At least I was having fun when it happened this time

At least I was having fun when it happened this time

I have written about various WASTHTR events in the blog, especially in the health arena. Though, I’ve not written about breaking my arm while walking my neighbor’s dog 3 years ago, nor how my physical therapist broke my ribs once in a therapeutic intervention gone awry, nor the breaking of my ribs in a car accident when I was in grad school. Suffice it to say, in all of these events , I was NOT having fun prior to the bone snapping activities.
I now have a WASTHTR in which merriment was being made.
Friday night I went over to the apartment of a new date for the evening. We were having a few beers, talking, watching TV. The evening progressed to a more amorous level. At one point, he was standing behind me, and gave me a big bear hug. I should note here that I am not a man of large stature. I’m 5’5”. I’ve lost over 50 pounds over the past few years and weighed in at 134 last week. He is not a large man, either. He’s under 6’, (and 160-180, I’d guess.) But he is built solid, and strong. HE gave me the vice grip bear hug, and I felt the rib(s)—mine, not his pop. He misconstrued my groan as one of pre-orgasmic ecstasy and not one of pain. Not wanting to ruin the moment, nor freak him out, I allowed him to continue with this misperception. Besides that, I was having a really good time. I thought it was probably a minor dislocation. We continued our play. I won’t go into detail.
I woke up Saturday morning, hurting a bit. I went to the gym—I did my cardio. I went to the butterfly press machine. OUCH. My left rib cage really hurt. I dropped the amount of weight and persevered. I went to the free weights. I lie down on the bench, dumb bell in each hand in an outstretched cross formation. I try to lift the weights up in the air. OMG, the pain was sharp and shooting. FUCK! I could not raise the barbell. FUCKFUCKFUCK!
I shower, leave and call Louie, my massage & physical therapist.
“Lou, I need to see you. I think I’ve popped a couple of ribs.”
“WHAT?!”
I think I’ve popped a couple of ribs.”
“How?”
“Let’s just say I was having a good time when it happened.”
He’s out of town for the weekend. He can see me Monday night. I go over. The lightest touch to my left ribs nearly sends me through the ceiling. He confirms that it’s real. That it’s not in my head—that I’ve popped and/or bruised 2- 3 ribs. I am to take it easy—and wait it out. There’s really nothing to be done for rib injuries other than wait it out. I've discovered one disadvantage to losing a lot of weight. You also lose the cushion and padding that adds a layer of protection. At least I had fun getting injured this time. ©wtf/rle

D-Day

Some anniversaries are celebrated. Some are mourned. Some are acknowledged or commemorated for the importance of the anniversarizing event. (Yes, I made up/verbicized a word (actually 2, I guess.)
September 23, 1989 is known as Denial Day or “D-Day" or more appropriately, the END of Denial Day. It’s the day I said for the first time, “I’m gay.” This momentous event occurred in a shrink’s office at the Student Counseling Center on Campus. I was scared shitless uttering the words out loud. Although John (my then shrink) would argue that it was hardly out loud. Getting there was a long arduous road, and the path that was ahead of me, following this utterance was equally as long and arduous, if not more so, although at the time, I thought the worst was over.
I had many years of self-loathing and hatred to overcome, indoctrinated by a church and religion purporting to be of “God’s love.” The message I received was that God loves everybody BUT me. I spent years praying for God to change me and “make me ‘right’”. While this wasn’t the solidifying event that led me to, as REM so perfectly sings, “Losing My Religion”, it was the solidifying event that caused me to rethink the concept of ‘prayer’ and the crock of shit that it is, used a bargaining chit to some favor doling entity (IMO) as proselytized by current day religions. I’ve had trouble with the “P” word ever since. The mere mention of it can make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, depending on who may be saying it.
I spent many years as an activist for GLTB issues in the church. This was in large part because the suicide rate for GLTB teens/young adults is at least 30% higher than for others in the same age co-hort. I wanted to effect change, make a difference, as I was nearly one of that statistic. The letters were written. The pills stockpiled. A friend unwittingly stopped me before I followed through with the plan. While never an easy topic of discussion, the passage of time makes it (the topic, not the action) less frightening. I fought within the church to keep other teens/young adults from being part of that statistic. Oddly enough, it wasn’t GLTB issues that eventually brought me to my current beliefs (or absence thereof) to Atheism. But that’s another story.
This story is about burning down everything which was the essence of who I thought I was or tried to be, and the Phoenix that arose from the ashes. I have a love/hate relationship with Autumn. As is fitting with my morbid sense of humor and nature, I like the endings--the death that autumn brings, the senescense. Halloween is one of the “High Holy Days” in the Fagdom Calendar. I’m one of few gay men who does not like Halloween. I spent so many years wearing my ‘masks’, that the last thing I want to do is pretend I’m something I’m not. I’m sure that the Autumn of ’89, plays heavily upon this irrational disdain of Halloween. But, it’s part of who I am in 2008—an out, proud gay man, with few regrets. ©wtf/rle

The Song of Purple Summer

I have taken a bit of a blog writing hiatus, for a number of reasons. This Summer has been my best Chicago Summer in my memory, and I would have to say ranks up in one of the top Summers ever. As I’ve pondered on this, I at first thought, “This is interesting, as I’ve not been involved in any serious relationship or even serious dating this Summer.” I’ve come to realize that this may be one of the contributing factors to the ‘bestness’ of the Summer. (It’s not bitter and cynical when it’s the truth.) Some of the previous best Summers included a relationship. This time around, there won’t be the ending of a relationship that could tarnish the otherwise good memories.
After about six years in which my life was one big rolling shitfest after another. This has been a welcome respite. Last year, was my ‘transition’ year—with a new job, which was a good move. I’m settled in there. I think I finally started shaking some of the bad shit, much of which was tied to the former job. This Summer:

* I got to see a lot of family (family of origin and family of choice) members that I hadn’t seen in a long time—a few years in some cases.
* I went to my first country concert in an outdoor stadium. This was the beginning of the good Summer, and seemed to be the demarcation of the end of the crappy Winter and Spring.
* I got to the beach nearly every weekend. Being fifty pounds lighter than I was a few years ago, I actually got looks other than, “who is that beached whale?” There
was one guy who wanted to ‘manscape’ me. My goal for next summer is to be
rid of the last bit of belly, that seems to be clinging for dear life. I
have no delusions of a six pack. My goal is flat tummy, and be able to
walk through Market Days shirtless, without embarrassment. And speaking of
the beach. The gay beach was packed this year! The eye candy was
sweet, good and plenty.

*Another side effect of this is that this pastey white boy was in the sun enough to actually get some color/tan. I don't think I've had this much tan since I worked in the corn fields of the South Farms as an undergrad.
* Since getting rid of Gary MINI Cooper and acquiring Gary Fisher the Bike, I’ve
done a good deal of bike riding (for transportation and pleasure/exercise). Being at the beach, I reconnected with some old friends and met some new ones.
* I managed to take off nearly ever other Friday, to give me some long weekends, in which to enjoy the Chicago Summer.
* After finally knocking out the sinus infection from hell, I’ve maintained some
level of decent health status (for me).
* I canceled my land line phone service and got an iPhone. Since I’ve never even had an iPod, the learning curve is still very high. This tiny little machine can make
me feel really stupid.

There are the Chicagoans who have their Summer homes in Michigan or Wisconsin. This I don’t understand. Summers in Chicago are the best! It’s why you put up with the incredibly shitty Winters, here. I don’t want to go away in the Summer.
Last Summer, when I went to NYC, one of the highlights was seeing the Broadway show Spring Awakening, (book and lyrics by Steven Sater, music by Duncan Sheik, based on the 1891 German play by Frank Wedekind) the night after it won all of the Tony awards. The finale of the show is “The Song of Purple Summer”. I left the Eugene O’Neil Theatre deciding that this was my ultimate theme song and would be sung someday at my funeral. “...The earth will wave with corn... I will sing the song of Purple Summer”. This was one of my purple Summers. If my blogging skills have improved enough, there is a YouTube link of the song. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5CMh3HKnRyg
This is an expanded version of what I saw over a year ago, and of what’s on the OBCR (Original Broadway Cast Recording). The harmonies are stellar.

©wtf/rle