Sunday, October 31, 2010
Look for me
The Iron Sheik, former WWE Champion, and the man whom Hulk Hogan won his first title from has taken over my body for one night only. You've heard Iron Sheik on Howard Stern's show, but have you ever seen him on Santa Monica Boulevard?
HALLOWEEN!
Howard Stern Show/WWE Fans BEWARE: The IRON SHEIK has invaded Sean Hetherington's body...with Spirit gum and anti-american sentiments...photos to come!
Not Into Me
It was a sad, sad, sad day in September of this year.
I met a guy at a gaybar, the same one where my only long-term relationship also had begun. We made eyes at each other from across the room, you know the drill. He was good-looking and shy. He was with some friends. He was exactly my type. Dark skin, kind of hairy...seemingly nerdy. I had seen him on all the online dating sites, too and kind of admired him from afar. He had a weird name that I didn't hear correctly. I was popular that night. Boys were sitting on my lap and shit. The club could not handle me right now, as they say.
As he walked by to go the bathroom I tapped him on the shoulder. He looked horrified but agreed to talk to me. We exchanged pleasantries, well, I did at least. He was shy--which I loved. I'm sick of dating talkers. We discovered we both have similar jobs and were about the same age. I instantly kind of fell in love, in that gay infatuation way.
The texting commenced.
We went on a date. I got us a fancy reservation at a bitchy place downtown. We had fun. For the first time in many years I WAS NERVOUS. I never get nervous. We had drinks afterward. We had sex, too. I know I should have waited but he was so hot. I couldn't hold out. I'd waited since we met a week before! That's kind of old fashioned right?
I must have gotten un-nervous, cause I left a mark on his neck. And the next day I woke up and felt sore throaty. I went to the doctor and had strep. I told my new boyfriend this. I gave it to him, and a hicky. Now I'm like, White Trash City. Kiss of the Spiderwoman.
Still, I waited for his text, his call, asking me out again...and it tapered off.
And then it hit me, for the first time in...possibly my life--or at least since I'd been fat and wanted straight guys: a guy I was into was not into me back. It may have been the strep or the teethmarks or the fact that I mispronounced his very sexy name. Maybe it was my body or my voice or the conversation, but whatever it was--HE. WAS. NOT. INTO. ME.
RED ALERT.
I panicked. I told a friend how crazy this feeling was, to be not 300 pounds and have a guy who enjoys buttsex not want to continue to do it with me. She said that maybe he was busy with work or was already dating someone. I breathed and allowed this to be the case, until my other friend pointed out that those are excuses WHEN SOMEONE IS NOT INTO YOU.
I'll diet. I'll stop talking about anything heavy like religion or politics. I'll not use my teeth on throats. I'll cancel a date if I feel a headache. I'll not dominate the conversation. I'll try to top for once. I'll play metal. No more Reba. I'll get a better car. I'll stop wearing purple. I'll Twitter more, Facebook less. These were my thoughts for a couple of weeks. It handicapped me. I stalked. I squinted. I was Amy Fisher.
My charm and my eyes had always been enough to get anything Iever wanted in the penis department, and I wanted the guy with the weird name and the sensible SUV.
But then I talked about it in therapy (I should quit admitting I go to therapy on the first date) and the boss said the words I needed to hear:
"You're worried because someone wasn't into you, but do you know what's really happening?"
"Yes, I'm losing my mind."
"No," he smiled. "For the first time in more than a year, you're into someone else. You're finally healing from a broken heart."
And he was right. This is the first day my heart was able to feel again, I had realized sitting there. Sitting across the table from someone who held my attention and made me laugh, who's opinions I found interesting and who was also extremely good looking was finally recognizable. I wasn't making excuses for no second date. I was not Day Dreaming about Wrestlemania 27(I'll find a more masculine sport to watch). I was ready to trust and to gamble on dating and relationships. And the truth is, I don't want the first guy I feel something for to be my next life-long partner. He'd run screaming after the third date I'm sure, because I'm still learning how to juggle it all. But it's good to know I was actually trying again to find someone special to spend an occasional Friday night with.
And then that sad day in September wasn't so sad. Pitiful maybe, but not sad.
I met a guy at a gaybar, the same one where my only long-term relationship also had begun. We made eyes at each other from across the room, you know the drill. He was good-looking and shy. He was with some friends. He was exactly my type. Dark skin, kind of hairy...seemingly nerdy. I had seen him on all the online dating sites, too and kind of admired him from afar. He had a weird name that I didn't hear correctly. I was popular that night. Boys were sitting on my lap and shit. The club could not handle me right now, as they say.
As he walked by to go the bathroom I tapped him on the shoulder. He looked horrified but agreed to talk to me. We exchanged pleasantries, well, I did at least. He was shy--which I loved. I'm sick of dating talkers. We discovered we both have similar jobs and were about the same age. I instantly kind of fell in love, in that gay infatuation way.
The texting commenced.
We went on a date. I got us a fancy reservation at a bitchy place downtown. We had fun. For the first time in many years I WAS NERVOUS. I never get nervous. We had drinks afterward. We had sex, too. I know I should have waited but he was so hot. I couldn't hold out. I'd waited since we met a week before! That's kind of old fashioned right?
I must have gotten un-nervous, cause I left a mark on his neck. And the next day I woke up and felt sore throaty. I went to the doctor and had strep. I told my new boyfriend this. I gave it to him, and a hicky. Now I'm like, White Trash City. Kiss of the Spiderwoman.
Still, I waited for his text, his call, asking me out again...and it tapered off.
And then it hit me, for the first time in...possibly my life--or at least since I'd been fat and wanted straight guys: a guy I was into was not into me back. It may have been the strep or the teethmarks or the fact that I mispronounced his very sexy name. Maybe it was my body or my voice or the conversation, but whatever it was--HE. WAS. NOT. INTO. ME.
RED ALERT.
I panicked. I told a friend how crazy this feeling was, to be not 300 pounds and have a guy who enjoys buttsex not want to continue to do it with me. She said that maybe he was busy with work or was already dating someone. I breathed and allowed this to be the case, until my other friend pointed out that those are excuses WHEN SOMEONE IS NOT INTO YOU.
I'll diet. I'll stop talking about anything heavy like religion or politics. I'll not use my teeth on throats. I'll cancel a date if I feel a headache. I'll not dominate the conversation. I'll try to top for once. I'll play metal. No more Reba. I'll get a better car. I'll stop wearing purple. I'll Twitter more, Facebook less. These were my thoughts for a couple of weeks. It handicapped me. I stalked. I squinted. I was Amy Fisher.
My charm and my eyes had always been enough to get anything Iever wanted in the penis department, and I wanted the guy with the weird name and the sensible SUV.
But then I talked about it in therapy (I should quit admitting I go to therapy on the first date) and the boss said the words I needed to hear:
"You're worried because someone wasn't into you, but do you know what's really happening?"
"Yes, I'm losing my mind."
"No," he smiled. "For the first time in more than a year, you're into someone else. You're finally healing from a broken heart."
And he was right. This is the first day my heart was able to feel again, I had realized sitting there. Sitting across the table from someone who held my attention and made me laugh, who's opinions I found interesting and who was also extremely good looking was finally recognizable. I wasn't making excuses for no second date. I was not Day Dreaming about Wrestlemania 27(I'll find a more masculine sport to watch). I was ready to trust and to gamble on dating and relationships. And the truth is, I don't want the first guy I feel something for to be my next life-long partner. He'd run screaming after the third date I'm sure, because I'm still learning how to juggle it all. But it's good to know I was actually trying again to find someone special to spend an occasional Friday night with.
And then that sad day in September wasn't so sad. Pitiful maybe, but not sad.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Christmas My Way
I remember how grumpy I was the first time I spent Christmas away from my family. It was the best Christmas I ever had, and the worst one I'd ever known, all at the same time. I felt homeless, like a sinner. I felt like a Rent Boy roaming the streets. I was poor and getting fat. I was in love but unable to see and feel it, numb to the affection waiting for when the hurt would come as it had so many times before. I was being licked and peed on by my new dogs. I tried, really tried to let the Bette Midler Christmas album cheer me up, but nothing did.
What a waste of independence that 2008 Holiday season was. It's one of my deepest regrets, that the fake trees and Chinese food and new family I'd built wasn't enough to make me smile.
I'm not going home this year, and though it's bittersweet, it's not painful. I don't feel deprived of a family--which is funny because I'm single. I feel engulfed in love, like the ocean did in oil a few months ago. I'm going to go back to Palm Springs, my favorite place in the world. I'm bringing my not-so-new dogs with me. I'm going to buy us presents and wrap and then open them. I'm going to read and chill and have Chinese food like I did before. I'll probably lay in the hammock for a few hours and contemplate a bowel movement.
I'm a grown-ass man, and it's time to start defining the holidays for myself--not for the crazy that doesn't have a clue. It's such a sigh of relief. It's such an excitement in my stomach to see what the holidays have in store for me and my doggies. I wonder what the desert air smells like in December? Can you put ornaments on a cactus? Will I finally learn to play Blackjack at Agua Caliente?
For too long all of us have spent 11 months dreading what should be the happiest time of year, because it reminds us of the hardest time of our lives, our childhood. I don't accept that. I like being an adult. I want to be a 32 year old who smells like misteltoe, not fear and hoarding. Why can't we actually be the joy of the season that Macy's tries to manufacture?
What a waste of independence that 2008 Holiday season was. It's one of my deepest regrets, that the fake trees and Chinese food and new family I'd built wasn't enough to make me smile.
I'm not going home this year, and though it's bittersweet, it's not painful. I don't feel deprived of a family--which is funny because I'm single. I feel engulfed in love, like the ocean did in oil a few months ago. I'm going to go back to Palm Springs, my favorite place in the world. I'm bringing my not-so-new dogs with me. I'm going to buy us presents and wrap and then open them. I'm going to read and chill and have Chinese food like I did before. I'll probably lay in the hammock for a few hours and contemplate a bowel movement.
I'm a grown-ass man, and it's time to start defining the holidays for myself--not for the crazy that doesn't have a clue. It's such a sigh of relief. It's such an excitement in my stomach to see what the holidays have in store for me and my doggies. I wonder what the desert air smells like in December? Can you put ornaments on a cactus? Will I finally learn to play Blackjack at Agua Caliente?
For too long all of us have spent 11 months dreading what should be the happiest time of year, because it reminds us of the hardest time of our lives, our childhood. I don't accept that. I like being an adult. I want to be a 32 year old who smells like misteltoe, not fear and hoarding. Why can't we actually be the joy of the season that Macy's tries to manufacture?
Friday, October 29, 2010
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
Broadway Birthday Spin PLAYLIST
Warm Up
"A Lil Ole Pissant Country Place" Best Little Whorehouse in Texas 1982
"Time Warp" Rocky Horror Picture Show 1977
"Good Morning Baltimore" (Film Version) Hairspray 2007
Class
"Prologue (You Are What You Feel)" Joseph and The Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat 1982
"One Night Only" (Beyonce disco version) DreamGirls 2006
"Magic To Do" Pippin 1972
"River Deep, Mountain High" Glee Cast 10/12/10
"You Can't Get a Man With a Gun" (Reba McEntire revival) 2000
"Ease On Down the Road" (Diana Ross/Michael Jackson version) 1978
"Don't Cry For Me Argentina" (Madonna version) 1996
"Seasons of Love" (film version) 2005
"Some Fun Now" (film version) 1986
"As Long As You're Mine" Wicked 2003
"Lady Marmalade" Moulin Rouge 2001
"Finale (Any Dream Will Do)" Joseph and The Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat 1999
"You're the One That I Want" Grease 1978
Cool Down
"Magic" Xanadu 2007
"A Lil Ole Pissant Country Place" Best Little Whorehouse in Texas 1982
"Time Warp" Rocky Horror Picture Show 1977
"Good Morning Baltimore" (Film Version) Hairspray 2007
Class
"Prologue (You Are What You Feel)" Joseph and The Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat 1982
"One Night Only" (Beyonce disco version) DreamGirls 2006
"Magic To Do" Pippin 1972
"River Deep, Mountain High" Glee Cast 10/12/10
"You Can't Get a Man With a Gun" (Reba McEntire revival) 2000
"Ease On Down the Road" (Diana Ross/Michael Jackson version) 1978
"Don't Cry For Me Argentina" (Madonna version) 1996
"Seasons of Love" (film version) 2005
"Some Fun Now" (film version) 1986
"As Long As You're Mine" Wicked 2003
"Lady Marmalade" Moulin Rouge 2001
"Finale (Any Dream Will Do)" Joseph and The Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat 1999
"You're the One That I Want" Grease 1978
Cool Down
"Magic" Xanadu 2007
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Broadway Birthday Spin!
What do John Travolta, Reba, Donny Osmond, Beyonce, Idina Menzel, Madonna, Christina Aguliera, and the cast of Glee all have in common? Their musical performances will all be featured in Monday's Broadway Birthday Party Spin...for me! Please bring a friend instead of a gift, this Monday at 5:30 PM!
Train West Hollywood!
624 North La Cienaga Blvd (La Cienaga & Melrose),
West Hollywood, CA 90069
Saturday, October 9, 2010
A manageable crisis
Life doesn't always work out the way we want it to. And sometimes, the lives of those who are important to us find themselves in big, big pickles and it can make you hurt as bad as it hurts them.
This happened this week, and it broke my heart. All of a sudden, the foundation of what I had grown up knowing to be true was no longer, and it jabbed a concrete nail into my heart. It was sad. I wanted to fix it for the people involved. I wanted to make it never have happened. But more than anything, I just wanted to stay out of it.
If this had happened when I was a kid, or even a few years ago, I would have inserted myself any way I could have. Demanding reconciliation, insisting on better communication. I might have even taken sides. I wouldn't have been able to walk for a week. I'd have eaten too much or nothing at all. I would have taken it all on me, defined my value by how much my contribution could fix the situation--and this week, I started to do that until I remembered that so much is out of my control.
That made me sadder.
But in sadness and the feelings was relief that I can't control anyone or anything. That even my own life is controlled by a certain deck of cards. I can protect Ralph and Cricket and my savings account but not the ebbs and flows of my future history. In my thirties, I can only control my reactions to news, not the news itself.
And this allowed me peace. And sometimes, peace makes me feel guilty.
But in guilt, I assessed my character. I've been there whenever I can. I've told the truth. I've loved as hard as I can. And good news or bad news, the minute before the news is delivered, I had always been trying my best to live right. "When you know better, you do better," I had thought in my guilt. And the guilt over my ability to not panic, not rescue, not resign to anothers unhappiness, not freak the fuck out--slowly washed away, down my flat shower drain with a few of my pubes.
It comes back every couple hours, and I just do this again, and watch Hoarders and do some crafting, and it's getting better.
This happened this week, and it broke my heart. All of a sudden, the foundation of what I had grown up knowing to be true was no longer, and it jabbed a concrete nail into my heart. It was sad. I wanted to fix it for the people involved. I wanted to make it never have happened. But more than anything, I just wanted to stay out of it.
If this had happened when I was a kid, or even a few years ago, I would have inserted myself any way I could have. Demanding reconciliation, insisting on better communication. I might have even taken sides. I wouldn't have been able to walk for a week. I'd have eaten too much or nothing at all. I would have taken it all on me, defined my value by how much my contribution could fix the situation--and this week, I started to do that until I remembered that so much is out of my control.
That made me sadder.
But in sadness and the feelings was relief that I can't control anyone or anything. That even my own life is controlled by a certain deck of cards. I can protect Ralph and Cricket and my savings account but not the ebbs and flows of my future history. In my thirties, I can only control my reactions to news, not the news itself.
And this allowed me peace. And sometimes, peace makes me feel guilty.
But in guilt, I assessed my character. I've been there whenever I can. I've told the truth. I've loved as hard as I can. And good news or bad news, the minute before the news is delivered, I had always been trying my best to live right. "When you know better, you do better," I had thought in my guilt. And the guilt over my ability to not panic, not rescue, not resign to anothers unhappiness, not freak the fuck out--slowly washed away, down my flat shower drain with a few of my pubes.
It comes back every couple hours, and I just do this again, and watch Hoarders and do some crafting, and it's getting better.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
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