Bobblehead Day at the Park...free to the first 300 visitors.

For the last day or so I've been trying to come up with some clever metaphor as to how I'm feeling presently. And the best I can come up with is a bobblehead. You know, those little toy figures with disproportionately big heads attached by a spring to a much smaller, stationery body. The slightest flick to the head sends it into a frenzy of movement, back and forth, side to side, back and forth...pretty silly really. It's as if the little head were suddenly too full of something and on the verge of exploding (think Itchy & Scratchy). So that's my metaphor. Yep. I'm this head, precariously placed on this body; and it's getting too big for my body to support because it's filling with worries and doubts and ideas and inspirations--and I'm just standing there, unable to take a step, with my head looking like it's about ready to explode.

Moving back to Redding has been very difficult, which has left me questioning why I decided to do so in the first place. At the time I felt like it was one of the few options I had available. At the time, I also thought it was a workable option; or at the very least it was an option I could make work. There's a lot of second-guessing going on in my head right now, which I largely try to ignore as it accomplishes nothing. The only way to move on is to move forward, right? Besides there are plenty of other issues running free in my head at the moment and self-doubt only encourages me to do nothing; so I have to trust that the move back here has served some purpose...it will have relevancy in my future.

bobble, bobble, bobble...

Over the last year I have come to realize that though this is the town where all of my family live and is the place I grew up in--it no longer feels like home. There is a part of me that is a little sad (or jealous?) that I don't share the same connection to Redding as the rest of my family; I feel like I struggle to find commonground with them as it is. They're firmly planted in a very insular, very familiar, very safe community that I can recognize the value in but also find slightly repulsive. In this environment I find myself stagnating mentally and emotionally. It's not easy assimilating into an almost entirely straight, mostly white community that measures life's successes by marriage, children, houses...and STUFF. It's only now that I'm realizing this is not how I want to measure my life. Let it be said though, I'm the last person to pass judgement; just because life here doesn't suit me, doesn't make it bad.

bobble, bobble, bobble...

I've also come to realize that living in close proximity to family members doesn't make the relationships themselves any closer, or easy to manage, or successful. I don't want my decision to leave to be used as a barometer to measure such. Before I moved back here, I was starting to feel that maybe I was missing out on something by not being near family. I don't think this is true, not entirely. But now at least I don't feel like I have to be physically present to be an active part of the family (more on this later). My decision to look for something else, something bigger--it's a path I've already committed to. For whatever reason, that path has lead me back here; maybe I needed to be reminded of why I started out on this path to begin with (I'll be the first to admit that I've strayed way off course these last couple of years). All I know is that right now I need to push ahead with all the energy I have, because now I know that my journey doesn't end here.

Now I'm feeling less like a bobblehead and more like one of those hula-girls you see on the dashboards of cars--less head exploding and more hips shaking.

Eternal sunshine of a spotless mind?

At this rate, let's see...I'm averaging a new post about every 7 months. Am I just a lazy fuck, or is there something more profound going on here?

The thing is, I love reading blogs. I'm consistently amazed at the level of writing I encounter--often it is the sheer honesty of the words that moves me; and sometimes it's just plain fun to watch a bitchfight unfold blogger style. The point is, I think the Blogosphere represents what is wondrous and fantastic about technology. It gives a voice to those who desire to be heard--then those voices become a community. For some it is an opportunity to shift from being an outsider to an insider; or at least to not feel so very alone out there in the universe. Which brings me back to my own lack of discipline when it comes to blogging about my own experience. Stuff happens to me. Happens all the time. I'm just not so good at jotting it down. At face value it would appear to be just sheer laziness. However, I have a creeping suspicion that what's really going on is a combination of two things. The first being good old-fashioned intimidation. Like I said, there's some pretty good stuff being written out there--some of it pretty heady, and like... smart. Really smart. The other thing stopping me I believe has to do with where my head is at right now. My life for the past couple of years has been a bit topsy turvy (think Alice Through the Looking Glass) and any attempt to relate that experience would probably require an uncomfortable amount of self-examination. And quite frankly I'm afraid of what I might find. So, it's been easier to just let my inner thoughts sort of drift off to wherever it is they go--unfortunately the mental health benefits in this approach are probably dubious at best. And let's face it, if I continue to just keep coasting along with no attempt to better myself and my life, then I am just a lazy fuck.

I'll be back.

Faster pussycat, faster!!

I'm back again...and my, oh my, how things have changed. By Blog standards I think this is something like my 3rd or 4th incarnation--but hey, nine lives baby!!

Crash and burn.

I'm no longer living in Tampa. I've moved back to northern California. Back to the beginning. Back to face the demons as it were. Actually, I had no choice. I had pretty much exhausted every resource I had in Florida, was high most of the time, and borderline suicidal.

Send in the troops.

My brother flew out, met me, helped me pack and put stuff in storage, stood by while I said my tearful goodbyes, and helped me get the hell out of Dodge. Forty-two hours and 11 states later we were back home. The place I had forsaken at age 18, for cities, countries and a life unknown.

San Diego, Madrid, L.A., Miami...HERE I COME!

And there I went. But back to the present. Here I am back home, for about six months now. I won't lie...it's been rough. I'm out of context here. All the parts and pieces and references that I had previously used to define myself are missing. Here, back home, I am not successful. I am not witty or charming. I am not using. I am not myself.

And then she said...

Six months into this grand experiment back home, I don't feel to be doing so well. I miss my life. I miss my friends. I want things to end. Which is why I decided it was probably a good idea to see a therapist. She said, in her opinion, from what whe could tell, that I've been avoiding my emotions for so long that they no longer have any place to go; so now they immediately manifest themselves in the form of panic attacks and depression--the adrenalin caused by fear apparently has to go somewhere. Who knew.

Just call me Monk...

Her best advice to me so far has been this: Right now you are back home. You may decide to stay. You may decide to leave. You don't have to decide today. Right now, you need to let yourself gather the information necessary to make the decision. And whatever decision you make is okay.

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Let's start off by being completely honest here. I've been able to turn what was originally supposed to be 2 months off into an extended, slightly beyond 5 months now and counting, leave that wavers somewhere between professional slacker and amateur man-about-town.

Sometime around the beginning of November I was laid off...after the hurricane season we suffered here in Florida, I sort of saw it coming--besides after working for the last 7 years as a makeup artist, on the west coast then east coast, nationally then internationally, I just didn't have a whole lot to give back to my profession...and as I saw it (and still see it) the company I worked for had little to give back to me. So I took advantage of my severance package, a couple of lucky-breaks, and a pretty sizeable unemployment check and parlayed them into "time off to re-discover myself". This of course included a trip to the Black & Blue Festival in Montreal, followed by a Halloween spent in New Orleans, several trips to Orlando, a weekend in Miami, helping one friend move to New Jersey, and most recently a week spent in Fort Lauderdale. Not to mention the extensive going-out that I maintained when in Tampa. And invariably any job searching I had planned was postponed to the following week. I won't lie, I was having a blast.

But all good things must come to an end. At a certain point I think I realized that my self-worth and motivation to meet each day hinge partly in the necessity to get up and earn a living. Six months ago I had purchasing power! A trip to Target could be considered recreational. A stop at Starbuck's was a necessary defense against the day. Making a car payment on time is just what you do. Granted, I still have the car...and a cute apartment. Thank god the cost of living in Florida is relatively low; however my life is now being lived on a shoestring. And at last, the job hunt begins in earnest. I have a couple of leads, one in particular that I'm waiting on. It is a position that I know I can give 150% to. It appears to be a good company that cares about it's employees. It would also require that I move to Miami, which I find just a little overwhelming but even more thrilling. Unfortunately, there isn't a rush in filling this position, atleast not from the end doing the hiring, and so now the tables are turned, and I find myself waiting for something to happen--on a very fixed and limited income. The good news is, I'm not quite between the rock and the hard place...yet. I still have a couple of unemployment checks coming. My mom assures me that I'm always welcome to move back home, to California (note to self: social suicide). I might even go out this weekend to hear Tracy Young spin, just to get out of the house for a bit...I think I've become something of a shut-in during the last couple of weeks. It seems I'm sort of leaning against the rock at the moment, feeling all the anxiety that comes along with knowing exactly where the hard place is.

I can't believe it's not buttah!

Has anyone else seen the reality show, "Mr. Romance", on the Oxygen channel? The show's premise is based on the search for the next Fabio. No way. Oh my god! So, essentially what we have here is a "Fabio Factory". Priceless.

The show revolves around 12 guys competing for a contract with Harlequin Romance Novels as a cover model. Yep. Granted there is some nice eyecandy going on, but some of these guys are just downright cheesy (think Chippendale's dancer a la Vegas). The show teeters on being absurd, but what makes it entertaining t.v. is watching these 12 guys take themselves so seriously. The egos are out of control; and you can't help but laugh when some of the guys start making fun of each other, and egos begin to burst. Which I suppose sounds cruel, until you've heard this one guy say for the 2oth time, "you know, I've been a model for 12 years...". It just goes to show that intelligence and a little humility can be very sexy qualities.

I'm not quite sure if women actually buy this stuff or not. But I've also never thought of Fabio as the eptiome of Mr. Romance. But each to his or her own. I'm sure that if I really thought about some of the guys that I've gone out with, or slept with for that matter, I wouldn't be sitting quite so pretty right now.

Check it out.

Those that do, and those that don't...

Today is the day that I return to blogging...again.

I wish I could say that the decision to return is based entirely on my desire to write and share my thoughts--a chance to insinuate myself into an ever-changing community, comprised predominantly it seems, of very clever gay men (though let it be said now that I'm an equal opportunitst). This isn't a triumphant return of a blog that was dearly loved and sorely missed. To be sure, I was not missed, or even noticed missing...my blog was relatively unknown. The honest truth is that today while reading this blog, post #43 to be exact, I was finally shamed into it. There are those who blog, and those who don't. Suddenly I felt like an outsider.

In my defense I've always been a bit of a voyeur. Nothing creepy mind you, like staring through someone's bushes. Or, in the going home with some hot guy who is supposedly in an open relationship, only to hear, "you don't mind if my boyfriend watches, do you?" variety either. I don't even have a boyfriend. Mine is a voyeurism fueled by insecurity, and heightened by my curiosity to know what is happening in other people's lives, just short of being nosey. Which probably explains why I've always been an avid reader, immersed in a story that is not my own. On a given day there are probably 5 or so blogs that I routinely view, and from there I'm linked to perhaps 10 more; how much I read depends on the content and my curiosity. And I rarely, if ever, leave comments; if I did, they wouldn't be nasty in nature. It's ineffectual for starters, plus I'm just not a mean-spirited person--it's bad karma. No...my m.o. is to sneak in and sneak out.

There was a time when I enjoyed writing, as much as reading--blogging being a creative and easy way to do both. However, I began to feel that I was just moaning about the same things over and over again. And let's face it, there are those blogs out there that tend to recycle themselves, and I would hate, HATE, to be thought of as tedious. So I stopped moaning and in exchange started to hit the social scene...hard. It has pretty much been balls to the wall since my last post in January of 2004 (more on that later). I was too busy planning next week's adventure to write about last week's exploits. It became much easier not to write than it was to write anything at all, let alone something that might be introspective.

And I was quite content to remain surfing along in this fashion. I will admit that occasionally I missed writing. I missed the catharsis provided to my psyche, not to mention the opportunity to admire my own handiwork with words. Nothing a zingy email to my mom or friends couldn't take care of though. I didn't miss the feeling of competing in an unspoken popularity contest...again my own insecurity rising to the surface. Will the other bloggers like me? They might...but enough to comment? Or send an email? Or most importantly, link you to their sites? When you write something personal and then post it for all to read, you are without doubt putting yourself out there. As Scott points out, people will comment, some nice and some not-so-nice. But even worse can be when they don't comment at all. And so I was playing it safe, choosing to be invisible. I was vicariously blogging (which sounds like a sociophobe's wet-dream), bouncing around from one site to another. Eventually I was bound to trip myself up. I just didn't think that it would be by my own conscience. Poetic justice, if ever there was.

So now here I sit, ready to post my first entry in over a year, and it feels right. My intention is to write for myself, with integrity and wit and insight, yet I know there is a part of me that still hopes to impress others with my insight, integrity and wit. My intention is to write consistently (summer is just around the corner, and I'm still learning what it is to do things in moderation); because it is cathartic, and I do have something to say, in a voice that is distinctly my own. And lest we forget, it's nice being one of those that do.

p.s. Many of the blogs that I have linked to on the right are the ones I have been a fan of for quite some time. Each has a unique style, and there are a couple whose gift for writing is amazing. To Bill In Exile, a special thanks for your post. And to Addaboy, you are one of the very first blogs I read and responded to.

Hey now.

Amazing how a month can just whiz-bang by. But here it is, third week in January...and what's to tell?

Well, for starters, NYC was a killer. Spring Training/Education turned out to be Bobbi Bootcamp. Not fun. Not motivating. A huge disappointment...felt by many who were in attendance, but it's hard to really be sure. No one wants to voice their opinions too loudly for fear of not being seen as a team-player. Screw that...let them come for me in Florida. We gave 150% last season, and the trip to NY was not much of a thank-you. Plus it was 10 degrees all week, with snow flurries...my lily white-ass was froze solid. Just talking about this, gets my blood boiling again. There are ways to inform and to teach and to motivate. I felt none of that. One good thing to come of it though--a whole lot of us were able to bond...and I got a new pair of Puma trainers...when the going gets tough, the gays go shopping.

So back in Florida...

Work is just passing time now. The motivation to move forward/upward in this company is put on hold. I'm pretty sure I have job-security, so what exactly is the motivation? I've shifted gears so many times in my life I sometimes feel that I'm not where I should be in regards to my age/education. I don't want to switch gears again, so I have to figure out how to make this present situation work for me. And I hate the thought of having to update my resume.

And then there's the social life...

I was dating this fellow...dating not just seeing (come on now, who was I kidding?). So...I was dating...past tense...did ya catch that? Sunday we decided to just be friends. I just couldn't do it. About a month into things, his friends were inviting us to parties as a couple...I freaked. I tried to fake it for awhile, but I'm not so good at that. Bottom line...there just wasn't passion. I think I tried though. I tried to just let it happen, be in the moment. I kept thinking back to the once or twice I was just really intensely into someone. There was just an ease to things. I didn't have to try. I'm glad we're still able to be friends. However, there's still that feeling of loss. We didn't speak at all yesterday, which was weird after two months of talking every day. I wonder if I'm expecting too much. Is it too much to want to just be swept off my feet, even if only for a second. The more I was with this guy, the more I just didn't see myself as "his other half". One of my dearest friends suggested I go rent "Shallow Hal" and get back to him...dearest? I won't even go into more detail here, I'll only incriminate myself...and all the self-loathing and pity will be for naught.

It's also disheartening for the fact that a.) I live in Tampa, FL...which is still very small-town, atleast as far as the dating scene is concerned. Invariably, the person you are dating is somehow connected to every other person you did date...or even think of dating for that matter. In Los Angeles, you could always be guaranteed a couple of new faces...you just had to change your neighborhood bar of choice. And then there's still b.) I don't think I'm capable of dating. Yeah, I know I've come to this conclusion before. Even blogged about it, if memory serves. However, this is rather substantial evidence of that incabability.

So...I live for Summer...and wonder why?