Take a closer look...

Last Thanksgiving, my mom and sister came from GA to AZ and we did the obligatory drive to Grand Canyon and Sedona since Sis hadn't been here before. (Ahem... I'd lived here 8, count 'em, 8 years.)

Anyhoo, Mikey and I were sitting on a bench in Sedona and my mom snapped a picture of us.

I liked this picture so much... I thought we both looked really cute and happy...



And then I looked closer. Look at the woman in the background...

And then I LOVED this picture so much... I printed it and had it framed and it sits on a shelf in our dining room.

Vacation... All I Ever Wanted

I'm not sure I've ever needed a vacation more than the one we're leaving for on Friday.

AGENDA
Friday, July 20 - 7:26 a.m., depart Phoenix, arrive in San Diego 8:43 a.m. (HEY, it was the cheapest flight)

Saturday, July 21 - Attend San Diego Gay Pride festivities, along with every other gay in Phoenix.

Sunday, July 22 - Depart San Diego 1:16 p.m., arrive San Francisco 2:30 p.m. (YES, bitches, I KNOW we're missing the Zoo Party... For God's sake...) Meet mom, sister and brother-in-law who are coming in from Georgia! Their first time ever in SFO! How fun!

Tuesday, July 24 - Depart San Francisco by car to go to Sonoma County and stay in this ridiculously cute cabin in the woods outside of Guerneville.

Wednesday, July 25 - Friday, July 27 - Drink wine, sleep, read, walk, laugh, love, talk

Friday, July 27 - Return to San Fran for the weekend.

Sunday, July 29 - Depart SFO 9 a.m., arrive Phoenix 10:56 a.m. Visit with my ex-wife and her husband and kid who are, coincidentally, coming to AZ on vacation. They're staying at our house and watching our pup while we're gone. (YES, bitches, ex-wife... For God's sake...)

Can't wait to get outta here!

And then there was one...

We live in a nice neighborhood. Quiet. Some older folks. Families. Quiet. Sleepy, even.

So, about three months ago, I went to Baker Brothers Nursery and bought three Terracotta planters and filled them with white Vincas. I put them on our front porch and we were so proud. We were actually able to keep them alive despite the searing temps of 110+ degrees. We watered them religiously and I got a great joy at walking by them every day when I come home.

Yesterday morning, we come back from breakfast at the Wildflower Bread Company and, as we are walking up to the front door, I stop in my tracks and look down.

There's only one of the planters there.

WHAT?!?! Do you mean to tell me that someone actually stole two of the planters right off our front porch??? I couldn't believe my eyes. And possibly in broad daylight?? (Although, in hindsight, they may have been gone when we went to breakfast and we just didn't notice it. I find it hard to believe someone stole them at 11 a.m.)

What kind of a world is it that someone will steal flower pots off someone's front porch? Have I lost ALL faith in humanity?

Hmmm... I wonder if the last one will be there when I get home today.

This little piggie...

Last night, I walked outside to turn off the light on the pool and, while walking back, tripped on a concrete border we have in the yard and THIS is what it turned into.

It really hurt last night, but we went to dinner with friends anyway. After dinner I looked at it and it had all swollen up and turned bright purple. I've always heard that doctors can't do anything for broken toes, so I just decided to grin and bear it.

I had to wear flip-flops to work today and am limping all over the place. But, this woman who works in our box office asked me if I wanted her to do Reiki on it. I said sure.

She rubbed some Tea Tree oil on the toe and I sat for about 30 minutes while she held her hands around my toe. She said she would continue doing distance Reiki while I went back upstairs to my desk.

Ummm... It actually doesn't hurt as much as it did before. No kidding.

Tara's the only thing that matters...

Admit it... Every person you've ever met that's from the South and doesn't live there anymore annoys you from time to time with his/her stories about it. Right? Their eyes get this faraway look as they recount the red clay squishing between their toes, the wind whispering through the pines and they're Grandma's chicken and dumplings.

Forgive us. We're from a foreign country. We can't help ourselves.

I grew up in the South... With a capital S... Born in downtown Atlanta, my family moved to Belvedere, South Carolina (a suburb of Augusta, GA) when I was 2 years old, then to Macon, GA when I was 8 years old and then back to Snellville (technically, Lilburn, but even Atlantans don't know Lilburn) a suburb of Atlanta when I was 11 years old. I lived in the Atlanta area until I was 27 years old after graduating from Furman University in Greenville, SC. I lived in Norcross, Midtown and then Decatur.

My extended family on my mother's side were all from Atlanta and North Georgia while my extended family on my father's side were all from Jacksonville, FL and South Georgia. I had great aunts and uncles with names like Metzger, Cunnie, C.A. and, of course, my twin great aunts, Lovella and Rosella. We had unidentifiable casseroles after family funerals, accents like The Dukes of Hazzard and vacationed at Myrtle Beach and Jekyll Island.

And until I was 27 and moved away, I hated being from the South. I was embarrassed of my accent and wanted be from a family that had what I considered heritage, a certain culture.

I used to fantasize that my family was from different ethnic backgrounds. I would imagine that we were from Brooklyn or New Jersey, Italian immigrants with my mom big and fat and cooking up a pot of tomato something or other, my (hot) brothers would be snapping each other with towels in the kitchen, tasting out of the pot while Mama smacked their hands away, laughing and yelling and loving. Too many Ragu commercials on the SuperStation.

Or I'd imagine that I was from a Jewish family, learning passages from the Torah to recite for my Bar Mitzvah instead of memorizing Bible verses for Vacation Bible School and making a crucifix out of macaroni pasted on construction paper. I wanted to attend Temple and wear one of those hats I'd seen characters on "Rhoda" wear.

Anything, but my boring Southern family who ate things smothered in Velveeta and tomato soup and okra and never said a rude word directly to anyone, but would cut her to ribbons when she left the room.

Of course, until I moved away...

Now I'm proud... I wear it like a badge of honor... In Arizona, I'm CONSTANTLY having to tell people I'm not from Texas (NOT the South, btw...), but I'm glad they recognize the hint of accent I still have left... I love the reaction I get when I say I'm from Georgia... I just do... It's like I grew up in France or Croatia. In Phoenix, if you're not from Southern California or someplace REALLY cold, you're unusual.

I think I've completely romanticized the South though, like several of my Southern ex-pats have. I have a friend who has lived in New York City for 20 years or more, but is originally from Thomasville, GA. When he starts talking about Thomasville, he turns into Scarlett O'Hara and waxes poetically about his youth in Georgia. Ummm... I've BEEN to Thomasville... It's a pit...

Nevertheless, I've done the same thing... I think about the evenings with fireflies in the yard, the REAL Krispy Kreme doughnut shop on Ponce de Leon and fall color. I kind of miss the baptist churches with the bright green astroturf on the front steps. It was only in my 30s that I learned that it was OK to take a bottle of wine as a housewarming gift. I long for mountains, not really oceans. I want a front porch, even though I never really had one growing up.

It's in my blood... and when I meet a fellow Southerner, we speak like we've known each other all our lives. We have a secret connection that only the people who grew up there have (and not just lived there, by the way, but who grew up there).

We also know that no matter how far away you are, there's a part of you that really needs to go back. That we'll never be free of it... Nor would we want to... We understand the constant heart-tug we have with the South... and home.

We also know that even though it seems so foreign now in some ways, you can still slip right back into it like an old shoe... If I were HALF as good with gay men as I am with old Southern women, I'd get more ass than a toilet seat. I speak those women's language... They're my people... I've been to the Colonnade one too many times...

I love where I'm from and I love where I am. It makes for a good combination.

Oh, and my Grandma's chicken and dumplings? They were the best.

Rude awakening

For two summers in college, I worked at a camp in North Carolina called Camp Arrowhead in the small town of Tuxedo, outside of Hendersonville. It was your basic boys' camp, complete with dining hall shenanigans, canoeing, camping, horseback riding, all tucked away in the hills on the border of North and South Carolina. I loved every minute of it.

While there, I made many good friends that were also counselors. One in particular was my friend, Arno. Arno was from Zimbabwe originally, but was attending the University of South Carolina. And he made me laugh. A lot.

We used to stay up late into the night, sharing stories and drinking and laughing. We really became very close. I listened to his pain at leaving his family in Zimbabwe and how much he missed them. I laughed at his jokes and we quickly formed a deep friendship. Once he came to my parents' house and we all went to Six Flags and once I visited him in Columbia.

While I didn't call it "love" then, and to be honest, I'm not sure it was, I know my feelings ran very deep for this guy and I would've done anything for him. He was funny, pained and liked being my friend.

Years and years later, I was at my apartment having moved to Arizona and decided to Google him. Strangely, I found him and sent him a quick e-mail at his work address, really just to say hi. When he wrote back, he told me that his work was sending him to Tempe the following week and we should get together! I was thrilled... and scared...

Surely he knows I'm gay, I thought. But I figured I better let him know before he gets here, so I sent him an e-mail. He wrote back saying that it was cool and he couldn't wait to see me. Whew...

He shows up, looking pretty much the same, but a little pudgier and grayer... (Aren't we all?) We go to a local restaurant and start shooting the breeze as he fills me in on his life... Married, working in Columbia, etc. I do the same and I'm truly enjoying myself.

Now, I'm a very physical person with those I love. I touch, nudge, grab someone's arm to make a point, you know.

And, at one point, I grab his forearm as it rested on the table and say, "I'm really glad to see you." He pulls away and says, "Stop touching me so much."

And I felt like he'd slapped me in my face. I was completely shocked and left the table to go into the bathroom. Close to tears, I paced back and forth trying to absorb what had just happened. I was getting angry. Really pissed and had decided that he should just take me home and we'd call it a day. Maybe this was a really bad idea. Maybe he secretly really had a problem with homos. Maybe he was struggling with his homo side and I scared him.

I came out, pissed as hell, and asked him to take me home. He started apologizing up and down and he begged me to stay and let's have fun. He said he didn't mean it the way it sounded and that he just wasn't used to people touching him so much. And that he was really glad to see me too.

The night wore on. We had fun catching up, drinking. He wanted to go to this jazz club and he totally reminded me why I had loved him so much in college. He had this charming smile that lit up his face. He kept saying how happy he was to see me. And then, all of a sudden, he jerked his head to me and said, "By the way, when you e-mail me, don't use so many exclamation points. That's so gay." I thought he meant it as a joke, but he was dead serious. "You don't know who could be reading that at my work." His whole demeanor changed for a second as he said it and it freaked me out.

As I often do when I'm really upset, I just turned away and stared straight ahead, afraid of what I might say or do. How do I respond to this??? I guess I could storm out and never see him again. Is he fucking serious???

Somehow, I got past it and we went on to, believe it or not, a gay bar to have a drink. He wanted to, so I said ok.

As we sat at the bar at Roscoe's, he went off. How bad I looked, how I didn't seem to care about myself and how I was deifying my boyfriend at the time and wouldn't stop talking about him. How I was better than what I was being. He really went on and on, pointing out my shoes (Arno has always been really fashion-conscious... I'm just saying), pointing out the shorts I had on. He kept telling me I was better than this. And, to this day, I can't remember my reaction.
I really and truly can't.

And I was devastated. At the time, I thought all of this was about me being gay... and I can't be sure now. I was at a time when I didn't care much about myself and I'm sure I looked pretty bad. I've NEVER been a fashion plate, by any means... Somehow I missed that gay gene.

I can't be sure what he meant, but all I know is it hurt... and it hurt bad... I actually think that the gesture of his pulling his arm away hurt worse than anything. And I wanted to yell at him, call him a fat fuck and tell him what I thought of him marrying a girl from South Carolina named Ginger and that HE was better than THAT.

But, I didn't. He left AZ and we never communicated again. I didn't want to. I didn't care to ever see him again really.

But few episodes in my past have bothered me this much. Truly.

I don't let bad feelings pervade between me and my friends. I'm always the one to call and resolve, get together, talk things over, express how I feel, listen to how he/she feels and get it all out in the open so we can be friends again. They mean a lot to me and I HAVE to make sure there's some kind of resolution, even if it's not great.

But I let Arno go. I try and remember the guy who had the winning smile, the guy who laid with me on a pontoon boat on our backs and professed our undying friendship for each other, the guy who, after watching "The Trip to Bountiful" went to his room and cried because he missed home and I comforted him.

He's the guy that's still somewhere inside. And I'd rather remember him that way.

Funny how things happen

About three years ago, I was attending a work conference in New York, one which I truly tried to get out of. It was October and I really just wanted to stay home.

On the first night, we all gathered at the Bryant Park Grill in what has become my favorite place in Manhattan, the beautiful Bryant Park.

I didn't realize that sport coats were the theme that evening, so I enter the restaurant feeling completely underdressed. Almost immediately, a friend of mine who had recently started a new job in Denver assailed me.

"HEEEEYYY..." she screeched. "I want you to meet my board president! Two of my favorite people in one place!"

And there he stood... Hot Board Member... We chatted for a minute as my gaydar tried to adjust. I couldn't tell if this surly guy was playing on my team or not.

Dinner ensued as I sat at a large table with my screechy friend and her Hot Board Member and some other friends of mine. I noticed that we were all drinking wine, except for Hot Board Member.

Then, in typical theatrical fashion, a friend of mine and British artistic director of a theatre in Chicago announces, "I'm feeling like we should go to a homosexual bar tonight." So, I casually say to Hot Board Member, "Are you going?" And he said, rather disdainfully, "Is it a gay bar?" I look confused and mutter, "Ummm... Yeah, I guess."

Off we trot to Therapy where I spent the night trying to talk to Hot Board Member while some not so hot board member grabbed me and tried to shove his tongue down my throat. I cab it back to the hotel to sleep for the next day.

In the conference room that I was to spend the next 48 hours, I say to my friend, "Have you seen the hot board member from Denver?" I literally couldn't take my eyes off him. Dark, muscly, Italian, Jersey born and bred I could tell... He was so damn cute... and I knew I didn't have a chance. Not that I wanted one. I was trying to fix my failing relationship back home in Phoenix.

At the end of the day, we decide that about five of us would go to dinner. After a myriad of phone calls to solidify details, we meet at my friend's apartment for a drink. HBM is there when I arrive and I try to initiate small talk, but he doesn't seem too interested.

We go to dinner at The Eatery. Five of us cram into a booth in the bar to wait for a table. Then, suddenly, as if we were the only two people there, Hot Board Member yells across the table at me, "Hey... What kind of guys are you normally attracted to?" So, at least that answers that.

"Ummm... I don't know. I guess I usually like guys somewhat older." He holds up his index finger, signifying "that's one."

"I do like muscles on a guy." Two fingers go up.

"And I kinda like hairy guys." Three fingers go up, like a Boy Scout salute.

What the hell? Was he saying, "Bingo, baby, that's me. You just hit the jackpot," or was he saying, "I like that too, so smooth, younger, skinny guy, you don't stand a chance." I literally couldn't tell, but he was turning me the hell on.

One second later, again in front of all my friends, "Hey... Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Yeah."

"Can you guys do other guys?"

In my head, I say, "Well, he obviously thinks he can," but I just look at him and say, "Yeah," half smiling and feeling ridiculously self-conscious. Is he asking because he wants to "do" me? And what's with that term, "do other guys?" Who says that? Doesn't he know the code phrase, "Are you guys open?"

We get called to the table and I do some fancy maneuvering to get to sit next to him. We share brief life stories. He tells me he's from New Jersey originally, but has lived in Denver for the last 30 years or so. He tells me his boyfriend is a prominent pediatrician in Denver and that he has two kids and was married to a woman for 20 years. This hot board member is getting hotter by the minute. And I'm feeling more and more scared that he is kind of flirting with me, something I don't deal with very well.

Suddenly, he interrupts... "You're so (pause, pause, as he searches for the word)... charming."

I stare at him, directly in the eyes, point my finger at him and say simply, without thinking, "Don't start with me." He laughs.

I'm thinking, "OK, Hot Board Member... Italian Jersey guy with the blackest hair I've ever seen and a striking resemblance to John Stamos... DON'T START THIS... I kinda like you... and I NEVER like guys... You're toying with me on a business trip, away from the hubby... and you're ridiculously cute and I feel like I might obsess over you when I get home and I need to fix my floundering relationship with the man I haven't had sex with for two years... Do not start something that neither of us can finish. DO NOT START WITH ME!"

Well, he didn't take the hint. Six months later, he's moving to Phoenix after his relationship ended and mine did too... He's to be my roommate... ONLY... while he fills in for an employee of a friend of mine who is on maternity leave. He'll be here four months, at the most, while he looks for employment somewhere else in the country... He has interviews in Dallas, Charleston, Omaha, Tulsa.

Two and a half years later, he has a great job in Phoenix, we've bought a house we love, built a pool and gotten a dog.

And he's become the love of my life and my family. I'll never be without him.

Life is funny.

BFFs at 40?

I'm on this kick lately of wanting some new friends... Smart friends, funny friends, friends who have more to talk about than who slept with who(m?) and the hot guy at the gym... I'm 40 years old, for God's sake... Doesn't ANYBODY in Arizona know what "Spring Awakening" is?

My boyfriend, Jersey Boy, let's call him, is on the same kick. In his previous life in Denver, he was an A-gay. Not that he enjoyed it because he hated it. But, he was always going to some sort of social fete somewhere to raise money for some worthwhile cause. He refers to his previous boyfriend as the Mayor of Denver due to his serving on so many boards and knowing everyone in town.

But I know that, he too, longs for some conversation that doesn't necessarily revolve around reality TV.

I do know that I'm sounding like an incredible snob here and before I move on, dear reader, I have to tell you that I enjoy talking about hot guys, who's slept with whom (I'm pretty sure it's whom) and some reality TV. I just would like to talk a little more about... well, more. Even things I have no clue about, just to learn something new.

So, we want some new friends.

But, it's hard at our age and, in my opinion, in a city that prides itself on the concrete walls surrounding everyone's house. I want diversity. I want some women, some straight people, some young people and some old people.

And I do have to be careful. We, like many couples I know, have this fantasy of finding another gay couple to do everything with. Travel, cook, eat out, watch our dogs play together. But, it can be much like dating where you don't really want to rush things. How many times have you couples left dinner with another couple and said, "They're nice. We should hang out with them more," meaning "They're funny. Or they're smart. You talked to him a lot and I talked to the other one a lot, so maybe all four us will get along." It's just kind of a weird idea that we have that we'll ALL FOUR just love each other beyond belief. So, I've kind of given up on that idea.

But, I have to be careful because I'll sometimes find someone who I just think is great. And my immediate instinct is to come on too heavy. "Hey, do you want to be my best friend? I'll be your best friend. We'll do everything together and if he ever dumps you, you can just come on over and sleep in our guest room for a while. Let's all go to Europe together! How does that sound?"

You get the picture. And, just like dating, that puts people off. Friendships, like relationships, need to take their natural course and see where they go. After all, how many friendships have been RUINED after travelling together??

I often wonder if it's Phoenix. Is a place uniquely hard to make friendships? I often imagine us living us back in Atlanta or in a place like Austin and having dinner parties and movie nights and poker games... something other than Charlie's. Would it be easier somewhere else?

Or am I just too damn hot?

Broken trust...

Do you remember the moment when you fully realized that someone who claimed to love you could betray you? It hits like a gut-punch right in the solarplexus. It smashes you beneath its reality and doesn't let you up again for a long time... or, if you let it, forever. It makes you question everything you believe. And it changes you. You're never the same again.

He and I had been together for five years. His was the dream of the commitment ceremony, the white picket fence, the joint checking account and the inevitable babies bouncing on knees. His was the dream of monogamy, of two people being made for one another, of growing old and taking care of each other. He had, after all, been the victim of enormous violations of trust in his last long-term relationship, according to him. This one was to be pure and right.

The only problem was his double life. Strike that... The only problem was I believed him.

His secret trysts with strangers in steam rooms or drunken interludes with good friends of ours when I was out of town. His hidden e-mails to men, asking them to join him in another city when he travelled for business. His addiction to online sex encounters, sometimes made real. The scattered phone numbers on cocktail napkins, the late night phone calls. The sneaking off for long periods of time when we'd go to bars together. The many violations of trust I discovered and the imagining of many, many more. I'm still not sure which have basis in fact, but I'm not terribly interested in finding out the reality.

And still, none of this did me in. It certainly eroded my trust, but nothing broke it, surprisingly. With each episode, I believed that they were mistakes, falters and that he had, once again, gotten back on the horse and would stay on this time. That he truly cared about me and my feelings and wouldn't do anything to hurt me intentionally.

Until...

We had just bought a house together and it was moving day. We had spent weeks packing up our apartment, excited at the prospect of home ownership and a new life together. His friend had come from LA to help us on the last few days of packing.

On the day of the move, I turned in the remote for the apartment gate and went to work while the movers arrived. I knew I would come home to our new house with boxes packed to the ceiling, but I was elated.

About mid-day, I decided I could leave work for the day and go help. I decided to stop by the hopefully by now cleaned out apartment to see if I could do anything there. I drive up to the gate that was miraculously open, so I didn't have to call him to open it for me. I got out of my Jeep and headed to the front door of the apartment, walking by the dining room windows on my way in. I couldn't see inside, but could tell that all the furniture was gone.

I found the door cracked a bit and went to push it open ...

It slammed in my face and locked.

And that was the moment. My trust had been completely broken and I felt like a broken egg with the yolk flowing out of my insides. My mouth tasted like copper and I almost passed out from hyperventilating.

I knew. Like a flash, it hit me that my partner had been having an affair with the "friend" that came to help us move. That while they worked together over the summer at a gig out of town, they had had an affair. The entire summer and all my repressed suspicions surfaced and I suddenly saw every clue I'd ignored for three months.

I can't forget the milliseconds later when the door opened and there he was, stammering, red-faced, pretending that the door handle was faulty. All I could say was, "How could you do this??"
That moment, with all of my belongings packed in boxes at my new, jointly owned house, was when my innocence was lost, when I realized that people you trusted could seriously wound, that others whom I loved, trusted and respected could do things that I couldn't fathom of doing to someone. That people were capable of lying to my tear-streaked face as I begged for the truth.

We stayed together six more years, but they were painful and riddled with distrust, so much so that I even started lying. During that time, I became obsessed with rifling through his wallet, trying to crack his e-mail password, going through trash bins for scraps of paper with clues to his lies. I became something akin to a drug addict who couldn't help myself from checking his cell phone for past or placed calls. I got a strange joy out of finding bad things and rubbing them in his face. When I look back to that time, I almost see myself as physically ugly, kind of like those public service announcements to stay away from meth that show people's mug shots progressing from a normal looking person to a person that is barely recognizable. The lack of trust... no, more the active distrust, made me into a person that felt ravaged with illness.

It's taken me several years to be able to believe in happy endings again. To actually attend a wedding and believe in the future of two people together. To watch a romantic movie without scoffing. To see a couple who openly espouses monogamy without thinking to myself, "Which one's cheating?"

And, most importantly, to be able to trust another human being again with my heart. And, I do.

My new love doesn't promise the white picket fence or absolute monogamy, but he swears he will always tell me the truth... and I finally believe him.

I do have what I call flashbacks... I'll not be able to reach him one night and my mind will run wild with the scenarios. I'll see him talking to someone else and touching them and I go right back to the scared lover I once was with my ex, peering through the crowd, trying not to be seen so I can catch him in the act. I always tell him how I'm feeling... and, most times, he's patient... He understands that I'm a veteran and will, from time to time, believe I'm back in the war .

But, I do trust him...

I just hope he's not lying to me.

Ummm... Is someone going to RESCUE ME???

In today's Arizona Republic:

Fourth of July holiday to push record temps
John Faherty

The Arizona Republic

Jul. 2, 2007 12:00 AM

Just because this happens every year does not make it any less hot. And we are in a very toasty stretch right now. Since June 20, the high temperature in the Valley has been at least 109 degrees. And by the Fourth of July, we might wish it were only 109.


The National Weather Service is forecasting temperatures to hit a high of 116 degrees on the holiday. That's about 8 degrees above normal. Conditions today are expected to be intense as well. A heat advisory will be in effect from 10 a.m. to 8 p.m., with highs in the Valley reaching up to 113. Meteorologists also are anticipating an increase in moisture by the end of the week. "This high-pressure system is likely to bring in moisture from New Mexico and Sonora," said Valerie Meyers with the National Weather Service. "That could bring the monsoon."

The monsoon usually results in periodic heavy thunderstorms in the Valley.