charlie.

When I got home from the run, I was drenched, breathing heavily. And I guess I can only stand so much healthy living for one day, since I drank a soda and smoked a cigarette (and then threw the rest of the pack away). Then I took a shower, made some toast, and sat down with a to-go container of peanut butter and a miniature jar of strawberry preserves that someone had left in the refrigerator.

And get this shit.

The lid on the jar said, “Straw Berry Manilow.” Barry Manilow! How great is that? I actually laughed out loud. I mean, it’s clever marketing to start with, but I love that I was learning about Bette and Barry earlier this evening, and then there’s this funny little reminder that not only is the universe capable of lining up some pretty amazing messages if we’re willing to see them (how much work would it take YOU to put Barry Manilow in someone’s Facebook feed AND Berry Manilow in their Airbnb refrigerator on the same day?), but that also God has a delightful sense of humor.

Barry, berry delightful indeed.

The quote earlier referred to events like these as coincidences. Carl Jung called them synchronicities, and he believed they stemmed from the fact that all of life is connected. He called that connection Unus Mundus, which is Latin for “one world.” Sometimes I just imagine that God is like a child playing hide-and-seek. After a while, it’s no fun to stay hidden, so you have to start dropping hints. Hey, I’m over here. Look at this sign. Now I’m over here–in the Straw Berry Manilow preserves. That’s right, I’m talking to you.

Oh hey, God. Fine. You have my attention.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Things are only important because we think they are.

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