Preparing to let go.

You wouldn't believe it, but only a few minutes ago, I was sitting at the dining room table having an intense conversation with John.  Emotions were on edge and all the while, I was sitting there--resisting the urge to bolt from the table and run outside to choke down a cigarette, seeing as I wouldn't dare dream of lighting up inside.  Nevertheless, with all the courage I could muster and even with my cigarettes outside, I managed to stay focused on the conversation already in progress.

We were talking about breaking up.  

I can't really say it came as a surprise to either of us.  In fact, I don't even think I flinched when the words came out of my mouth.  However, sitting here now, trying to replay bits and pieces of the conversation from earlier--I can barely recall much of it.  The segments that am I able (and willing) to recite sounded something like this:  "Maybe I'm not that person that you want to spend the rest of your life with."  "Animal at the bottom of the ocean..." " Depression and processing..." 

Blah. Blah. 

While he and I were talking and airing out our complaints and frustrations, miraculously neither one of us raised our voices at the other.  But rather, we spoke in calm tones and we both maintained a sense of rationale when confronting the other person.  

Now, a couple of hours later, the house is uncomfortably quiet.  And that's the part that I hate the most.

Mass Confusion.

Finally!  The last Friday of the month.  After waiting for what seemed like forever, it's finally here.   Lately, I've started to look forward to the last Friday of each month for one reason.  

Critical Mass.

On the last Friday of each month, around 7 o'clock, a large group of people meet up with their bicycles and ride through San Diego.  As soon as the sun sets we plot our course and all at once the large mass of people--all on bicycles, take over the streets.  

I'd seen the group quite a few times in the past, but didn't know who or what they were.  All I knew was there was this large mass of people riding their bikes, stopping traffic and having a good time.  At first glance, I suspected that it was some kind of night parade.  Or maybe a group who'd gotten together to protest about the high cost of gas.  I even thought that they were doing something political.  But whatever it was, I wanted to know who they were.  My neighbors and I tried to figure it out but we came up with nothing.    

Finally, last month while at the neighborhood liquor store, I'd noticed a lot of people on bikes, heading towards Balboa Park.  

"They ride tonight!" I exclaimed.  At that moment, I decided that I would ride with them.  

Critical Mass isn't the only bicycle group that converges on the last Friday here in San Diego. In fact, there are quite a few groups that ride.  And now I would be a part of it!  

This evening would be my second time riding with the group.  

Around 8:30, with everyone trying to figure out where we would ride, we set out for downtown San Diego. You have to imagine downtown San Diego on a Friday night.   Comic-Con was going on at the convention center--not to mention, the crowd of people in the Gaslamp District; what better place for us to ride!  

Just as sunset gave way to nightfall, a large mass of cyclists left Balboa Park and shot down Sixth Avenue towards downtown.  Hooting & hollering, we all made our way down the gradual decline of Sixth, picking up speed along the way.  Taking up both southbound lanes, we  rolled down the street, ringing our bells, blowing whistles and waving to everyone that lined the sidewalks of Bankers Hill.  It was freakin' awesome!  

Of course the people in cars were pissed off!  Not only were we able to hold up traffic, but the SDPD provided us with a few cops to make sure none of the motorists tried to break up our group.  I also think they were the ones who changed the traffic lights for us as well.  

The people strolling through the Gaslamp, down near Petco Park stopped and cheered.  Some people asked why were we riding.  Some people simply pointed while others snapped pictures.  When we finally turned onto Harbor Drive in front of the San Diego Convention Center, all the people leaving Comic-Con started cheering.  Funny thing was, they had absolutely no clue why they were cheering, but they did.  Finally working our way along Harbor Drive and the waterfront of downtown San Diego, we rode towards the airport, stopping traffic everywhere we went.  Imagine if you were walking or driving then all of a sudden over 500 people all on bikes started heading towards you.  

That's how we looked.  

After a series of U-turns and double backs, the group finally decided to head back towards Balboa Park and the neighborhoods uptown.  We'd ridden over 10 miles--all in under two and a half hours!  Passing through the park, many bikers trailed off.  Me, I continued on because it was just a matter of time before Critical Mass would be passing my building. Finally, in Hillcrest, the congregation made one last pit stop. 

At the liquor store, I snapped this last picture, said a few good byes and then headed for home.  Already, even as I sit here blogging about it, I'm looking forward to the next bike ride at the end of August. 

Dinner with Friends

I wasn't aware that I'd been coming off as stand-offish.  

In fact, it was only this afternoon, while talking with John was it brought to my attention.  As I'd mentioned in the previous post, this weekend, John's friend--Kerry, from Seattle was in town and staying with us.  Kerry flew into L.A. to see about a prospective job and to settle some personal affairs.  While in Southern California, he drove down to San Diego to visit.  John informed me that it had been over two years since the two of them had seen each other.   

So this afternoon, John mentioned that while it wasn't my intention, I hadn't spent much time with them.  Friday night, I declined their invitation to join the two of them for dinner--instead choosing to dine alone.  Much of this morning was spent with me talking on the phone with Lucy while the two of them had breakfast at the cafe across the street from our house. I stayed home when the two of them walked to the market and when they returned, I was preparing to head out--once again, only this time to get my hair cut.  

"I'm just saying," John told me while getting ready for an afternoon nap.  "If you could at least sit and talk with him--just hang out, for a while.  It would be nice."  

I figured the two of them had a lot to talk about.  Nevertheless, I apologized for giving the wrong impression and vowed to correct it.   Kerry offered to cook dinner for us later that evening.  "He's a wonderful cook." John told me.

With John in the bedroom, napping, Kerry and I sat in the living room talking.  We talked about Seattle.  I told him that I lived there for 5 years, when I was stationed in Bremerton.  We chatted about colleges and I shared with him my intentions to attend UC San Diego, once I finished at City.  Our conversation moved from the living room out to the terrace where we chatted some more while sun bathing.  

Dinner that evening was a delicious beef brisket that Kerry grilled, a Middle Eastern bean salad in addition to a fresh garden salad.  There was plenty of wine of course and the three of us, along with Miss Lester (who'd made it her duty to circle the table with the hopes of receiving a piece of the brisket) set about stuffing ourselves.  It wasn't long before we realized that the three of us had eaten almost everything on the table!  

And that's when the phone rang.  

Our friend, Jay, who was in Anaheim at an Angels game, called to let us know that his train had arrived back in San Diego and that he would be able to stop by for dinner after all.  

"I can only stay for a short while," he said over the phone.  

Jay arrived shortly thereafter.  Luckily, there was enough food left for a plate, but there would be no seconds for Jay.  He gave us details of the Angels game, talked about his train ride from Orange County back to San Diego and laughed at the small portion of dinner that we'd left him.  Another bottle of wine uncorked and the conversation continued to flow.  We were having a great time!  Four men, connecting and sharing.  Bonding and enjoying each others company.  It couldn't get any better than that.   And that's when it dawned on me.

While in the previous post, I'd written about not looking forward to Gay Pride weekend in San Diego.  I'd talked about how I didn't need a parade or parties or music to remind me of my homosexuality.  While that still remains true, what I do desperately need--crave, is connecting with other men.  I live for it.  I truly enjoy sharing pieces of my life with other men and I enjoy it when they share pieces of theirs with me.  I love the connection.  That's what Gay Pride means to me.  Like I said, I can do without the parade and party rigmarole, but I love the connection.  The bonds that are formed, the new friendships that are created and the memories that come from those shared moments.  

After Jay left and Kerry headed downstairs to the guest bedroom and all the dishes and leftovers had been put away, I shared my revelation with John.  I'd finally realized what Gay Pride meant to me.  He smiled while I babbled on, happy that I'd figured out what was missing.  Even while I sat next to him, dabbing my eyes with what was once a Kleenex and trying not to cry anymore, John just lay there with a big grin on his face.  I'd finally got it.  It was like finding something that I knew I was looking for; only I didn't know how I would recognize it when I found it.  It all seemed so clear to me.  

Happy Pride 2008.

Relax. It's only Pride.

The music.  The parties. The outrageous cover charges. 

The sex.  The drugs.  And don't forget the STDs.  

That's right, it's Gay Pride 2008 in San Diego this weekend.  The only time of year when the word DIVERSITY seems to be the mot du jour.   And already, I'm over it.

Sometimes it seems like I'm the only gay man in San Diego who doesn't get all caught up in pride.  And maybe I am, but the way I see, I don't need a parade to remind me that I'm attracted to men.  Also, with so many men shying away from what it means to be gay--let alone being labeled as gay, I can't help but wonder if celebrating pride weekend has become a bit redundant.  Thinking about that while I sit here typing this entry, it should come as no surprise that I'm sitting here at home, on a Friday night--alone.  Well actually, Miss Lester is sitting in the chair to my left, curled up asleep.   John has a friend visiting from Seattle and I'm guessing the two of them strolled over to University Avenue to take in all the visiting gays & lesbians.  

Originally, I'd planned to spend this evening at the movies--the fact that I'd even thought about going to the movies, is saying a lot.  But instead, I took my time getting showered and dressed, called Lucy to chat with her for a while then decided, only then, that I would stroll out of the building in search of something for dinner.  

What would normally have been a quiet stroll on a lovely evening, turned into my wishing that Chipotle was closer to my house or that I would have ridden my bike.   Each restaurant, bar and frozen yogurt place that I passed was packed--some with lines that wrapped around their buildings.   It was crazy!

Nevertheless, I did make it to my destination--and got cruised and flirted with once before I got there.  

Kinda (sorta), but not really.

My fingers are jittery.  

I can feel my teeth clench.  Even as I stare at my laptop, I can feel my upper body starting to tense.  Almost instantly, my mind begins to wander.  Then the anxiety sets in.  

What if my second shot at blogging ends up like the first?  What if no one bothers to read my words?  What makes me think I can do this?  Maybe I should stop while there's still time. 

This is Bubblegum Jones.  My new (read, second) attempt at blogging.  Only this time, I plan to do things differently.  What exactly, I'm not too sure.  But I do know that it was time to change a few things about my writing.  What am I going to change?  Again, I have no idea.

So here I am.  Slouched on the couch, listening to some music and trying to figure out what it is I plan to actually do that will be different than before.  I mean, of course I'm going to write about all of my crazy experiences.  And there will definitely be tales of my relationship with John.  I may even mention my dog, Miss Lester (that's her in the photo).  And Lucy and Donovan--they'll definitely get a few lines.  Oh yeah, and there'll be pictures.  

Only, it will all be different.  If only I could figure out how.  

The more I think about it, the more I start to realize that different just happens.  I can't predict what's going to be different, but I do know--it will be.  I guess what I'm trying to say is, the blog has a new look, the writing will kinda be the same (but different) and everything else will just happen.  

Differently, I hope.