Gay Ghost

I spent the weekend with Josh and his family. I smoked cigarettes. I drank. I slept. I woke up. I ate. I ate. I ate. My lips are chapped because of the cigarettes. I wore those boots I was talking about last time. SOMEONE BOUGHT THOSE BOOTS FOR ME. The internet is a magical place with real people on the other end. I want to hug the real people and say, "I think you have to agree about these boots. They bring out my hair and my eyes and my moles, all of which are brown like these boots."

I just found a piece of raw garlic in a tooth crevice. The Indian lunch buffet just keeps on giving.

Here's the story about how I started smoking. It's probably a story I've told before, but I'm going to tell it again. A few summers back, I was obsessed with smoking. Not the act. The image. I bought a pack of Marlboro Reds in Virginia when I was on vacation with my family. The pack cost $6.66. The clerk asked if I wanted to buy anything else. I said, "What, why?" And she said, "Because of 666. You know, the Mark of the Beast?" I said, "Oh, I need a lighter, I guess." The clerk said, "Thank God."

I had that pack of cigarettes for like a year. All told, I've only smoked three or four packs of cigarettes in my life. I don't really like smoking. I do like leaving parties and sharing confidences with other smokers. I also like having something to do with my hands. I don't always know what to do with my hands. I've learned a secret, though. If you put your hands down by your side, it doesn't look weird. It feels weird, but it looks completely normal. I'm just a guy standing here not doing anything with his hands.

I'm being quiet about the book for now. I don't want to ruin it by saying, "The main character is a gay ghost." WHOOPS. The main character is a gay ghost. Not this Gay Ghost.

Unhappy Happy

Being happy isn't the reason you're alive. If you're unhappy, it doesn't mean you're doing anything wrong. It's not always an omen. This isn't directed at anyone. It's directed at everyone. This is me being unhappy and being OK with it.

Now I'm happy again. I finally have a tea kettle that whistles. It's a sporty red. Abbi uses it more than I do, and that's OK. She needs the practice, going to Oxford and all. Josh never uses the tea kettle. He hates any liquid that isn't pure water. He'll sometimes drink wine, but only because everyone else is drinking wine.

Some quick announcements. Brian Oliu's going to be in Kansas City reading at The Writers Place Tuesday, July 5th at 7:00 PM with some other great writers (including super fine local poet, Wayne Miller) for Joplin tornado relief.

Also at The Writers Place, but on Saturday, July 2nd from 6:00 PM to 9:00 PM, is the opening of Extreme 3-D Interactive Blog, "an exhibition of zines and art by Eve Englezos, Brigette Poniewaz and Alex Schubert." Eve Englezos is my only best friend who owns a bird. The first thing she said to me was, "You have really nice arm hair." She possesses the sight for that kind of thing, thank God.

I've recently discovered I want boots. If you have a fetish for buying boots for young gay men, buy these boots for me. I'll wear them while reading a book. I'll have my boyfriend take a picture. I'll sign the picture in the fluid of your choosing.

Sometimes, I think I say what I'm thinking, but it turns out I don't. I'll say, "Those were good," but I won't say what "those" were. I'll think I've been talking about cupcakes, but I won't have actually said anything about cupcakes yet.

Anyway, those were good. Those cupcakes.