Coming soon!

Ok. Pride pics are up at my flickr.com account. So, hopefully by Wednesday night/ Thursday morning, I will be posting them in my blog with comments. It's been a hectic week since Pride Weekend! I can't wait to finally share them!

Happy 4th!

Gay Pride San Francisco 2005

Check list:

• hotel reservation
• car
• moolah
• friends
• pink party clothes
• walking around the city clothes
• sunday pride gear
• travel grooming kit
• booze
• pepcid ac
• socks
• sexy underwear
• pj(s)
• condoms (just in case)
• mr big stuff (just in case nothing happens)
• rosie palmer and her 5 sisters (embarrassed that someone might see mr big stuff)
  
• Mr. Chess (still looking)

Leaving for San Francisco @10am Friday morning. I know it doesn't officially start until Saturday but as I was trained in the military, I like to go in early and scope out the territory! I'm actually very excited. Not because it's Gay Pride, but because I'm going to be with lots of friends this year. And for most of them, it will be their first time going!

Also, I will be canvasing for people to sign up for the AidsWalkSF during pride (1:30-3:30pm)! Hope to see ya guys there!

PS I'm such a Liberal!

Flea Asleep In My Car

Things like this make my friends want to strangle me!

Flea awakens

I love go.blogger.com!

Lesbian between my legs!

That's Jen. She's a pro!

Where...in Lodi, CA!

Apparently, my town has been the talk of the nation. Thanks to recent news. If ever the allegations are proven to be true, why Lodi? Well, duh! Strategically, Lodi is the perfect spot for terrorists and commuters. We're 45 minutes away from Sacramento (the capital of California), less than 2 hours away from San Francisco and Silicon Valley, 5 hours drive to Las Vegas, 3 hours drive to Reno, and pretty much near everywhere else. So is it surprising to find Al Qaeda cells forming in Lodi? In theory, no. But to actually hear/see it happening, is very shocking.

-----------
I signed up for Aids Walk San Francisco July 17, 2005.




Do something! Join a team, sign up for one, or you can help my team! I hate asking for money but this is for a CAUSE. Click here to help my team and myself reach our goal!

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Coming out is a constant thing. Every time you meet new people there is that moment where you 'come out' all over again. It could be, "Hi, I'm gay, name's Jake! Yours?" or "Oh fuck yeah, I love Madonna!" But I never would have guessed that I would come out 'again' to drunk college students while playing Kings Cup, a drinking game. It seems that if whenever someone draws a 7 card, we would then each state "I have never..." and if you have done what that person stated that he/she has never done, you drop one finger. And if your hand turns into a fist, meaning there you were the first person to have done 5 things. You drink. It turns out, not a lot of people at my table has:

1) Taken it up the ass
2) Given another guy a blowjob (there were girls)
3) Had a homosexual experience
4) Licked an asshole (another guy said yes, very promising)
5) Had sex outside
6) Swallowed
7) Had sex with shoes on
8) Masturbated in the tub

Yeah, I was sticking out like a big sore thumb in the group. One girl actually stated that she should take me back to their side. Bitch what? I was thinking, if I ever wanted twat, it will never EVER be from your crusty clam! Oh well, atleast the guys thought I was cool. They never thought a gay man could out chug them.

They're just inexperienced boys!

Blast from the Past

Yep, I'm still awake. Ugh. Have been surfing the net. Spent $100(+) worth of tees and stumbled upon this:

Wear sunscreen...

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they've faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You are not as fat as you imagine.

Don't worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4 p.m. on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing every day that scares you.

Sing.

Don't be reckless with other people's hearts. Don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Floss.

Don't waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind. The race is long and, in the end, it's only with yourself.

Remember compliments you receive. Forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters. Throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch.

Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don't.

Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees. You'll miss them when they're gone.

Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else's.

Enjoy your body. Use it every way you can. Don't be afraid of it or of what other people think of it. It's the greatest instrument you'll ever own.

Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your living room.

Read the directions, even if you don't follow them.

Do not read beauty magazines. They will only make you feel ugly.

Get to know your parents. You never know when they'll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings. They're your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard. Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft. Travel.

Accept certain inalienable truths: Prices will rise. Politicians will philander. You, too, will get old. And when you do, you'll fantasize that when you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders.

Respect your elders.

Don't expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund. Maybe you'll have a wealthy spouse. But you never know when either one might run out.

Don't mess too much with your hair or by the time you're 40 it will look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen...

by Mary Schmich


I can't believe it's been 8 years since this came out. I was part of the majority who believed it was penned by Kurt Vonnegut. And why not? I have read all his books and figured I was somewhat of an authority; knowing his quirks and written wit. Alas, I was bamboozled like everyone else. Loved it the first time I've read it and still do.

Now if only George had someone tell him this when he was younger!

File this under: WTF Was I Thinking!

It's now 11:51 pm. 30 minutes ago I was craving a venti iced caramel macchiato; quad shot, soy, no whip. So I thought, "Why not?" And drove to the nearest Starbucks which just happens to be open 24 hours. I finished drinking the whole damn thing within 3 minutes.

I have the nagging feeling that I'm going to regret it.

Chapter One cont'd...

Contrary to popular beliefs, I never saw the light at the end of a tunnel or that of my life flashing before my eyes. I really thought I was going to die that day. I didn't think about what happens after death before nor during my suicide attempt. When I regained consciousness two days later on a hospital bed, I didn't receive any heavenly or spiritual dawning. Instead I found myself peeing through the catheter that was still connected to my bladder. I was awaken three hours later by a female nurse casually pulling the tube out of my penis. The pain was so unbearable that I fainted back to sleep. A different nurse woke me up for my first meal. A covered tray was brought before me. I wasn't hungry, in fact I felt full. Still I checked what was on the menu. It was a good thing that I didn't feel like eating. Before me were a tiny glass of orange juice and water, along with what seems to be vegetable soup containing a pea, a bean, and a sliver of carrot, and a bowl of watery red jello.

I was consistently tired the first day after waking up. I kept dozing off intermittently. Whenever I'm awake, I familiarize myself with my surroundings. The whir of machines, the tacky green colored curtains that enclosed the area of my bed giving me an air of semi privacy. Comings and goings of medical personnel. Sometimes I could hear them gossiping, once they were chatting about what I presumably did to be in this state.

"I could hear you." I hoarsely shouted. To my dismay, they just shushed me right back and reminded me that there were other patients in the ward.

Tubes and needles were still poking me all over my arms. I was admiring the IV that was stuck in the back of my right hand when a male nurse I've never seen before opened up my curtain and began flipping through my charts. A smile on his face.

"Good morning. I see you're up and about." He was handsome. I was suddenly aware that I was not wearing any underwear underneath my robes that were riding up my thighs. I was trying to stealthily cover myself when he moved to my right side.

"Don't bother. I need to put my hand up your robe anyway to check your stomach." That didn't stop me. I was tugging one last time when he snatched my right arm and brought it up to heart level and proceeded to take my pulse. I was startled, not because of his abruptness but because I could now feel my testicles and patches of my organ exposed to the cold air. After he was done, he scribbled something down on my chart then lifted my robe until his calloused and very cold hands were touching my abdomen. As I gasped, he began to knead and press all over.

"Does this hurt?"

"No."

"How about here?"

"No."

"Here?"

"A little but not really."

"Hmmm. You seem to be doing fine. Don't worry about the latter. It's just the charcoal." He said and started scribbling again on the chart.

"Charcoal?"

"Yes. After they pumped out your stomach--which by the way they found 20 muscle relaxants and 30 codeine tables--in went the charcoal to absorb the rest of the poison that were already broken down and may have been left still."

"Oh." Was all I could say. I was imagining the charcoal churning in my belly and wondered if they used briquette. He must have known what I was thinking as I rubbed my stomach when he said, "It's the powder and paste kind. It will pass through your system in a few days. You'll have one hell of a time when you first take a dump." Once more eh gave me his smile. He was really good looking. I'm sure he wasn't coming on to me. He is a soldier like myself and is probably trying to comfort me with his small talk. It was working. I saw him the next two days. Always with a smile on his face. Calling me by my first name which he constantly mispronounced and corrected each time. The name on his tag was Landoll. Eaton is his first.

The last time I saw him at the hospital, he was pulling a night shift and would stop by every two hours to check up on me and chat.

"Still awake?" Poking his head in between the curtains. It was a little after 2 o'clock but seeing his wide eyes expecting, woke me up instantly.

"How many cups?"

"6 but that's not the question. Are you awake?"

"I'm talking to you, aren't I? What's your diagnosis?"

"All right smart ass. Just for that I'll pencil in an order for an enema. STAT."

I laughed and was instantly shushed as he pulled a chair next to my bed. We talked for almost an hour. He said that he didn't need to do anything until his rounds 15 minutes before 4 o'clock. He told me not to eat the cake for the next day since the 'nasty' cook was working the night prep. Whom he once caught scratching the inside of his pants while kneading biscuits. He also told me a story about a patient who fell on his ass and ended up having a second hole. The patient was then carried by his wife and neighbor to the emergency room wherein the physician's assistant patched up the extra hole. Unfortunate for the patient, the PA was laughing so hard that he accidentally patched the wrong hole and had to redo the procedure.

The conversation went melancholy when he recounted the last time he worked on ER duty. The night was awfully quiet and slow. A few of the staff had started playing scrabble whine on-call residents retired to a room to catch much need shut-eye when they were notified of an accident. An unlucky motor cyclist was sideswiped by a car as it was making a right turn. The biker and his bike was run over, trapped under, and was dragged a good 80 feet before the driver of the car managed to stop. The biker should have died but he was still breathing and coherent by the time the paramedics arrived. He was conscious as they wheeled him in the ER but started coughing up enormous amounts of blood and later died, 5 minutes from the moment nurses and doctors started working on him.

"So, why did you do it? Everybody is saying that you were drunk. Your blood alcohol level was 0.06 and that you mistakenly drank the pills. I think it's about something else."

"I don't know. I wasn't drunk. I was sober." I turned on the TV hoping he would drop the question.

"Ok. I wont bother you anymore. It is the last day that you're staying here."

"I'm not going to see you again? I mean, I'm leaving the hospital?"

"No. They're just moving you to the 4th floor for further evaluations. As for seeing you again, maybe we will. Here's hoping that it's not back here." He had his hand on the curtain, about to make his exit, when he turned back towards me.

"One more thing. The next time you feel like doing this again, make sure you go talk to somebody instead. If not this Crousteau you've been calling in your sleep, find someone else. Just don't do it again. Ok?"

I didn't know what to say. I was just hoping that nobody else heard me talking in my sleep. If word got out that I was calling Crousteau's name, someone in my chain of command might go find out who he was to me. Killing myself was one thing but to be found that I was gay would be detrimental to my career and his. All hell would break loose.

"I...I..."

"No one else knows. Just promise."

"Promise." With my word, he left, closing the curtains behind him.

I never did see him again. I thought I did once while getting a hair cut. I still think of him from time to time. He was the only one outside selected friends and my mother that knew of the reason why I tried to kill myself that day. I never did get to thank him. I hope he reads this someday. Thank you.

To be cont'd...

Bear With Me On This One...

Chapter One

I tried to commit suicide a week before my 22nd birthday. It was over something stupid, I fell for a guy. He was my world, I was just a convenience. I didn't know what I was thinking. It was 5 o'clock in the morning, I got back in my room three hours earlier. I decided to go out the night before. It was on a week night, the bar was sparsely occupied. I usually drink beer, but that night I was thirsting for hard liquor. So I got myself piss drunk. I drank 13 Long Island Ice Teas.

I can't recall much of what happened that night except throwing up in front of my barracks as soon as I got out of the taxi. The guy on fire guard duty asked me if I needed help going to my room. I declined. I wanted to be alone and spent the next few minutes climbing (almost to a crawl) to the second floor before turning towards the latrines. One of the guys from my company later informed me that he found me lying inside one of the stalls, my head resting behind the bowl. He then helped me, dragged me to my room and onto my bed.

I then woke up by the sound of my alarm blasting. It was a weird feeling, I felt no emotion whatsoever. I found myself going through my routine; washed my face, shaved, brushed my teeth, and donned my uniform. I should have gone on my way and reported for duty but all I did was sit on my bed and look out the window. I glanced at my clock and noticed that I was already an hour late. I must have zoned out. I knew I didn't fall asleep because I was still sitting. I didn't care. It hit me that nothing mattered anymore. It was so quiet. I could see cars coming and going but didn't hear them. My roommates were still asleep, they wouldn't wake up for another two hours for physical training.

I felt sober. I knew what I was doing from the moment I woke up. I was very aware even though I lacked some of my normal senses. I distinctly remember taking two pill bottles, opening them and swallowing all their contents. I couldn't explain why I did it except that it felt right at the time. I didn't even question myself whether I was making a mistake or think about the consequences. For me, it was like a new addition to my routine.

I laid back down to my bed and waited for the sleep to take over me.

I was in a haze when I heard voices around me. I can tell they were that of my roommates and one of my sergeants. I think they were trying to wake me up. I wanted to say that I can hear them, that I was awake but I couldn't. My sergeant was starting to sound really ticked off.

"Specialist Ferdinand, you better fucking wake up! Don't pretend that you're passed out. Just remember who you're dealing with. I said to wake up!" He kept repeating that I was pretending to be asleep and would occasionally shake me violently. Once, he slapped me in the face but I didn't feel any of it. I just knew what was happening around me.

He ordered one of my roommates to open the window then felt myself begin to tremble uncontrollably. Yet inside, I was calm. I then heard my roommate James saying out loud, "Oh my God. He must have taken the pills!", finally seeing the empty bottles lying on the floor. Persistent, my sergeant kept on insisting that I was still pretending. Doubt has crept up in his voice. I assume James must have heard it too since he told my other roommate to call the medics.

I heard the sirens as they were coming. My sergeant was now in hysterics. Suddenly, I felt the presence of others hovering above me and was fully aware of what they were doing to me. After all, I was a combat medic, went through some basic training to perform first aid during war times. I, along with other soldiers, sometimes practiced on each other but most of the time used a life-sized dummy to practice with. In a sense, I became the dummy. They were talking about my pulse rate, how fast and shallow it felt. My pupils were dilated but I didn't see any of them looking at my eyes. I heard my boot laces and belt being cut away, my clothes being torn. They must have started sticking an IV on me as I heard my sergeant gasp and then silenced. The voices of the medics were a bit strained. No doubt trying to remember everything they've learned during their Advanced Individual Training (AIT) on what to do in an emergency situation. They kept encouraging me to hang on. Soothing voices. I wanted to acknowledge them.

As they were carrying me out of my room, I heard my shift leader, Sergeant First Class Crate's voice booming over everything, "This is my soldier and I'll be damned if I leave without seeing him!", after being told that only medics were allowed. She was always looking out for me. I felt glad that she was there. I haven't told her that I knew she held my hand briefly and whispered, "You better live Specialist. Or else!" To which she added, "We'll be praying for you. Come back soon, you here." (It still brings me to tears.)

I started going in and out of consciousness...I heard the driver radio the hospital about my condition...The J-tube being forced to open up my air way...Several times...I passed out the third time they tried.

I woke up when I was being wheeled in the ER. Then a catheter being shoved through my urethra. Afterwards, I felt my body stiffen, the balls of my feet and shoulders touching the table as the rest of my body arched. Next, I heard a male voice hovering above my head running his hand through my hair trying to calm me down. I remember that I started to panic. I had that sudden realization of not being able to move. I wanted to sit up, determined. I could not. I cried. I was pleading through the breathing mask, against the tubes in my throat to please help me. Focusing on his voice, I kept trying to ask him for help but ended up choking and panicking even more. Then total darkness.

To be continued...

I Fell In Love with a Bitch

I know, such horror! But can you blame me?



Not her silly! That's Flea! It's another bitch that I'm in love with...


Her name is Miss Chess...MC for short


She's trying to emulate Flea (first pic), freaky!

Mr. Pharmacy 2005

17 May 2005. Tuesday, marks the day University of the Pacific's first ever Mr. Pharmacy. My friend Poo Shy and myself were giddy with excitement. You see, one of the interns that worked with us was going to participate in the pageant and boy is he a hot guy. So you can imagine when he told us that he was going to parade in speedos. Sold! We immediately turned in our time off request forms!

It turns out, it wasn't a serious pageant at all. More like a fundraiser/comedy skit. Funny stuff, kinda reminded me of high school. Ok maybe a fraternity shindig. I still have fun. Also took pictures. Here:


All the candidates on the stage feeling they're sexier than their shirts


Did I mention Doctoral Candidates in their swim wear?


Ummm...


Truthfully, that don't impress me much! I would be wearing that mask as well!


I swear I was not at a stripper convention!!!


Here's our friend John. Supposedly, this is his European look. Exactly where? I don't know.


Cutie singing. If you can call it singing. Definitely a cutie when he stopped umm singing.


John wearing prosthetic teeth and goggle glasses. Also showing off his Latin camel toes.


Then from out of the blue, his cutie of a son joins him on stage! 1 2 3...Awww!


Supposedly, this guy is showing the crowd how to make Macaroni soup Asian style using the microwave. He used MSG!


The 5 finalist: Italian cracker, Rice, Bamboo rider, Cutie stoner, White washed Asian dude

AND THE WINNER IS...





MR. PHARMACY 2005 (unfortunately ran out of batteries)

And you thought that being a Pharmacist is boring...Damn you Desperate Housewives!

Dreamboat

Absolutely one of the best looking, kind hearted, well-adjusted, handsomest, flirtatious, innocent, loving, almost perfect, and every thing else guy I have ever known...Brandon. Why not perfect? Well, who is? Ok, for one thing he's a co-worker. Never date a co-worker! Two, he's only 20 years old! Third and most importantly, he's straight. Oh well! He's not perfect but when he shows you his smile, you could for a second (maybe longer) think that probably, he is perfect.

Anyway, I have often told him (threatened him really) that I was going to post something about him in my blog. Each time he called my bluff. I think I've refrained from doing so because neither of us were comfortable with the idea. Him thinking of me as a Dirty old Gay Man, and I thinking of him thinking I'm a Dirty Old Gay Man. That is until today, when he subconsiously gave me permission. And the fact that he finally let me take pictures of him! LOL My only promise to him was that I wasn't going to make them look dirrrty.

So everyone, here's Brandon!



Cute HUH!


I cropped this one coz he looks like he's looking down someone's blouse


Brandon and Dena (He wanted a pic with a female so as not to feel like he's in a gay photoshoot LOL)


I'm at a lost for words


Saved the best for last. He looks like Michael Vartan (Alias, Monster-in-Law) but better!

So what do y'all think?

So that's why I'm gay...

Your Brain is 66.67% Female, 33.33% Male

Your brain leans female You think with your heart, not your head Sweet and considerate, you are a giver But you're tough enough not to let anyone take advantage of you!

What Gender Is Your Brain?

I AM SUCH A KLUTZ

Well. I don't know what else to say. The title says it all. Klutz I am. Why? Hmmm...For the second time in my life, I popped my knee out (my right one). How? While dancing (both times)! At least, this time, it wasn't my fault. Some asshole kicked me in the shin while I was turning the opposite way. Pop goes the right knee.

Kinda weird seeing your leg form weird angles while you fall slowly to the ground. First reaction was to pop it right back in. Ofcourse being surrounded by dancing drunks, all oblivious to my situation, none offered any help nor inquired if I was OK. Heck they must all think I had too much alcohol. So they all kept prancing their merry asses. I had to get out of there or risk being trampled by bloody queens and their faghags (since when did faking epileptic seizure on the dance floor become so cool?) But my friends were nowhere in sight, so I practically dragged myself out of the dance floor. Looking and feeling like a total loser. You don't know how embarrassed I felt. Ugh, I am such a fag! There I was, practically disabled and all I can think about was did the cute guy I was scoping saw my mishap?

Anyway, I'm doing fine now. Somewhat. My Ortho scheduled an MRI. I'm crossing my fingers that I don't need surgery.

Blame it on Flea!

Another Saturday, another night celebrating a friend's birthday. Whoopee. I haven't seen Leslie in a while, so I was looking forward to greeting her a happy 31st birthday. Not to mention that I just got out of work. Earlier on, my friend Flea and myself decided to meet up at her place before going to Leslie's surprise birthday party. I didn't know where it was and the fact that Flea said it was just right around the corner from her place. Not putting into account how Flea puts things in her perspective, I suggested that we take our heavy things and just walk since it was just around the corner.

12 blocks later, we arrived to our designation. It was a beautifully still-in-the-process-of-renovation 3 story old victorian house. I fell in love with the place almost immediately.

Went inside, gave our pleasantries and looked for the birthday girl. Who asks me, "Did you bring the Chicken Adobo?"

Me: Excuse me, what?
Leslie: The Chicken Adobo.
Me: (getting dizzy, thinking it was a joke) I don't, I don't...NO. What are you talking about?
Leslie: Flea said you were going to bring the Chicken Adobo.
Me: But, but...Flea!
Flea: Yes? (all smiles)
Me: Did you forget something?
Flea: (thinking really hard)
Me: Chicken Adobo?
Flea: Oh, yeah. You're supposed to bring Chicken Adobo to the party.
Me: (must have started to look like a raving lunatic)
Flea: (bumbling) You...you know me! I forget things. I...
Me: Oh shit.
Leslie: Don't worry about it. It's just that everybody was looking forward to the main course and none of them have eaten yet.
Chantal: (host) I'll defrost some chicken.
Me: (thinking) OH FUCKING SHIT.
Me: It's ok. Jodi, can you give me a ride?
Jodi: Where?
Me: KFC. Someone forgot to tell me about bringing something.
Flea: (cowtows)

So Jodi, Flea, and myself dashed to the nearest KFC to get the much needed chicken. The whole time Flea was apologizing. I didn't really care but wanted to relish Flea's torment. It wasn't really her fault. I mean, they couldn't get a hold of me and made sure that I knew about bringing the chicken instead of asking Flea to tell me about it.

Anyway, I order a 20 and 16 pcs bucket and what do you know, they ran out of chicken and they didn't want to cook more. At one point, one of their clerks asked me if it was ok for them to give us some (not all) chicken that we ordered and refund the cost of the rest. I was thinking, Are you fucking kidding me? Maybe it showed in my face coz the lady took a step back and never mentioned about refunds again. Instead 25 minutes later, I got my order. I should have asked for a discount but what the heck. All I wanted was the chicken. Atleast it was fresh.

A tribute to Day Dreamer and Soul of a Sailor

Last week I have stumbled upon two blogs that were/are written by soldiers. Army and Navy were both represented. And luck would have it, the two bloggers were in a relationship...with each other. Couldn't get any better, I thought, and both wrote eloquently albeit they were Republicans. I guess no one is perfect. Sadly, both of their blogs went on hiatus due to personal reasons. I don't want to assume anything but rather would like them to know that atleast someone is rooting for them. So I'm reposting something I posted way back. Something about my reason why I joined the military. Here it is:




Funny really. The first year I got out from the Army, I was online and stumbled upon Planetout's request to GLBT service members to share their military service. It was, as I recall, for their Memorial Day edition (I think). I thought, "Might as well." It's not like they were going to publish it online since I was sure there were others that would be more interesting than mine. And to my surprise, I received an email from them stating otherwise. They liked my story, were getting my consent, and possibly a picture. The rest, was online history. So now, I'm sharing it to you all. (I hope PlanetOut is not going to sue me for this)


Sex and Love in the Barracks (their title not mine)

My name is Jake F. I just got out of the military in August of last year (1999), after five years of service. I joined right after high school, since I didn't know what I wanted to do. All I knew was that I wanted to take a break from my studies, so I opted to enlist in the Army. I guess I also joined to prove to everybody and myself that I was a man. I always knew I was gay, but I had trouble dealing with it because I was raised in a Catholic family. The fact that people at school always picked on students they thought were queer also didn't help. So I kept my true self bottled within. Then I enlisted.

During the months of basic training in Missouri, I was oblivious to the men in my company. I never developed any lust or anything. I was too hyped -- adrenaline coursing through my veins the whole time. The only things concerning me were making sure I passed my physical fitness test and trying to ensure that my drill sergeant's attention wasn't directed at me. I had a great time. I felt like a true man, not having any thoughts about another man.

In my third year in the service, I finally let loose my emotions. I fell in love with my best friend at the time. He, too, was a soldier. We were both stationed in Germany. Being overseas, soldiers tend to get drunk almost every night. During one of those binges, things got out of hand. We started playing around, punching each other, like most drunk men do. Then we got rough and started wrestling on the floor. We ended up kissing one another. For the first time in my life, I had sexual intercourse. I was 20 years old. I was dumbfounded. Both of us were scared someone might suspect. We were so scared of the consequences that we eventually drifted apart, and not even a whisper was heard. I once again went into my shell.

When I got transferred to Ft. Bragg, NC, six months later, my urges resurfaced. One day, I found the courage to go to a local gay bar. It was called Spektrum-- or "Rectum," to the regulars. It was a meat market. I was so nervous being in there, only 10 minutes away from post, that I got myself drunk silly. I woke up the next day in some stranger's house. I became a regular. I went there all the time, with no official consequences. I met other soldiers -- enlisted, non-coms, and officers alike. Like me, they were gay and it didn't bother them that at any given time the MPs or even CID could come busting through the door. Inside the bar, we were ourselves. Outside, we were what we had to be-- men in uniform.

My last year in the service, I was no longer afraid of the outcome if any of my peers or superiors found out that I was gay. Little by little, I came out to my friends, and later to my coworkers. I can say this: I was truly accepted. None of them cared that I was gay. I was a hard worker and a good soldier. That was all that mattered to them. By the end, even my chain of command, in a way, protected me if someone from another unit suspected that I was gay. I feel ashamed of that now -- how they must have dodged those "witch hunts" for my head constantly. Heck, I was so out that I didn't care who heard me. Sometimes I would even act "queer" to make my coworkers laugh. I must admit that I abused that protection to the extreme. I've had bad times, but I could never forget about the good times. I had a great experience, and I would do it over again. I think I am one of the lucky ones who met a lot more people who are tolerant than people who are bigots. I joined to prove I was a man, and I did. And I am proud to be a gay man.

You can read the story on planetout.com here.

SAVETOBY.COM

Isn't he/she the cutest bunny ever! It's Toby! Wiggle your nose, come on! Such a cutie pie! And unfortunately the owner wants to eat him! Maybe not in a pie, but actually eat him. The bastard even posted recipes! And on June 30, 2005. Toby will be eaten. The catch? Well, Toby will be saved (not eaten) if the owner receives a total of $50,000 before the alloted date through donations and merchandise.

What a genius! Mind you, I'm not a sadistic fella, but doggone it! I wish I could have thought of it! As of right now, Toby's owner has collected $24,515.62. Wow. I'm sure that the owner is not really going to eat Toby. A funny marketing ploy if you ask me. And PETA couldn't even do anything about it. I think. Anyway, go save Toby!

I just hope that nobody ever think of this crap ever again.

CHARLIE-KUN!

HAPPY 20th BIRTHDAY!