Maintaining the Ties That Bind

It's been nearly two and half months since I had checked the contents of my P.O. Box.
Since I rarely travel further north than say Mountain View, I've made the decision to close my P.O.Box at SFO.

How strange it seemed being in such close proximity to the "big birds". I parked the car at Millbrae BART. Took the train into SFO station, went through the fare gate and into the International terminal. Yup, it's still there. Big and shiny, just like I remembered it. Looking over toward the "A" side I hear a jumbo pulling into a gate.
I've learned a while back that it's easier to identify an air carriers by the tail of the
aircraft. The one pulling into "Gate alpha three" had the tail markings of Asiana.
When I left "Swishport", Asiana was parking on the "G" side of the airport. "OZ" on the "A" side meant just one thing- Asiana was now an "A" side flight. Uh-oh.

I caught up with a former Swissport associate named Philip. He's still working the ticket counters for Lufthansa and Air France. We chatted briefly.

Same ol', same ol'. Uh-oh, sheesh, not my problem. I kept saying softly 'not my problem'. I rounded the corner at ticket counter six and saw the woman that took on the role of FMU a.k.a. Virgin Ops, it was Shabeena. It was good to see her, we had always got along well together. Shabeena was stocking the counter aisles with supplies before the counter opened. We also chatted briefly. Then I ran into a Virgin manager...

It was good to see Mr. C. again. He stated that he had received my email and thanked me for the link to the Steve Ridgeway (Virgin CEO) article that I found online. Mr. C.
asked if I had eaten and before I could reply, he said that there's a potluck in progress upstairs and that I ought to go get some food. Virgin has ALWAYS had the best potlucks!

Despite my protest of not having a badge, Mr. C. just gave me a "oh please" look and assured me that it would be okay.

Virgin counter personnel were now exiting from the elevator and headed to the counter. Many "heys" and "hellos" were exchanged it was nice.
I enter the Virgin Administration office on the fourth floor. Everyone is in the large briefing room. I announce my arrival by saying that I'd been invited to get some lunch. Ms. I, had a big grin on her face and kept repeating "Security Breach, Security Breach". Mr. S. shook my hand and thanked me for sending such a well worded email response to an article that a disgruntled Virgin passenger had posted online.

The spread of foodstuffs was impressive. Cellophane noodles, sushi, eggrolls, broccoli beef, pork buns, cheeses, and three veggie trays! Then were the sweets too many to mention here suffice to say it was there, it was great, and I consumed as only a Behr would. By the time I had my second round of sushi and cello noodles, Mr. C. had returned.

Nothing's changed he tells me. Last week. There was no one at the make-up at 14h00
(2PM) there were a huge amount of bags everywhere and no one there to load the cans. I could only shake my head in disgust. I let everyone in the room know that my
EDD Appeals hearing is slated for Tuesday the 12th. If anyone familiar with the role that I played is invited to come to the hearing and witness for me. No immediate response given, no problem.

Mark from Hallmark wandered in. He, like everyone else, was surprised and pleased to see me. I'm advised that after my lunch, if I'd be interested in getting an app for a position that he has available. Mark said that my reputation precedes me- such high regard from the staff and management of Virgin Atlantic SFO.

Another job at SFO?
Only if it pays well. my friends, only if it pays well.

tick, tick, tick

Requests for interviews seem to be pouring in. I had a very good interview yesterday. I have another set-up for next week and today I had an impromptu meeting with Hallmark Aviation Services. I'm keeping fingers and toes crossed.

Hindsight is always 20/20

Yeah, I fucked up.

I said the wrong thing. When you're told by someone that you care for that you are loved by that person, please say something other than "thank-you".

I'll be paying for that screw-up for some time to come. He said he loved me. but I didn't want to cheapen it and throw in a hasty I love you too.

Last time I did something like that- I was called "callous" by another. I never saw the warning signs, I had no idea that Andreas was in love with me. I was in my late 20's at that time. Andreas never told me but he always confided in Mickey. Andreas went to visit his grandmother in Germany to sort out his feelings for me. Mickey said I broke his heart. She said that I should have known. I didn't have a clue.

I never saw him again.

He flipped his car on the autobahn and died upon impact.

Like Pluto, things had to change...

Pluto's orbit was determined to be oblong instead of circular. Pluto's size isn't quite up to snuff. Like former distant "planet", one of my orbits' has changed. No matter how much one wants something to happen fate will always intervene when the time is just not where it needs to be. Like chain of amino acids, if the chains combine "just so" you get protein molecules- a basis for life. If not you just have a puddle of goo.

If things were different, perhaps maybe.

Like Pluto, I've had alter what I consider as a "friend". I haven't "demoted" rather changed the parameters slightly. At this time only the person I'd loved more than my other friends is affected. For now it's for the best. Later? Perhaps. If the person wants to pursue that's up to him.

I wish him and Pluto luck in the new endeavors that fate has in store for them.

No grudges.
No worries.

I maybe a Tiger and he a Rabbit and we like most creatures always land on our paws.

I'm usually cordial. That's all I ask in return.

So Sayeth Das Behr

So much for that

Waa-aa!


Okay, so much for that pity party. Did you enjoy it? Albeit, I didn't appreciate that form of send-off. However, it does make a clean break. I could say something harsh but y'know, fuck it.

Whatever.

He Only Speaks To Me In My Dreams

We play off one another well, in realtime. Mostly joking at the "expense" of the other. Light hearted jabs and stuff like that. We have alot in common. I mean we're alot alike we have the same taste in music, food, & culture. We're comfortable around one another, so comfortable that there were times when I would finish one of his sentences and he would likewise finish one of mine. It was like we were on the same wavelength. Observers have mentioned to me that when we were hanging out that we behaved as so "married", we just didn't know it. Apparently unbeknownst to me our "comfort level" was noticeable to others.

We play pool as well. He is so much better at it than I. Although, I do watch as how he applies English and then "blam" the object ball slams into the pocket with such force and determination.

He is the only man who can refer to me as "Robbie".

I don't know what I did to offend him. I say "Hi" to him and I'm ignored. On more than one occassion. I'm confused and I detest that. I do not know what I did to offend him. Yet I'm being ignored just the same. Last I saw him he had slipped quietly out the door with car keys in hand. I called his voicemail and asked the machine what it was that I had done to offend him. I asked for him to advise me because I really do not know. I ventured that it is obvious to me that he doesn't feel the same for me as I do for him. I announced to the answering machine a lie that I'm moving on. That I have moved on. Although, I do not want to trash a long-term friendship. Yeah I'm weird like that, I suppose. But,I feel like I'm grieving the death of a friendship that I had no conscience part in it's demise.

He won't talk to me, not in person anyway.

But in my dreams...

In a dream I remember from two nights ago, we were hanging out together. We were both admiring a red convertible car. It was kind of old and it was shiny. He was referring to me as "Robbie". He spent alot of time grinning that wonderful smile of his. I felt warm and happy again to be in his presence.

The next thing I recall is the sound of a rooster crowing. The rooster will not stop crowing. It's endless and annoying. I stir and my eyes are teary because I realize that the rooster crow is my wake-up call and it saddens me because-

Marky is still not talking to me, but only in my dreams.

Cold Feet vs. Raw Nerve

I consider myself a patient, low maintenance, guy. A real man's man as the old cliche goes. I am cool and mellow and when anything happens to get me riled, I strike. Usually verbally, although I've been known to deck someone if given "just cause". Just cause with me would be if some dude threw the first punch despite being warned to the contrary. All in all, I can handle myself if need be. I would often take the initiative- sparking a conversation with a stranger I found interesting, I say 'hello' to passerby on the street, talk to animals to coax them off busy roadways, etc. You could say I'm outgoing. Hell, I describe myself as outgoing.

Like Deanna Troi (ST:TNG) I'm comfortable with my empathic ability to "read" people. I tend to strip the wheat from the chafe pretty readily. And sometimes the chafe is more interesting then the wheat! But I digress.Yet, when it comes to matters of the heart, my Betazoid-like senses short circuit. Senses that I rely on scramble and instinct goes on the defensive. To sum it up- I'm confused, but I've learned not to distrust "gut feelings". Instead observation proves that I'm suppressing those gut feelings. There's one man in particular. I'll refer to him as "Joshua".

I've known Joshua for about seven years, he, like me, is a cool and friendly guy. We both have similar viewpoints regards to the world around us. We're in sync with our tastes in music and are both open to new genres from foreign lands. Joshua's got a refined "bad boy" quality about him. His street smarts are tight and cautious, his vocabulary is extraordinary and he has a wonderful smile. Joshua chooses both his battles and his words very carefully. And he doesn't toss around the word 'love' with wild meaningless abandon.

Almost eight months ago, we were at a house party with many other friends in attendance. Joshua was the designated driver for many party revelers, therefore he was not drinking that night. I caught up with him shortly after midnight. I'm making my rounds taking hits off of a chilled champagne bottle, he is leaning against a barn post drinking from a bottle of water. Walking over to Joshua, I wished him a happy new year. He pulls me into an embrace and says "I love you" into my left ear. I then felt the most softest lips touch mine in a kiss that made me lose my breath and my toes to curl. Initially, I was in shock. Wow. Oh man. Damn, dude. All I could say was thank-you and wander away with this big-assed grin on my face. That grin didn't leave me for a number of days! I know that I'm in love with Joshua. Actually, I have been interested in him for quite sometime (about four years). He had gone through a rather nasty break-up with his BF at the time. I don't get involved in those type of matters that don't concern me. I'm patient and wait until the time is right for me to act. When he said that he loved me, it was like the flood gates had been opened- finally all those emotions that I had for him on the extreme down low surfaced.

I could be sitting in alone in a room, think of him and smile. When days would pass on without me seeing him I would get this chest pain. It's a dull tugging type pain. Which goes away the moment I see him. I've been living painfully with cold feet for eight months. Not one to upset the apple cart, I don't want to toss away a long-term friendship by allowing romantic feelings to get in the way. But now I only sob as I try to cope with my confusion.

However, raw nerve, is getting the best of me. There have been numerous "pregnant pauses" lately. Bits of time that seem to be waiting for something to be said. I've always had a gift for written communication. I can think on my feet. When I'm nervous I tend to think rather fast and speak rather fast, when I think on my feet. I would blurt out un-filtered ideas and statements that at times embarrass me. Oh well, whatever. I live in the here and now and don't like to dwell on the past. Some things in my distant past I've blocked because I had to. I can recall them into my everyday mind if I need to. And I no longer have the sound of my mom's screams reverberating in my skull like I used to. Damn- it's been over thirty years since the wife-beating-sperm-donor caused my mom to shriek and scream and it still brings tears to my eyes. Again, I digress.

Throw caution to the wind. State your peace. It's coming to a head. I can't take this anymore- it's like I'm turning into a bloody basket case. Raw nerve is going to end this self-induced pain I've been feeling. I need to tell Joshua how I feel about him and let the cards fall where they may.

Because I'll just have to deal with it the best I know how...

Reverse HIV Discrimination & Bug Chasers

Up until two months ago, I was homeless- living in my car and holding down a full-time job that just didn't pay enough but to merely exist. I tried all the avenues which I thought would be available to me. General Assistance, Welfare, the local LGBTQ "community" center. I'm not a jaded person, but apparently I didn't realize that there were a number of "qualifiers" that I had to meet in order to get the assistance I needed. For example:General Assistance: I'm not a member of a racial minority (I'm caucasian), Welfare: I'm not a single battered female with children (I'm male, single without kids). The LGBTQ "community" center: I'm not HIV positive (and plan to stay that way).The LGBTQ "community" has been all up in arms about the rise in the infection rate of HIV and those "pitiful souls" known as "bug-chasers".

Gee, I wonder why.

What was once considered a "death sentence", HIV became a managable illness- provided the lucky recipient responded favorably to a host of different toxic concoctions. AZT lead to protease inhibitors which lead to "the cocktail" and now Tripla (a new single daily doseage treatment recently approved by the FDA) T-cell and Helper cell counts went up and Viral Load counts shrank to barely detectable and trace levels.

How comforting. Modern medicine finally came to the rescue. Which is the way it should be. Unfortunately, only after the deaths of tens of thousands of people globally. Local government also belatedly came to rescue in the form of providing discounted housing for those who are too weak to work. In many States, including California, having a life debillitating illness- like HIV makes you eligible for permanent disability status. (In Florida, if you have HIV, then you're automatically disabled.) Which in turn opens the door to a plethora of helpful services, like access to well-below market housing, food, healthcare, public transportation at little or no-cost.

For those people that require such services, I'm glad that they are available. Modern medicine has made HIV survivable. Local government has made HIV attractive and lucrative. I can truly understand when HIV survivability combined with the plethora of services listed above, it can become very tempting to engage in "bug-chasing" activities.

I mean, like, why not?

I've been a hard working gay man all of my adult life. Hell, I'm struggling to make a life for myself. I've suffered more set-backs than triumphs, of late. I've been without a long-term relationship for more years than I wish to acknowledge. My situation depresses me. My loneliness un-nerves me. I'm at an economic stand still and my bills are stacking up. My life seems to be unraveling right before my eyes, despite my constant efforts to the contrary.

Would someone in my shoes want an easier way out? Oh, hell yeah! So based upon what I've observed, the whole concept of bug-chasing can be extremely tempting, indeed. However, I have a personal morality code that forbids it. I haven't guarded and maintained my sero-negative status so I could cast it away due to a "temporary" economic state and take advantage of a structured support system that wasn't designed for me. In my opinion, NO ONE ought to take advantage of any support system if they do not require it. This would include able-bodied trace detectable individuals living in greatly subsidized housing and are abusing their monthly disability allowance to sustain their addiction to crystal methamphetamine.

It is a travesty.

It must stop.

Boy, Don't I feel so BUTCH

Before anyone may think otherwise, my demeanor is masculine. I feel really butch because I had correctly diagnosed an engine problem. All the "idiot lights" on my instrument cluster had lit up. In the past when this had happened it was my alternator.

What an inconvenient time it was- it was three years ago, I was on a date with a real humpy non-stereotypical filipino guy (non-stereotypical as in he was a tall, hunky, masculine, cigar smoking man- best summed up as Woof! or maybe a walking wet dream).

Anyways...

There's nothing like engine trouble to kill a date.

No only three years later, I had to replace the alternator again. This time I didn't have it towed to the mechanic. I pulled the component found it's match online and ordered a brand new one for less cost than a re-manufactured one in a local parts store.My car has been out of commission for over a week. In the car culture which is California, no car for over a week may as well seem like a year!

So, here I am putting this 12.5 pound component into the car (1990 Subaru Legacy LS AWD, and it still gets 25 mpg!) I had the part in and bolted so damn fast it was scary! I fired up the engine and voila! No idiot lights on the panel cluster.

This just confirms my #2 ranking on www.straightacting.com

HOORAH!

So Sayeth Das Behr

So where's my wood?

Smoking cigarettes can cause of Erectile Dysfunction.

I though it was something that happens during middle age. Why else were there so many types of cock rings on the market? Yeah, I know it sounds rather naive but hey it's not like there are any BOOKS on this topic. Oh hell no, men are the strong silent types. One dares not talk aloud nor write about not being able to get it up unless it is with a crane!I truly thought it was me. Well it could very well still be me, but now I know that alot of it had to do with me smoking cigarettes. My personal ad states that I've been known "to pitch a coupla innings" but I'm "mostly a catcher". Truth of the matter is that I've mainly been a "top" and had "become" a versatile/bottom when it became more difficult for me sustain an erection.

Now I've stopped smoking, so where is my wood?

To be fair, I've never got a hard-on by looking at a beefy guy. Nor a chubby by watching a skater punk in dropped jeans grind past me on the street. Nope, nothing visual. If I were to read "friction fiction", then oh-you-betcha, doncha-know. A drippin' stiffy for days!

What was the difference between the two I pondered. Then it dawned on me. If I were observing a guy, it was like I wasn't a part of what i was watching. It's like stumbling upon a circle jerk in the woods. I wouldn't get wood unless I was involved in the action. Reading friction fiction enables me to be right in the thick of the action.

I was hanging out with "Joshua" when I was between residences. When I saw him leaning over the bed he was making, his trim back within a white "wife-beater" tee. A nice firm ass wrapped in black lycra biking shorts topping his muscular furred legs...

SCHA-WING-!!!

Why did this happen? I wasn't part of any "action" or "scene". Then it hit me. I was in the thick of a scene. I was checking out my super sexy friend who was a mere 2 feet from me. Oh how I wanted to lick the back of his legs. Yank down those shorts and ram my tongue between his cheeks slurp and munch and suck and nibble on his perineum. I'd have him squirming all over. Hell, I'd have my freaking post stabbing in and out of his ass.

I smack myself in the head sometimes for thinking "logically". I didn't do anything because I respect him. You just can't go pouncing on your buds.

Or can you?

How far does respect go? I'm not talkin' about friends with benefits here, (that's a Blog Topic for another time.)

I love him. I'm emotionally bonded to him.

And that guys, makes all the difference in the world.

Lemme Try That Again...

Okay, I found my trigger. My overwhelming URGE for nicotine. And it is the same thing that I've been struggling with for YEARS now. C'mon take a wild guess as to what my trigger might be. Go ahead, I'll wait... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... Give Up? What? You want a hint? No sorry, no hints.

Well, just ONE.

It felt like a mini panic attack. My heart started racing, my mind was suddenly moving at the speed of light and I began to move about the house sans direction.

It was stressful.

It was S-T-R-E-S-S.

I went and dug a crumpled pack of cheapy cigarettes from the dumpster outside the garage. I had crushed the pack the night before. Now here I was gingerly opening the cover and began withdrawing one cigarette at a time, from the pack. Of the eight cancer sticks remaining there was three that were "salvagable". I justified this action as ok because I really hate to "waste" anything. Yeah, it's true I don't, however, I've been wasting my lungs for years, so where the hell is the trade-off?

Anyway...

The smoke tasted gross.

I smoked the entire thing. Then went in the house and scrubbed my tongue with minty tooth gel and washed my hands.

The old saying of things always happens in three's. It seems like it's happening again... Today, 18 August, third time is the charm, I believe it to be true of Taureans and it will be true of cancer-causing paper wrapped tubes of death.

Huh? What caused the stress? Does it really matter? No- What matters most is that I know that it's a trigger and I will get over that feeling. Forcing a faux hyper ventatlation and getting massive amounts of air into my lungs will do wonders.

Day Two One Slip

Yeah, day 2 One Slip. I read something online and a bit of a panic swept over me. Whenever that feeling would happen, I did what I'd done for almost twenty years- I lit up.


Yesterday was completely smoke-free. Wow, how wonderful that was! Today, I sorta smoked a cigarette. Half of it, I didn't inhale, half I did. Nicotine buzz? No, didn't happen. Although, when I was done with that cigarette, the taste in my mouth was so gross. I immediately went and brushed my tongue with minty tooth gel. Then when I returned to the keyboard, I noticed this smell from my fingers-

YUK! Yeah, I immediately washed my hands.


What triggered the panicky feeling I got? I'm not going to release that just yet. suffice to say, I recognised it right away. Now I need to develope a counter attack to that feeling...

Do Overs

A new font! Verdana, I'd rather use Tahoma but Blogger don't offer that one. Oh well! It's just a font...


I remember wanting and getting "do-overs" when playing a game involving a pair of dice. Oops! A die rolled off the game board and onto the rug- Do Over!

Fore! A cue ball goes flying off the pool table- Do Over!


Financial collapse, can I have a Do Over? If there's ONE thing I could change from my past it would be having a better grip on my finances. Then again, I am the product of the life I've lived. If there were to be a change in the life as I have lived it, would it turn out better or worse? Would I get to keep the associations that I've made? The friendships that I maintain? What about the man that I love? It took a long time to find him, like a diamond in the rough. The man I love is non negotiable. I don't want a complete make-over, just one item. Like a line item veto. I just want to not worry about money. Hell, I'd love to be able to pay someone to manage my money. Unfortunately, I don't have enough money that needs to be managed.

What's the price of a Do-Over? I hope it's less costly than hundreds of dollars in overdraft fees accrued exponentially- yeah it's like $300 a month! Ouch!


Just one do-over. Just one, please...

that smoke thing

I'm so done with that.
That's my attitude to succeed or is it "suck seed" (ah, no that IS something else)

I'm done.

No title needed

I need to get this out of my system...

Being unemployed really sucks. Another thing that really sucks is addiction to cigarettes.

Whew, I feel kinda better.

Pathetic writing skill sets

Just a general observation, I've noticed a huge increase in the lack of proper spelling in most written documents. I, mean, why? There is no reason for this. When one considers the prevalence of "Spell Check" applications, there is no reason for poor spelling.

I could only assume (yeah, I know ALL about the ass-u-me thing) that the lack of spelling ettiquette must stem from the text messaging craze. I have personal experience at making a calendar reminder on my cell phone. There's a great deal of button pushing just to spell out the word
"spell". For example, these are the keystrokes for the word found in quotations when entered via a cell phone's keypad: "spell= 7,7,7,7 + 7 + 3,3 +5,5,5+5,5,5" which as anyone can see is alot of finger work. For the record that is 13 keystrokes for a 5 letter word!

However, the information contained within Blogs, Articles, and Personal Ads is chock full of misspellings and grammar snafu's. It's pitiful, really. I swear the number of times I read an email from friends or personal advertisements and the acronym LOL is used, I want to scream!

That Evil Weed revisited

Man, I hate smoking cigarettes. Gimme a nice cigar. Something from Honduras from Cuban seed (of course). I've tried doing the patch thing ten years ago. It worked but it was way too expensive. it figures that the "good" prevention stuff is always more expensive that the damn dirty things that I'm trying to avoid. Then five years ago, I tried the patch thing again- but this time I was smoking and wearing the patch- gee whiz, what a rush that was! Now since I'm really not in a position to do either of those things. The replacement therapy is still expensive. Now there's yet another "tax" to be tagged onto the cost of cigarettes. Those things are already expensive. Nearly $5.50 a pack!

I must stop.

My Mom has emphysema.

I must stop.

I find myself hacking and coughing like my Mom would when I was growing up.

I must stop.

My friend Mark recently stopped "cold turkey".

I must stop.

My friend Bruce says that whenever he had wanted a smoke, he thought of something else

I MUST STOP.
I MUST STOP.
I MUST STOP.

It is the most pressing thing before me right now, besides getting a job, besides getting an alternator for my car,
besides talking and typing about quitting.

I MUST STOP.