Think About "Dont-nating" Your Blood

“Don’t drink the water

There’s blood in the water”

-       Dave Matthews Band

So, Health Canada has given the green light to Canadian Blood Services to lift their lifetime ban on gay men donating blood.  Finally! This policy, first introduced by the Red Cross in the mid 80’s during the early years of the AIDS crisis, was archaic and discriminatory and its undoing should be lauded…

Pardon me?

The lifetime ban is being replaced by a new policy? Gay men are now allowed to donate blood as long as they haven’t had sex with another man for 5 years prior to donation? Are you fucking kidding me?

Thanks but no thanks.

Does Size Matter?

The quick answer is “yes.”

I assume that your dirty little mind went “there” immediately… mine generally does.

I am what is affectionately called a “crotch watcher,” as it is the first place my eyes go when I see an attractive guy… who am I kidding – any guy. I am also drawn to noses, arms and cheekbones, but invariably the first thing I do is check out your package. It doesn’t make a lot of sense but it is true. I don’t really care how big your penis is, I just want to make sure it looks good in a pair of jeans.

Some men are “showers” and some men are “growers” so appearances can be deceiving.  A “shower” (rhymes with blower) is a guy whose penis appears at - or close to - actual size. A “grower” is a guy whose penis needs to come with a caution label - “objects may be larger than they appear.” Other factors, including the type of underwear you are wearing, the size of your testicles and temperature may also distort the findings.

An Update On The 8-Year-Old I Mentor Who Told Me, "I Hate Homos"

"If this is going to be a teachable moment for him, then we are going to have to revisit the conversation. As the adult in this relationship, it is my job to address what happened and make it right. I will broach the subject calmly, from a place of compassion and understanding. It is not about making him feel bad or "less than"; it is about offering him a different perspective."

You can read the entire Huffington Post article here...

When The 8-Year-Old I Mentor Told Me, "I Hate Homos"

"I have been married for 5 years, and live in a country where marriage between same-sex couples has been legal since 2005. I live in a progressive city where gay couples and gay culture are commonplace. My husband and I have nothing to hide; our tiny condo doesn't even have closets. Admittedly, I do not have to deal with these types of questions very often."

You can read the entire Huffington Post article here...

Hey Steve...

Hey Steve,

Long time, no chat… How have you been? Still having trouble sleeping?

You really shouldn’t let that video of Justin Trudeau stripping bother you so much. Sure, he’s 12 years younger than you and slightly more toned but I don’t think too many people noticed. Nobody picks a Prime Minister based solely on looks… Thank God, right?

I agree that the attack ads seemed a little desperate but what are you supposed to do? We can’t give Canadians the time to actually make an informed decision. They worked so well with Dion and Ignatieff – how were you supposed to know that people would see right through them this time? I mean, Dion was easy because of the language barrier and Ignatieff was easy because of that face, but Trudeau will be a little harder to demonize. I think the “not ready to lead” angle is a good way to go as long as nobody actually looks into it. It’s not like people can just Google your experience when you were elected party leader and compare it to his, is it? That would be bad…

Follow Your Bliss or: Happy Birthday To Me

“Follow your bliss and the universe will open doors for you where there were only walls.”

- Joseph Campbell

I hope I do not come across as one of those self-satisfied jerks who thinks he has it all figured out, because nothing could be further from the truth. I am just as scared and insecure as you are. I “self-medicate” when necessary and routinely find myself wide-awake at four AM wondering: “what the fuck am I doing with my life?” I question the decisions I have made and worry that I have messed everything up by quitting my job and chasing my dreams.

I didn’t really have a choice.

I saw myself at 72 (don’t ask me why) and didn’t like what I saw. This older version of myself was not very happy. He had a lot of regrets. He kept repeating the same question over and over: “why didn’t I try?”

Somewhere, deep inside, I always wanted to be a storyteller.

Did The Lord Of The Rings Make Me Gay?

fantasize

(fan-ta-size) verb

indulge in daydreaming about something desired; I used to fantasize about Hobbits.

I read The Lord Of The Rings long before I understood what it was all about. Our family had a condensed version, where all three volumes were combined into one giant book. It weighed as much as I did.

I was literally in the closet back then. Due to a large window beside my bed and an irrational fear of being eaten alive in the middle of the night by wild animals, I slept in a built-in closet at the foot of my bed. At night, huddled beneath my blankets with a flashlight, I would read until the lines began to blur together and I could not keep my eyes open any longer. I would underline and write down all of the words I did not understand and look them up the next day.

Hunting And Pecking My Way Out

hiding

(hid-ing) noun

the action of concealing something or someone; I’ve been hiding most of my life.

I’ve been spending a lot of my time lately with Lara Croft.  The new “reboot” of Tomb Raider is out and her and I have been running, jumping and shooting our way across a mysterious island in the South Pacific for the better part of a week.  Before Lara it was Isaac Clarke from Dead Space 3 and before that, the Vault Hunters from Borderlands 2.

The point being… I spend a lot of time with my PS3.  I am a “hider” and my favorite place to hide is in video games.

A “hider” is someone who, when faced with adverse situations, chooses to lie low instead of facing the adversity head on.  Kindred spirits include “runners,” “drinkers” and “sex addicts.”  Workaholics, reality TV junkies, avid readers, the kid on the bus with the massive headphones… we are everywhere.

As Free As My Hair

“I’ve had enough, this is my prayer

That I’ll die livin’ just as free as my hair”

                                     - Lady Gaga

The experiment is over. The waste-bin is filled with the remnants of my latest misguided attempt to grow out my hair and I feel… relieved. There was something disingenuous about the whole ordeal, something sordid and not quite right. 

I’ve been shaving my head for the better part of a decade, out of sheer convenience and utter laziness mainly, but also because I am too cheap to pay some gay guy good money for something I can do at home for free. It wasn’t something I thought about too much, unless somebody else brought it up. Not having hair was never a part of my consciousness, until I decided to grow it out.

A few weeks in and I realized that I was spending much more time in front of the mirror, poking and primping my new Chia Pet, trying to make it look… well, different than it looked.  A month in and I began to wear a lot of hats.  After 6 weeks I invested in some product, indignantly paying $15 for “sculpting gel” whose entire purpose was to make me look like I had just rolled out of bed. Yes, it did occur to me that I could have just “rolled out of bed” instead, but my version of that particular look and the actual look were very different.

I F*cking Hate Valentines Day

February 14

(feb-ru-ar-y 14) noun

the 45^th day of the Gregorian calendar; Valentines Day; on February 14^th I’ll show you how much you mean to me.

Valentines Day makes my skin crawl.  Of all the manufactured holidays we are forced to endure, this one really busts my balls. 

When I strip away the ludicrous trappings of holidays like Christmas or Easter, there is a glimmer of merit buried beneath the spectacle that makes sense to me. I get the value is celebrating special days dedicated to our Mothers and Fathers and even our secretaries… oh wait, our Administrative Professionals, but I just don’t get Valentines Day.

In fact, I loathe Valentines Day.

Every year, like some diabolical doomsday clock, February 14^th ticks closer and closer and closer until there is nowhere left to run and hide. It’s here and the cloyingly sweet smell of expectation and hope is in the air

It is a day that is designed to make us feel shitty about ourselves.

This House Is Not Yet A Home

house

(hous) noun

a building for human habitation; esp. one that is lived in by a family or a small group of people: this house is not yet a home.

You know you’re getting old when…

The correlation between this phrase and the grave is irrefutable.  The closer you get to the pine box or the urn, the more you hear yourself saying it.  It mysteriously enters your lexicon around 36 – when everything really starts to go to Hell – and asserts its presence more and more as the years tick ungratefully by.

The other day I threw my back out during “sexy times.”  That’s what my husband and I call our bi-monthly rutting… because it sounds better than “bi-monthly rutting.”  So, there we were, in the shower (because even our amorous moments are dual-purposed) when some dumb flunky upstairs flushes their toilet - that’s the sign for our water to turn to “volcano” temperature – and all Hell breaks loose.

Hunting Unicorns

mythical

(myth-i-cal) adjective

occurring in or characteristic of myths or folk tales; the unicorn is a mythical creature.

A good friend of mine recently came out to me. Not from the closet – she’s not gay (or isn’t anymore… it’s complicated) – but from the confines of a traditional marriage. It turns out that her and her husband have been exploring the boundaries of what is considered “normal” for quite some time and have decided to stop hiding it from those who love and care about them. 

I applauded her courage and demanded to know everything!

An innocent night of recreational psychedelics evolved into a foursome with mutual friends, which led to an abruptly pertinent conversation about their state of affairs. After “holy fuck, what was that?” and “holy fuck, that was awesome!” there were some other issues that needed to be discussed; namely, what does this say about our marriage?

The assumption is that something is wrong.  The end goal, the mythical “gold ring” that we are all chasing, is monogamy – we’ve been taught that since day one – so if monogamy is suddenly gone then something must be broken. This shit has been drilled into our heads by our parents, our teachers, our religious leaders and anyone else who seeks to inseminate their own version of “how things are supposed to be.” It is puritanical nonsense based on old news. Monogamy is great for those of us who choose it, but it shouldn’t be held up as an ideal that we all need to strive for. It is your marriage and your relationship – nobody should define it except for you and your partner.

After they talked about it, my friend and her husband, realized that there was nothing at all wrong with their marriage; in fact, it had never been better and they hadn’t been this hot for each other in a long time! The problem – if there was one - was with other people’s perceptions of how their relationship was supposed to be.

With assurances of mutual respect and some well-defined boundaries they embarked on a great adventure, together.  They have a boyfriend now, who they share equally and are on the hunt for a unicorn…

Apparently, finding an open-minded, attractive (they’re not called a Sasquatch for a reason) female who is ready to insert herself into a three or foursome, is akin to finding a unicorn – rare, elusive and mind-blowing.

I admire my friends for “coming out of the closet” with their non-traditional marriage. They are brave trailblazers who are not willing to be pigeonholed or told that they are “less than” by a society obsessed with labels and boxes. By telling the people who matter to them (not screaming it from a rooftop) they are, in their own important way, helping the rest of us to be a little braver and reminding us that silence and secrets never serve a greater good.

Our collective hang-up with talking to each other about things deemed taboo is what keeps us from really knowing each other and understanding that we are not alone. The truth is, there’s lots of people feeling shitty about them selves right now, because of who they are or what they’ve done or how they perceive society will think of them. It’s ridiculous and unnecessary and preventable; all we need to do is start to talk to one another – it really is that simple.

Time to stop ranting now. I’m off to do some hunting.

I really want to find them their unicorn.

2012: A Year Of Living Fearlessly?

review

(re-vyoo) noun

a report on or evaluation of a subject or past events: a review of 2012.

I don’t know if this happened to you last year or not, but I turned another year older (43… still watching Glee?). Birthdays come and go without much fanfare these days; however, 43 was more stressful than the last few… because of the blog. I was pretty wrapped up in finding a new name for it, mainly since I was no longer going to be 42, but also because I discovered (much to my surprise) that maybe, just maybe, I did have a clue after all…

I know right? Pretty mind-blowing!

The first big change of 2012 came in January when I left my job. I worked at Urban Barn for 10 years, got my Tiffany ring and bolted for greener pastures… Actually, who am I kidding, it was nothing like that. After investing such a long time in a company and helping it grow from 10 to 40 stores you become pretty attached to its people and to its success. Leaving was never something I took lightly. Ultimately, it came down to passion. Sure, the job paid my mortgage, provided me with a comfortable living and helped pay for my new teeth (Chippy, Cracky, Blacky and Can-opener will NOT be missed) but it never truly excited me.  

I know a lot of people that hate their jobs and a few who actually love what they do; the difference is astounding. The quality of life for those who sincerely love their jobs versus those of us who are just going thru the motions? It’s night and day. I kept wondering when I was going to find my calling? When was I going to be “one of those people?” When was it going to be my turn?

Things changed when I let go of the fear. 

On Clues & Closets - Special Guest Post

clue

(kloo) noun
something that serves to guide or direct in the solution of a problem, mystery, etc.; his behaviour gave me a clue as to how I should proceed.

having a clue
(hav-ing a kloo) verb
a socially constructed state of being in which one has it all figured out, but which limits creativity and hinders diversity once attained; he’s 42 and still does not have a clue.

I’m 31, and much like Robbie, I still don’t have a clue – or at least not a solid one. You know, one of those clues you can really hold onto and run away with. The kind of clue that motivates you to eat your Wheaties in the morning and check your mutual funds in the afternoon (I don’t even really know what a mutual fund is – but I hope to, someday).

For now, clues are the stuff that dreams are made of. Or rather, clues and dreams are made of similar stuff. Scratch that – dreams rock, clues are for sell-outs. I’ll return to this point.

On my blog David Bothered (www.davidbothered.com), I write about some pretty big issues – religion, science, environmental conservation, self-actualization, you name it. I always write with the goal to inspire, and to offer alternative perspectives – no, to encourage alternative perspectives. We all have a tendency to get stuck, and getting stuck will get us nowhere (and certainly not any closer to a mutual fund).

But many roads lead to inspiration, and my blog is only one such road, tangled and twisted among a plethora of winding streets and rocky (even icy) paths. Robbie’s blog, 42…Still No Clue is another such road. And it has been with great pleasure that these two particular roads have had the opportunity to intersect.

I tend to get a little serious, whereas Robbie’s road to inspiration is humour – much to my admiration, I might add.

The Soundtrack Of My Life

stupid

(stoo-pid) adjective

lacking intelligence or common sense: I am stupid.

fat

(fat) noun

a natural oily or greasy substance occurring in animals bodies, esp. when deposited as a layer under the skin or around certain organs: I am fat.

My brain has a default setting: I am stupid and fat. Like a diabolical jukebox that plays only “Barbie Girl” or “Achey Breaky Heart” until you want to pour battery acid in your ears, so goes my brain.     

It looks something like this: there is a miniature tape player located at the back of my head, snugly lodged in my cerebellum - yours may be an I-Pod if you’ve already had the upgrade. It hums a long, quietly forgotten, playing the dull everyday elevator music of my life until something happens that requires a more dramatic soundtrack. 

CLICK

WHIR

A new track plays…  It’s something more appropriate… It’s… Oh, it’s “You’re Stupid And Fat” again…   

Did I Vote On Your Marriage?

That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for the GLBT community.

Ask any American where the center of the Universe is and they’ll tell you it’s somewhere below the 49^th parallel and above Mexico.  Many will choose New York City, Los Angeles or Las Vegas.  How many would choose Annapolis, Augusta or Olympia, the capital cities of Maine, Maryland and Washington State?

On November 6^th, 2012, the good people of these three states voted to allow same sex couples to get married.  It is the first time in the US where this decision was made by the people and not the courts. 

Forgive me if I overstate; this is a watershed moment for GLBT people worldwide and perhaps the most important day in the history of the gay rights struggle.

America is the bright beacon of hope for so many people around the world, whether we like it or not, often “how goes America, how goes the world.”  Even though it isn’t a perfect system, democracy is the best option out there, and democracy spoke loud and clear on Tuesday night.

Capitalist Vermin

Vermin

(ver-min) noun

various small animals, such as mice or rats, that are destructive, annoying or injurious; the vermin got into our feed and greatly reduced our stock.

Capitalist Vermin

(cap-i-tal-ist ver-min) noun

wealthy vermin, such as Mickey Mouse, who build their nests out of shredded $100 bills; it was a sad day when capitalist vermin purchased Lucasfilm.

I grew up on Star Wars – the good Star Wars.  The Empire Strikes Back remains one of my favorite movies of all time and the most profound film-going experience of my life.  I discovered the true power of cinema: the ability to transport and to inspire wonder and help people escape the cold reality of their own lives.  

I didn’t just love Han Solo; I was Han Solo. 

Creating A Crisis

Crisis

(cri-sis) noun

a time of difficulty, trouble or danger: creating a crisis generally gets you a lot of attention.

As I see it, the inherent flaw in human nature is our need to be loved. 

We can pretend that we are tough and portray ourselves as stoic warriors to the outside world, yet intrinsically, we need, and crave that affirmation from an exterior source.  The desire to be loved, cared about and made to feel special is part of our genetic make-up.  We want to be a part of something that is bigger than ourselves, something that defines us beyond our own narrow, self obsessed point of view. 

This need to be loved can get us in a lot of trouble.

In my family, when one is feeling unloved, we do something unusual – my husband calls it creating a crisis. 

This means we invent a calamity and then milk it for all it’s worth. 

Robbie and Dan's Bogus Journey

Savage

(sav-age) adjective

(of an animal or force of nature) fierce, violent and uncontrolled: a savage attack on basic civil rights.

Sav-age, Dan

(1964-) American author, media pundit, and journalist, best know for his internationally syndicated sex advice and relationship column Savage Love: I totally want to spoon with Dan Savage.

My full-blown love affair (entirely one-sided) with Dan Savage is pretty recent.  I’ve enjoyed Savage Love in the Georgia Straight for years, admired his strength of purpose when he founded the “It Gets Better” project, and have always respected his opinions.  It is only in the past several months that I have fallen completely head-over-heels.

I am fairly certain that it’s this new, more aggressive Dan we’ve witnessed lately that has transformed my dull roar into a raging howl.  His increasingly public clashes with FRC fuck-tard Tony Perkins and NOM Nazi Brian Brown have really got my juices flowing.  So, this week, when I was invited to attend a live taping of Slate’s Political Gabfest at Town Hall in Seattle with special guest Dan Savage I jumped at the chance.

Cock Punch - Round 2

punch

(pun-CH) – verb

strike with the fist: that guy deserves a good punch

cock punch

(cock pun-CH) – verb

strike with the fist into a man’s genitals: I would really like to cock punch that guy

It is definitely time to hand out some more cock punches!  The world continues to go crazy and some people are helping it along a little too much.

A Honey Cured Canadian Bacon Cock Punch for that asshole Kevin Reinhart and the shareholders of Nexen Inc. who voted overwhelming to approve a $15.1 billion takeover by CNOOC, a state-owned Chinese oil company.  The deal, which still needs to be approved by the Canadian Government – which we all know it will be – is just the latest example of Stephen Harper and his unpatriotic flunkies in Ottawa selling Canada out to the highest bidder.  Hey Harper, what ever happened to the promised changes in the Investment Canada Act review process you committed too after the Potash debacle?  Is anything you say true?