Starbucks

I go to the Starbucks on Cahuenga Boulevard West almost every day. It's a really weird one. The parking spaces are super-duper small but there are two outdoor patios. There are cops there all the time but they aren't arresting anyone. They are buying coffee or tea or paninis. When you first walk in it's either no line or giant line, never one or two people ahead of you. But no one is upset when there is a line. There is so much to look at. You're eyes wander around at the people on the internet, a giant open refridgerator display with mini donuts and scones and Tazo teas, and the single person bathroom that doesn't require a key from the barista attached to a gallon-sized measuring cup.

50% of the staff is miserable, mean and unhelpful. The other 50% want desperately for you to like them. And then, there is one guy who doesn't care either way. He flirts with boys and girls and ignores boys and girls, too. This makes him candy to me. I think his name is Sean, too. That's kind of hot. Lately, he's never there when I am, though. Once I left him a love note, in my mind. It was something like, "Sean, I'm Sean. When you get a real job, let's fuck."

popSPIN Week 3: Alright with me

I was walking the dogs a few days ago and the weather was perfect. It's Summer in LA! I had gotten up early to take Power Plate class. I wasn't tired and I wasn't hungry. My butt had a little swish to it and my hair was spikey and natural. I wasn't perfect, but everywhere I looked people were smiling with me, and then one of my favorite songs came on. No matter what you look like, no matter how much money you have, and no matter who you're banging, you're Alright With Me--and everythings gonna be ok.

"Summertime" Will Smith
"Mr. Brightside" The Killers
"'Cuz I Can" P!nk
"California Love" 2Pac and Dr. Dre
"Uptight (Everything's Alright)" Stevie Wonder
"Billionaire" Travis McCoy
"Alright" Janet Jackson
"Bootylicious" Destiny's Child
"Flaws and All" Beyonce
"Public Affair" Jessica Simpson
"Single" New Kids On The Block
"Die Another Die" Madonna

P1

I was 21 when I wrote my will. I saved it on my desktop under IF I DON’T WAKE UP.DOC. My primary concern was that I be...

The Meat Grindr

I hate looking online for sex. It’s so easy and so stupid. You go on your computer to somewhere like gay.com or Adam4adam or even facebook and look for someone to chat with. If you’re me, you find someone and say something totally non-sexual, trying to be funny or nice, like “Hey, cool shoes!” when their picture is just of a naked torso.

Sometimes they chat back and sometimes they don’t. I always go for the older guys, or the Asians, because it seems they never turn me down. There have been times during the last five years that I have literally chatted with guys for five hours straight, without a potty break or a meal and no sex has occurred. This is mostly because I’m afraid to have them come over. What if I look fatter? What if they’re crazy? What if they think my bedding is too feminine? What if they are lying about their STD status? What if they’ve hooked up with my roommate or neighbors? I panic. I close the window. I call my mother.

There is this thing for the iPhone, Grindr, which I was kind of obsessed with for a while. It’s really Satan’s tool against time. It’s a Gay-finder. It GPS’s you and lets you see all of the gay or bi or questioning people who are near you. I initially installed it in Sacramento at a hotel over New Year’s Eve. I literally spoke to no one all night, just staring at this giant gay Hollywood squares board. I deleted it driving home down the five. I reinstalled it a day later.

Over the next six months I would discuss it in therapy, the time I was losing, the guys I was meeting on it—all fatter than the last, never looking like their pictures. I was both impressed and horrified by how much time I spent on it, like all those other web sites NOT having sex, just trying to make a connection with other gay guys. How I used it so unsafely while driving, loading it with glee anytime I was in a different part of town to see new people. I would talk about the mechanical nature of the rare sexual encounters I actually did have, how no one wanted to chat when we’d meet in person, that I felt like a paper tooth-shaped number at the deli counter at Gelson’s blowing this guy or that guy.

I deleted and re-installed Grindr something like 60 times. Each time I deleted it I washed that app right outta my hair, only to reinstall just before bed. And then I’d go back into therapy talking about how the only time anyone would chat with me was late at night, how if I pretended to have left it on by accident overnight, I would wake up delighted by 30 messages. I was amazed when a guy I had hooked up with, who never returned my “hey that was fun” text, would find me six weeks later and ask me how hung I am, as though we’d never met. The fourth time that happened, I was less amazed and more defeated, numb, by how I’d been reduced to being a gay guy looking for validation from sex. It’s weird how technology brought that out of me, fanning the flames of loserdom.

A couple weeks ago, I uploaded a picture from my new spin class on the site hoping to attract local gay people to visit the gym on Mondays at 5:30 (shameless plug). It worked actually, and a few people came, who were all very nice. But the worst part was that the Grindr gods banned me for life for advertising a product other than them. Grindr misses the social network sharing concept that Facebook, Wikipedia, and Mozilla share and thrive on with their users and I guess that’s sad or something—but there is good news: I’ve lost the loser leaves town match with online sex-seeking. And it’s weird, I have hours of free time now. Yesterday, I read the paper and saw a play. Today, I wrote to you all and looked at new places to live. And the connection that I’d been seeking through the keypad on my phone through this useless battery-killer had been there all along. I just had to smile back when walking past a good-looking fellow on the way to the gym, or ask the waiter if he’d like to go see a movie. And this way, they know I look like my picture.

popSPIN Week 2: We MADE it

At 5:30PM on a Monday, the last thing you want to do is exercise, so this week's theme is WE MADE IT! Here is the Week 2 "We Made it" playlist:

"You Shook Me All Night Long" ACDC
"Dance and Shout" Shaggy
"Diamonds and Pearls" Prince
"Let's Go Crazy" Prince
"Islands In The Stream" Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers
"Bad Girl" Rihanna
"Larger Than Life" Backstreet Boys
"Tears Of A Clown" Smokey Robinson
"Baby Got Back" Sir Mix-a-Lot
"Ego" Beyonce
"I Made It" Kevin Rudolph
"Celebrity Skin" Hole

popSPIN Week 1

Thanks for the energy tonight. WHAT A FUCKING RAD CLASS!

"Country Grammar (Sweet Home Alabama Remix)" Nelly
"It's Gonna Be Me" N Sync
"Right Here (Human Nature mix)" SWV
"Runaround Sue" Dion
"Independent Women Part 1" Destiny's Child
"Love Child" Diana Ross and the Supremes
"Over You" Daughtry
"Dress You Up" Madonna
"You Haven't Done Nothin" Stevie Wonder
"Doesn't Really Matter" Janet Jackson
"One Moment in Time" Whitney Houston
"When Love Takes Over" David Guetta featuring Kelly Rowland

Interview time!

Check out my interview with the amazing Josh Kilmer-Purcell, right now!

It's So Hard to Find A Hero

The wrestler "Bret "Hitman" Hart is my hero. Well, not the man so much as the character.

Bret is the guy on the right. I always thought he was really cute. Kind of like a Bon Jovi, Richie Sambora kind of look, but more clean cut because he was a wrestler, not a smoker, doper, rock n roller. Bret is from the infamous Hart family of Calgary, Alberta, Canada. Calgary is like Austin, Texas in a way. It's the rugged part of Canada, where you might find a cowboy and deer antlers in a bar, but it's Canada, so those cowboys are for universal healthcare and gay marriage. I always sensed that in Bret. If for no other reason, because he wore pink.

Bret was a tag team wrestler in the beginning, but around 1991, when I was in junior high, he went out on his own and had a match with the late Mr. Perfect, Curt Hennig, in which he applied his signature hold, The Sharpshooter, to win his first of many singles titles. Yes, wrestling is fake. But the belts are real gold. And for a young guy watching the hero win the title, I learned something I didn't always have an example of at home. When you stood up for what was right and told the truth, you got to accesorize.



As Bret's career raged on, he varied his matches, and instead of opting for the bloody, head through a wooden table route that wrestling was changing into, he got more arial. By 1996, when I was a senior in high school, Bret had been through a major feud with his brother Owen, that saw him face his brothers jealousy head-on (Bret won, proving that excellence always defeats envy) and was now defending his title against then up-and-comer Shawn Michaels. the behind-the-scenes drama in this feud, which would rage in and out of the ring for nearly 15 years was epic. It ended in the infamous Montreal incident in which WWE owner Vince McMahon reworked the matches ending without telling Bret, and leaving him to go to competing company WCW humiliated. Bret's unscripted temper tantrum and farewell to WWE post match is cathartic to anyone who has been betrayed, and is to this day, one of my favorite things to watch when I'm pissed off.



Shortly after leaving for WWE, Bret's brother Owen was killed in a stunt accident in the ring. his wife divorced him. His brother in law, "The British Bulldog" Davey Boy Smith passed away, and Bret suffered a stroke that forced him into retirement. He vowed never to work for WWE again, but in 2005 he accpeted the invitation to join the WWE Hall of Fame and wrote a memoir that is as good as any memoir you'll ever read (wrestling fan or not), and trust me, I'm a picky bitch.

Bret was never afraid to tell the truth. Did I already mention that? If that meant losing fans he didn't care. he spoke out about the excess of America, about the aggressive ignorance of American patriotism, and he refused to lose matches in Canada. bret Hart stood up for himself, and is now regarded as "The Best There Is, The Best There Was, and The Best There Ever Will Be" when he is introduced anywhere. I like that. That's a legacy that can only be built by taking risks.

Bret forgave Shawn Michaels in 2010 in the center of the ring and created a new online role for himself as RAW general manager. He stil wears pink and he even wrestled a couple of times. He inspires me to reinvent myself, to let go of grudges, to tell the truth, and to aspire toward excellence. In the constantly foggy world of Los Angeles show business and gayness, my memories of the Hitman keep me from becoming yet another tool in traffic on the 101.

From Mom

You may recall this email from mom a couple days ago...Here is the follow up.

To: Sean
From: Mom
Subject: Cricket

Hey, I was just kidding about Ralph. I know that he's not gay, but I think Cricket is another story. He's awfully feminine for a male. Tell Cricket it's ok to be gay. Don't make him hide it as long as you did. I hope he doesn't get Ralph confused about his sexuality. Maybe when you come home for Christmas you can leave my grandchildren with me when you go out. Give them hugs and kisses for me.

Love,

Mom

Single Lady Spin Playlist

That was the most crowded class I've ever taught! Thank you, Single Ladies!

Here's tonight's class playlist:

"Bye bye Bye Vs No Scrubs" (Mashup) TLC and N' Sync
"So What" P!nk
"Twistin the Night Away" Sam Cooke
"Let's Get it On" Marvin Gaye
"Before He Cheats" Carrie Underwood
"Borderline/Open Your Heart" Glee Cast
"Cry me a River" Justin Timberlake
"Thanks For The Memories" Fall Out Boy
"Because of You" Reba McEntire and Kelly Clarkson
"Salute" Whitney Houston
"Fighter" Christina Aguilera
"The Power of Love" Huey Lewis and the News
"The Dance" Garth Brooks
"Irreplaceable VS. Single Ladies" (Mashup) Beyonce

Mom email

After I emailed Mom this picture:

She responded with this:

To: Sean
From: Mom
Subject: Ralph Gay?

Is Ralph gay? Why is he laying on that gay pillow? Send me a picture of him with his teeth showing. The picture of you and Cricket didn't come out clear. I think it was taken too close. Please try again. If you can get a good one of the two of them, I can make it my screen saver. Poor Ralph, he doesn't know any better. I'll get him a "man" pillow for Christmas.
Love,
Mom

Junior High School Graduation, a Tragedy

The first time I ever saw a female nipple, it was La Toya Jackson’s, and a Python snake was slithering across it. My dad had gone to the AMPM to buy the playboy with her spread in it after my mother screamed in horror at the TV during her appearance on the Phil Donahue Show.
My mom has a limited vocabulary that consists of the following phrases:
Would You Like Some Peanut Brittle? C’mon. How will you know if you don’t try it.
And
(Shakes head)
The head shake was in full effect on Phil Donahue day. La Toya claimed that she did the spread to break away from her parents. My mother screamed at the TV, “Oh you must be real proud of yourself. This is not good for Michael’s image.”
When Dad showed me the photos, he did it in the most matter-of-fact way possible, Trying to be the communicator that his dad wasn’t. it was though my dad was trying to say, “Just so you know, the female body is nothing to freak out over.”
I wasn’t freaking out. At all. Like at all. In fact, seeing a snake slither across La Toya Jackson was just the reassurance I had recently come to. I mean, Fabio was never covered in poisonous creatures.
My mom was so mad that my dad showed me this that she packed me up and drove me to the mall. She was in a Casual Corner Rage tempered only by the soothing sounds of Christopher Cross humming out of the Orange Julius next door, and the 30% off sale on paisley print Skorts. That day we walked past a hair salon. A very thin black man with acid wash jeans and long dreadlocked hair walked by and smiled confidently at my mom and I and said, “heeeey” then he fluffed his hair in jest, put on an apron, and started cutting.
My mom said, “Watch out for skinny men like that Sean. They walk on their tippy toes and they tuck in their shirts. Then she flipped her hand and said. They like little boys. That’s why they talk to you. Perverts. Stay away from my son.” I remember this day very well. It was the day I learned to stay away from skinny boys, snakes, boobs, and the Drakar Noir counter at Macy’s. Long Story.
I was so terrified at that moment of being thin because I didn’t want to end up like one of those hairstylists. This was the day I threw up from eating too many cherry chocolate clusters at See’s Candy, and went back, and bought more, and ate them again.
Five Years later, I was back at the mall with Mom looking for the perfect button down “top” she called them to wear to my 8th grade graduation. It was harder to find clothes now, because I was 5’10 and around 240 pounds, 30 pounds below the heaviest I would ever become. I had been going with Mom to the mall three times a week at least by now. She would ask me to help her pick out clothes for herself, (I was the deciding vote if she disagreed with Mindy the cashier at Petite Sophisticate) and if I did it without complaining, she would give me $20-$50 and let me be by myself for the next 2 hours.
On this particular day, Mom said she wasn’t shopping for herself. It was about finding me a top, if it took all night long. Little did she know…
We couldn’t find a shirt we both liked. Everything was vertical, which mom pointed out made me look busty. Big boned. Husky. Chubby. Every time I put something on I felt uglier. Mom suggested I wear a denim shirt like Billy Ray Cyrus. Mom had seen him in concert twice now and commented on how cute he looked in Denim. But I was no Billy Ray. At best I would grow up to have a voice slightly deeper than Miley Cyrus. I was frustrated. I was tired. I was defeated. And that made me horny.
As an 8th grader, my pimples were only outnumbered by my hormones. Though I wasn’t into girls, I would go put a playboy inside a Boy’s Life magazine and read it at the Scribners. I literally read the jokes page, scanned the pictures, making sure it was all girls I wasn’t turned on by, not just redheads. But I really tried not to do this. I always started by going to Kay Bee Toys to look for a new WWF action figure. I did this partly because it was less perverted, and partly because once I bought them I could take them home and simulate marriages and sexual acts between the Ultimate Warrior and The Big Boss Man in the privacy of my own room.
I believe that the song Superfreak was written about a fat closeted teenager. For all the boys who’ve ever humped the tile floor of a bathroom stall of a Sizzler, or licked the nutsack of your Jose Canseco Mark McGuire Bash Brothers poster, this one’s for you.
Mom gave me $100 and told me to go buy a shirt and pants on my own. She was sick of it being all about me, and just needed an hour to herself with someone who treated her with respect. The commission paid shoe salesman at Nordstrom. Plus, one of her contacts had fallen out, so she had to take the other one out. And her eyes were hurting. The only medicine available were pumps and flats.
In June 1992, Scribners started supplying Playgirl as well, and unlike playboy, Playgirl was wrapped in plastic. But one copy on this day wasn’t. It was of a long haired blonde guy holding a gym class rope in a jungle. His biceps were oily and his pecs were big like breasts and the heading said “SEXUAL SHOWOFF” in big letters. I found that fascinating. Magazines were the only place I saw people being naked. And they were always alone. There was no one on the magazine aisle so I grabbed Playgirl and held it low, over my boner. My back faced the back of the store so I didn’t need to cover it with a Boy’s Life. I just needed to see a boy be a sexual showoff.
I’d never done this. Read the nudie magazine uncovered. Especially, not one with dudes in it. I was shaking. Yes. A guy climbing a rope is my python picture yes I get it…and then I heard her.
“Thank you for letting me in the back door. My son is graduating from 8th grade and I want to get him a gift certificate. He loves books and he’s always in here. In case he’s in here now I don’t want him to see me.” I fumbled, I shook, I dropped it…and then there she was. She looked at me. She looked at the magazine. And she said, “Is that porno.” I picked it up and flipped it backwords. There was a cigarette ad on it.
Mom, said, “Well, you’ve spoiled your graduation gift, you haven’t bought a shirt, and Sean, that was an awfully big woman you were looking at.” I think you need to have a talk with your dad.

Jelly Filled Virgin

Jelly filled donuts are both my sword and my shield. There’s something about the glaze that protects the dough from getting bigger than it’s britches. And the jelly inside is familiar. It’s a PBJ sandwich from when I was a kid, but it’s injected into the aorta of a fried bun. The jelly filled donut is so unhealthy, that if it were a living thing, it would be dead by now. It would have passed out in the shower during a diabetic seizure that it caused itself when a person took a bite into it’s crispy, luscious center. I don’t know about you, but when I bite into a jelly filled donut, I don’t fuck around. I wrap my mouth around the center and work backwards.
As a kid, I lived .22 miles from a donut shop that opened at 4AM. It was called Donuts Here, and It was owned by asian people, and my mom didn’t like me going there because “Asians never hold the door for you at Mervyns. And they buy up all the silver.”
But every Saturday and Sunday I woke up around 7. At age 10 I had severe lower back pain brought on by obesity, and I never slept late. I’d go to piggy bank, empty it. .70 cents meant I could have one jelly filled donut and milk. 1.20 meant I could have one jelly filled and one maple bar and milk. But even when I had 1.20, I always impulsively just ordered two jelly filled donuts.
The donut was juicy, and crispy, and chewy all at the same time. My description of the donut is based strictly on the first three bites. After that I don’t remember much about how the event of morning donut inhalation ended. I do remember that this donut shop is where I learned to read the paper, because it was always scattered about. And it’s also the place where as a kid I felt far superior to my family and my community. I did it on my own, the bike ride there, the occasional change stealing from my dad’s credenza, next to where he kept his loaded gun. And I did it before everyone was awake.
Working in television is exciting and I’ve done it since I was 17. It’s exciting because you get to see famous people and you get paid well when you make enough people like you. But what’s kept me in the business so long is the jelly filled donut tray that appears on every single shoot and production office I’ve ever worked in from MTV to Discovery Health.
The donuts are always there, whether I was an NBC Page ushering Kansans to their seats on Family Feud to when I was promoted to my first gig as a producer on the reality show Meet My Folks. For the first time in my life I made more than $75 a day, and the donuts made me feel worth it. Like with them, the donuts were something I did all on my own.

Friday Night! New Performer Added! Free Giveaways!

Sean Hetherington

Junior High School Graduation, a Tragedy

Jessie McNamara

Nothing Compares 2 8th Grade

Roy Cruz

A Laura Mars Christmas

Amber Tozer

Queen Double Pillow Top

Andrea Gardner Bernstein

Boomerang

Sean Hetherington

Really Fat Virgin

Special Guest

Standup comedian

Nico Santos

Tomorrow night at the Improv

I'm performing in a special storytelling event called "Over the Rainbow" stories about coming out. It's not a Sean Hetherington Production but I'm performing with amazing people and I feel really honored to have been asked. It's $5 and starts at 8:30 in the LAB. No food or beverage is required.
http://www.laughstub.com/improv/buy.cfm?id=17228

Dating Clues

"I find dating exhausting and uninteresting, and I really would like to skip over the hours of conversation that you need just to get up to speed on each others lives, and the stories I've told a million times....If you're on a date with me you can be certain that this is what I'm going to be evaluating you for--how good is it going to be, cuddling with you in bed and watching Damages?
Here's what I would like to do: I would like to get into bed with a DVD of Damages and have a line of men cue up at my door....one at a time, in intervals of ten minutes, during which I would watch Damages. I would have a clinician take basic readings...and illustrate which candidate was the most soothing presence for me...soon after, we would make love to mentally diseased animals on a meth Binge."

--Sarah Silverman, The Bedwetter.

And for any men who want to take my version of this test, here are the top ten greatest TV show episodes (in my opinion) of 2009-2010.

10. Weeds, Season 5, Finale

9. Nurse Jackie, Season 2, Finale

8. 30 Rock, Season 5, Dealbreaker

7. Parks and Recreation, Season 2, The Beauty Pageant

6. Design Star, Season 4, The Longest Yard

5. United States of Tara, Season 2, Finale

4. Damages, Season 3, Finale

3. Dexter, Season 4, Finale

2. Glee, Season 1, Home

1. Modern Family, Season 1, The Incident

Tomorrow, True Blood season 2 and Design Star season 5 start. Tuesday, It's Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D List season 6 on Bravo. On August 16th is Weeds season 6 and The C Word. My couch and a technician are standing by.

The Road to Reba Part 3

Fallin Out of Love

Every time I see Reba, I like to send her a little faggy fan note. Here's is the one from two years ago, followed by the one from last nights concert:

July 15, 2008
Ms. McEntire,
In 1997, I was in my first year of community college and living at home with my parents after all of my friends had moved away. I was obese at 275 pounds and had just discovered the internet when I won a contest to speak with you personally on the phone. I don't know how in the world I got so lucky, but 10 minutes with you changed my life forever.
My mom forbade me from going away to college until she saw an episode of Oprah where Oprah encouraged parents to send their kids Away to school. I wanted to go to Belmont very badly but my mom was nuts. So I came up with a plan. I could tell that if Oprah could convince my mom to let me go away, then you could convince her that I could move across the country to Nashville.
I taped our phone call, Reba, and I played it for my mom. I know that is a huge violation of some patriot law or something and I'm sorry, but I knew the only way I'd graduate is if I got the hell out of Folsom, California. And thanks to your call encouraging me to just do it, I did it.
In college I discovered that I was funny and I got cast on the Nashville Predators Puck Patrol. I even got to be in a couple of plays with two of your nieces. I graduated on that same stage where you shot "Is There Life Out There" and then over the next 8 years found myself. I lost 100 pounds. I came out of the closet to my friends and my family. I met a really good guy who I've been with for a year.
And this season, I was the first openly gay contender on American Gladiators. And even though I lost, before every event I competed in I listened to either "I'm A Survivor" or "I'm Gonna Take That Mountain" because I was so scared of having my neck broken by a guy named Wolf who weighed 300 pounds and seemed to want to eat me.
So, Reba, it was all because of that phone call. I wanted you to know that out of the hundreds of thousands of people who could have won that contest for a phone call from you, it's good that I got it. You said, "YES!" to me about going off to college and I'd never heard that before from anyone. It taught me that "yes" is right here in my heart whenever I need to ask myself for permission.
I saw you in concert last weekend in Primm, Nevada with my boyfriend for our one-year anniversary. We were stage left and you blew us a kiss because we were so loud and excited to be there. As I sat there looking over my life and how freaking sweet it's gotten in the last couple of years, I just felt so grateful and needed to say thank-you for always being the inspiration to help me succeed. And like you said about never taking it for granted that between those two girl singers' tapes, they chose you-I'll never take it for granted that I got that call from you 11 years ago.
Thanks,
Sean

June 5, 2010
Hi Again, Reba,
Last night marked my 23rd concert of yours, and I realized something: I mark my life's progression by your concerts and albums. Creepy, I know. I also realized something else: 90% of your catalog has never applied to me until now, because it was really break-up, broken-heart heavy. Don't get me wrong, "Does He Love You" is pure brilliance, if for no other reason the flaming boat and your sick smile at the end of the video--but I had never been caught in that cheating, other woman story. Also, I'm a boy.
Last fall that boyfriend and I broke up. Every ounce of dignity I'd ever mustered left my soul in the span of a 10 minute conversation. I felt dirty. I felt empty. I didn't think I was going to keep my shit together, but I had to keep moving. I try not to think about the break up now unless it comes up in a dream or the shower. It makes me sad and I'm too busy these days to be sad, so I've kind of been avoiding you. I'm sorry.
I guess what I'm saying is, I can finally appreciate what your music does for everyone in a way I couldn't before. And I think that subconciously, I knew this concert would be cathartic for me, in a way that therapy and journaling and drugs can't be--and that's the freaky part. I thought when I heard "Strange" last night, I'd be like "mmm-hmm...kick that man to the curb, Girlfriend!"
But that wasn't why I came here.
I guess I came for "Fallin' Out Of Love", your 1990 hit off the Rumor Has It album, a song you haven't done live, probably since then..and I didn't even expect it. When the 60 year old man next to me put his face in his hands during the first chorus, and the woman with the oxygen tank next to me on the other side looked at him, and then looked at me, covered in snot and shaking, she handed me a tissue and put her arm around me, and said, "It's ok, Sweetie. We've all been there."
And it was all from this line:

That's when he called you up, out of the blue one day
And you know he thinks he's talkin' to the girl that you used to be
So when you tell him he's just a memory
Ain't it funny how his voice cracks when you're sayin' goodbye
And in the silence something begins to unravel
He never knew you like he'll be knowing you now

But then it got even more intense, as I realized this is the first time I've seen you perform as a single person again, as a person who tried at love, and maybe failed, but who lived to tell. I'm not the little fat closet boy from 1993 who sat and watched you sing "Take It Back" anymore. My life is in full color now. And I can mark this moment by seeing your show.

This break-up is the single greatest gift of my life, thus far, because it taught me to trust my instincts, to say no, and I realized I can do anything on my own. I had forgotten that part (Sometimes "Is There Life Out There" can only do so much). But hearing you finish the song last night was a treat even sweeter. Because for all the apologies, all the stages of grief, and the slutty acts I've committed since D-day trying to measure up, the weight lost, gained, and lost again--I am better. And looking at my life now--happy, productive, honest, compassionate, so, so, so, real and full...I realize it's all because I've been able to let go.

Oh fallin' out of love and back into your life
Pullin' your heart out from under the knife
Closin' the door on all the dreams you used to know
Oh fallin' out of love and back on your feet
Turnin' away from that dead end street
Oh and finding out that nothing feels as good as letting go

To letting go,
Sean Hetherington

Thanks

Big ups to Miss Reba for that autographed picture delivered to my seat as I left the show. (swoon) How'd she know I was there?  ;)

Road to Reba Part 2

I was bored on the drive, so I called Mom, who started to tell me a story about a wedding show she watches on the WE network. The story had gone on for 18 minutes by the time I started recording this and I have no idea what she was talking about, but I felt rude stopping her to tell her I HAD to pull over to Pee. Side note, she wrote the host a letter telling him I am single and that we could adopt grandchildren for her if he was interested in me, and that I'm not one of those gay guys who walks on his tippy toes, if you know what she means. Turn up your speakers, Jan knows how to Rock.


And I've arrived!

The Road To Reba Part 1

Vacation. Starts. Now!

Spin Playlist

A really big thank you to EVERYONE who showed up and made Glee Spin such a hit. Didn’t we have so much fun? Here’s today’s playlist, and all of the songs are available on iTunes as single tracks if you didn’t win a free CD.

Pre Spin/Warm Up:
Safety Dance
Bad Romance
Defying Gravity

Class:
Somebody to Love
Bust Your Windows
Like a Prayer
Halo/Walking on Sunshine
Gives You Hell
Dream on
My Life Would Suck Without You
Sweet Caroline
It’s My Life/Confessions
Last Name
Jump
Hate On Me
4 Minutes
Poker Face
Don’t Stop Believin’

Stretch:
Home

Glee and exercise!

What I love about Glee is that it offers all of us hope.

As a person who lost over 100 Pounds, against the odds of what experts tell us is possible, it's shows like this that keep me excited about life. From Artie's wheelchair to Kurt's tumultuous coming out process with his dad, each week this show makes me feel it. I try to hold it back, but each week it pours out a little harder than before.

I laugh, too at Jane Lynch's evil Sue Sylvester and I'm touched by her relationship with her mentally handicapped sister proving that no one is all bad. I love Rachel Berry, played by Lea Michelle, because I was SO her in high school, determined to leave my mark as a nerd with a purpose and worth...beyond just being a theater geek. I took all the "Will Schuster's" in my life back then for granted, but his character is the teacher we all needed in high school--the one who believed in us, even when he didn't really have any reason to believe.

Last week, when Finn's Cory Monteith showed up to save Kurt in Gaga Red, it was the most visceral emotional reaction I've had to the show yet. As you know, I'm all about standing up even when it's not popular, telling the truth and speaking up against the oppressed (because I'm very wonderful and honorable and liberal) and to see the cool kid do that was really special. I jumped out of my seat full of tears wanting it to never end, this show that stands up for the freaks and geeks, so to speak.

And then there's the music, never too "Today" and never too "yesterday" and always with a hint of Broadway. That the first season featured both of the leads from the original cast of Wicked is not a fucking coincidence, People. Bathhouse attendance has virtually vanished on Tuesday nights. And each week, America watches this queer little show, validating the creativity of a very gay man--Ryan Murphy who makes it all happen.

But mostly, I watch for Mercedes, whom I idolize.

I hope you'll join me in the morning by paying tribute to my favorite show at Glee Spin, a one time only event I designed for other Gleeks who'd like to Safety Dance in their bike! (The poster has the wrong date, which makes me feel like I've been splashed with blue soda) but it's Sunday May 30th at Train West Hollywood.
XOXO,
Seanny

McDonalds

Do you remember the first time you had McDonalds?

My emotions the first time I had it were different than what they are now. What was once so fun--ordering a Happy meal with extra cheese, BBQ Sauce for a side of chicken McNuggets, a milkshake with Strawberries (I thought they were real strawberries) and Chocolate swirls, is nothing short of a disaster now.

From the moment I walk in, I see the faces of the impoverished, the people who've moved past their zoftig teen years into an obese, cocoon of sexual limitation. Heavy breathers who think that smart investing comes from super-sizing. This is my former tribe, and I am no longer like them, as long as I get grilled chicken, no bun, a bottled water, and yogurt.

But the smell reminds me that this is unhealthy, this protein delight I'm going to get. I won't punish myself by not having the energy of a carb. I order fries and a Big Mac. And Ranch. But I'm only telling you that.


I eat that Big Mac around the edges so that sauce isn't squirting out. Not because of the mess, but because I want every last drop in my mouth, not my tray. I eat my fries before that even, so I don't have to share with my brother. But I am alone. He's not even here. And I am eating in my car, because I can't stand sitting with the people, who I'm not so sure I'm not the same as. A big, toothless group of me, but they aren't hiding.

I look across at the kids in the playground with Ronald McDonald on the side. None of them are playing. They're all eating. They're like me then. And I want to go save them, but my milkshake will melt.

The Mania of a Pound Lost

It's amazing how painful the compliment, "Wow, you're looking great!" can be for a person who has lost weight.

You wouldn't understand, but I'll try to explain.

As a fat person I have hated myself. Fucking loathed my skin from the inside out. I have cut my mouth, bit my tongue, poured Tapatio onto chips...all to punish myself for overeating. I have made the sweaty hog of myself pay 100 times over with sleeping pills, lost friendships, scabs picked at into scars in visible places. But still, there was a shred of scared little boy inside, who did right by other people, tried my best for a few fleeting seconds everyday, and who brought smiles to faces, sometimes babies, even. And that fat person is who I was in the beginning before I told myself to hurt in the name of sloth.

That person is not who you see today, but he sits quietly, underneath my medium tee, and when you notice that it's gone down from an XXL cotton blend, it hurts him. It thrills him, too. Because "Wow, you're looking great!" implies I didn't used to look very great, that I wasn't ok. And the thing is, I know that. But when you affirm my hatred, it hurts worse than when I just wondered what you thought. Now I can blame my low self-esteem on you.

But it was a compliment. The problem is, New Guy isn't used to compliments. He's just learning how to use the access card to the parking lot. And your compliment becomes nothing short of addictive to him. At some point, I'll get to my goal, and you'll stop noticing. Now I have no reason to live, because I look just like you: Normal, functional, deserving.

And the guy inside is jealous. And your acceptance of me is no longer sexy. It's just average, like a handful of trail mix. I want the M & M's. I want to hurt so hard again that the only way out is crisis intervention, and I want you to notice so I can remind myself how hard I worked, that I am capable, and that I'm like you, but more mysterious.

But most of all, I don't want you to forget that little boy. He means more to me than your compliment, and that's saying something.

Clock

"Tell me about a clock you've looked at a Lot. Go. Ten Minutes." Page 155.

My face is getting slightly more wrinkled. My hair line is slowly moving upward. My hair has firecrackers of gray that snap and crackle out of my temples, like the chipmunk from Caddyshack, bouncing up and out blurring the lines between danger and distinguished.

My arms were fat-free in 2007, but they felt like butter at the time. 11% Body fat was too high back then. A scale was my clock, my odometer, my wallet, and my grocery cart.

I look at my face now, my whole head, really and I think of how bad I've looked, how good I've looked, and how great I could look, and the staring at this clock, takes less time, luckily for my heart. Like an insomniac who stares at the digital all night long, worried about being tired in the morning, that's how I was back then, when I was closer to perfect.

Now I'm far from perfect. I have my good days and my bad days. I have days when the jeans fit, and days when I have to wear the 32's and it's kinda ok. It's not ideal, but when I was ideal I was frantic. That's the problem with clocks. Clocks let us know how little we have, not how much, because unlike money, you can't invest time and multiply it. Time is fleeting. Skin wrinkles. Hair washes away, spiraling down the sink, changing into the color of your sweatpants.

And the more time you spend staring at the hourglass, the less time you have to enjoy what remains.

The preorder from my favorite author

Want to see more books I like? Click here.

Time for the Betty White Party!

It's time for the eldest SNL host (88 years young!) and our favorite lady to take the stage. And I'm hosting a party!

Hetherington History Timeline Part 2

If you missed this post yesterday, there's a link to catch up. Here's the next 10 years.

April 1, 1990-
See first WWE Wrestlemania live on Pay Per View. It's the Ultimate challenge as Warrior takes on Hogan.

June 1990-
During last day of sixth grade, accidentally fart in class earning the moniker "Sean the Ripper" for the next 2 years.

April 2003-
Play Sailor number 2 in Folsom High School Production of South Pacific. Look pretty Queer.

June 2003-May 1995
Fall in love with RG, who is a year older than me, dating my best friend, Ashley and who is probably certifiably insane. Begin practicing bulimia. Ultimately get fatter.

June 1996
Graduate high school never having been named Prom Queen.

July 1996
Begin media career at 17 as an intern for Captain Bob's Country drive Home on 105.1 KNCI radio.

February 1997
Impeached as Student Government Public Relations officer at American River College. Resign Amicably.

April 1997
Via an online contest, win a phone call and autographed jacket from one Miss Reba Nell McEntire Blackstock. Tape conversation and play for parents where she encourages me to go to Belmont University in Nashville, Tennessee. Leak tape to KNCI and earn free dinner. Eat a lot. Am 70 pounds overweight.

August 1997
Begin College at Belmont. Discover roommate is about to come out as gay person. Freak out. Move in with French guy.

September 1998
Welcome back bulimia.

September 1999
Fall down face-first as cheerleader for Nashville Predators on national television.

May 2000
Become first Hetherington to graduate college.

June 2000
Move to LA as member of NBC Page Program. 100 pounds overweight.

Ro

The Celebrity
I feel most connected
to is Rosie O.

How can one person
be so rich, so happy, so loved
and also so sad

She lives raw and here
bold honesty to a fault
unexpected dramz

The food is big sweet
The pain is numb now like laughs
gratification

i just want to be
normal but famous and rich
healthy and change lives

too much to ask life?
It was my second choice
after the thing every

one already has
unconditional red love
robbed of peace me and Rosie O.