St. Joseph on my dashboard...

With my partner John and I headed to Chicago, the final days of his tenure as "editor in chief" of an international magazine based here in Dallas have found us at a barrage of farewell dinners and happy hours in his honor.

I am always fascinated when everyone places a drink order and I order a mineral water, the inevitable question of "Why aren't you drinking?" will be put to me before the night's end. The good, old reliable: "I don't drink." usually follows and the subject is dropped. Sometimes folks who haven't seen me in a while automatically order me a beer and it's always amusing to see John rise from his chair to volunteer: "Oh, Matt's not drinking." John has seen me through some very dark nights and mornings and knows better. But an even greater thing is "I" know better.

I had an interesting conversation with my former partner Greg the night Hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans and parts of the Gulf Coast. I had not spoken to him in almost a year. We were on the phone for almost an hour about the hurricane and drifted on to the subject of "us." I will go into more detail about this phone call in a later posting. Greg and I never had an "ending," just a sad fading, a drift of sorts out of each other's lives. "Matt, I was just tired." Greg remarked about our end. He was referring to the endless rollercoaster of emotions I had him riding at the height of my addiction. I sometimes viewed Greg as a passenger in an "out of control" car in which I was the driver, he paralyzed to take the wheel, powerless to intervene. But was it his place?

At the beginning of this year I hit rock bottom, but found the strength to do this amazing "about face." I cut off everyone but John and his family. I was very candid with John's folks. They were incredibly supportive and never judged. They only hugged, kissed and supported. "Just as John is our son, so are you." they offered. I tried not to dwell on all my losses, but focus on reclaiming the "old" me. Here I am seven months later and the transformation has been wonderful. I am that gregarious, happy, confident person I was back in 2000.

"So how do you handle being in a bar around all this alcohol?" I am sometimes asked. Actually it's more of a challenge being around those who have had one too many. For me, it's an "in your face" reality check that alcohol will never again have a place in my life, ever. Last year, me and my wonderful father, a former alcoholic, sat in my brother's den on "Father's Day" and watched as the rest of my family lounged by the pool drinking Margaritas. Daddy had to sit inside as the New Orlean's heat and humidity took a toll on his breathing. I was visiting from Dallas and he related how hard it had become to do simple things. He never complained, but it did annoy him when my mom had a few too many.

Right before Hurricane Katrina, I began a Catholic Novena to St. Joseph. I prayed for three things: Some much needed closure with Greg (in any form), to be reunited with my family (on speaking terms), and that in all the positive changes I had made, continued guidance to a new destiny. The nine day novena ended the day before Katrina struck and the power of prayer was never more evident:

As mentioned above, I called Greg and was lucky to catch him at home alone after which a very candid conversation took place. I learned that Greg is in a new place, a place I have to respect with his new partner. Our 10 years together and our sad ending in 2003 have to be dealt with "each to his corner." Although this need for silence is sad, it is necessary in order for each to heal. It is only a testament of how much we loved and continue to love each other. I think we both look forward to the day we can sit across from each other, laughing together as friends. Thank you St. Joseph!

My brother David, Mom and my sister evacuated to Texas staying with my sister's partner! In a series of phone calls I found them and they were only 20 minutes away! I'll never forget the initial, tearful phone call to my brother David. My silence was abuptly ended (in the right time as I had prayed.) I feel closer to my family more than ever. Thank you St. Joseph!

John and I are headed to a new destiny in Chicago. I have felt change coming in the past months. It's been more than intuition, almost like there have been "divine" road signs placed in front of me. I know only good waits there for us, that I can be a strong, supportive partner on this new path. Thank you St. Joseph!

I was with John and group of our friends at Wrigley Field watching a Chicago Cubs game last month. We had bleacher seats in the outfield. One of John's friends confessed: "Matt, I'm so proud of you. You look and sound great." This friend was a Katrina evacuee staying with one of John's friends in Chicago. This friend worked at one of the bars in the French Quarter and had seen me in my alcohol soaked days. "I wish I could quit." he admitted. Just then, It started to rain. "C'mon, let's get some shelter." I told him. One storm at a time, that's how I live my life now. Well that and St. Joseph on my dashboard.

"Give me my Barbies! I'm going home!"

The drive home to get ready for "Art Against AIDS" seemed to take forever. I finally made it to our house. Greg was still at home and in his bathroom. I walked in and was greeted with his usual "Hey." I explained that no matter what I said that week about moving out, I needed him that evening. He was bewildered by my sense of urgency but agreed.

I showered and dressed wearing an ill-advised beret' (no laughing David), God I'll never live down THAT fashion faux pax. Greg and I arrived at the event. I was in awe how everything came together. I had no false pretense knowing full well that I was responsible for maybe a quarter of what was in front of me. My boss quickly approached me with: "love the beret' " (liar) and: "There are not enough plastic cocktail glasses." This was of course HER responsibility but yet another failure she would blame on me. I quickly snapped back: "However all this plays out this evening, I'm not holding my mouth. The cups were YOUR responsibilty and as I see it right now, it's YOUR problem. Me and my beret' hauled ass to the silent auction area. The space was incredible. The volunteers did an incredible job. "Meg" was in her element and we exchanged an amicable "Hello."

No matter where I was that night, I found myself looking for Greg. I was in love with him more than ever and yet found myself playing this ridiculous game of throwing threats of moving out to get his attention. Greg remained true to his word and found me many times during the evening in between duty. He even remarked it was one of the best set-ups he had ever seen at the event.

Later that evening, the silent auction was coming to a close. There were several donated "Christopher Radko" glass ornaments up for bidding. It was 11 p.m. and all auctions were closed, yet several people continued to write bids on the ornaments. A bidder approached me and complained she had won at the hammer but people were coming behind and out bidding her. She had the bid sheet in her hand. I quickly went to the ornament table and picked up all the bid sheets to stop the "Radko" mayhem. "Meg" came stormimg toward me: "Who told you to pick those up? This is all my responsibility and if something goes wrong, I'll be held accountable." Time for another respect check:

"Meg, okay, you missed the "something gone wrong" part about 15 minutes ago. Folks were bidding after the close and as COORDINATOR OF SPECIAL EVENTS of this organization, I did what I felt was right to protect the winners as someone complained. You will never speak to me like that again, and if I have my way, this will be your last "Art Against AIDS."

My useless boss (I'll call her "Useless") heard the exchange and pulled me aside. "Actually, this maybe your last "Art Against AIDS. You are never to speak to a volunteer in that manner." I had it with "Useless" as well. I shot back: "You know "Useless", you showed up here this morning for an hour and disappeared. I could not reach you at the office or on your cell phone. I took charge out there when some came to me and complained. People giving money to this organization come first before some ego-driven, control freak volunteer." "We'll talk about this Monday." she replied.

It was done and so was I. It was 2 a.m. and our Human Resources Director Rick drove me home as Greg was long gone. As we drove he asked If I was okay. I told him I was fine just frustrated with all the bullshit. He disagreed and said that I was a completely different person since the surgery. He softened his tone: "Matt, I've been there, I almost died a few years ago and I see you living out the exact emotional cycle. You're all over the place. You need help." I was shocked. We arrived at my house and he kissed me on the cheek. I thanked him for the ride and the advice. As he drove off, I began to cry still wearing my beret'.

I had the weekend off and told Greg the next morning what Rick said to me in the car. "Well, you're seeing somebody, aren't you?" Greg replied. "Nothing is helping me" I said. "I'm not comfortable in my own skin." Greg could only reply with "I don't know what to tell you." The story of my life.

I arrived at NO/AIDS on Monday. I was told by my boss that we had to pick up the remaining stuff at the venue and bring it back here. She was supposed to have secured a small moving truck for this so we could do it in a couple of trips. She decided on her own that we could forgo the expense and just use my Ford Ranger and make several trips. I was beyond fighting. Suddenly everyone forgot that I had back surgery and we were on our way.

The next morning my boss stuck her head in my office and said: "Don't think I've forgotten our little talk about how you spoke to Meg. I've asked the Executive Director to meet with us about your behavior." She ended the sentence with a big, in your face, grin. That was my boss, the person everyone warned me about. A fund development director, who in a period of year, had been though four "events coordinators."

My office phone rang. It was the hospice that took in "Louie." The nurse caring for him had called me a few times in the past weeks stressing Louie needed visits as he had no family. "Art Against AIDS" kept me so busy, I just couldn't find the time. "Hi Matthew" she said. "I was calling to inform you that "Louie" passed this morning." I began to cry. She assured me "he passed peacefully in his sleep and was better off." She thanked me for the times I called and checked on him. I was still crying when I hung up the phone and suddenly it hit me: none of this petty, tit for tat, bullshit mattered. I began to pack my office.

My boss passed again and asked what I was doing. I told her to come in and close the door. I told her that I could not work for her anymore. I went further to say she was divisive and a liar and clearly had an agenda to get me out the door. She started to cry: "Don't go. We were not going to fire you." "They'll think you quit because of me." I told her: "They would be right." She went further: "We just need to sit down and talk about fairly dividing our reponsiblities. Don't quit." "No. I need to leave NOW" I said. It took only one trip to get my boxes home.

When I got home, I saw the "buffalo nickel" I had set aside when I washed Louie's clothes. I went to a locksmith and had them put a hole in the top of the coin so I could put it on my keychain. It is still there today, always as a reminder of the man who taught me the real meaning of giving.

"Nothing is real, but I'm flying, crying..."

Everyone loves a sad song now and then. If you were to ask Greg one song he never wanted to hear again, I'm sure it would be "Storybook" by Linda Eder:

"Where is my storybook ending?
Why does my golden pretending,
leave me with nothing to hold
but my dreams."

I was still having random crying attacks. I was always so scared and sad. No one can say I didn't try. I decided to see a psychologist. In our intital talks he concluded that I was bipolar and highly prone to addiction. I was put on yet another medication called Depacote. I walked this path alone. To Greg, this was my problem. Looking back, if only Greg had taken my hand, hugged me, something, to show his support. He was as afraid of this as I was. It was something he didn't understand. At times, the medication made me stutter. I hated what I had become: weak, sad and hopeless. I lost interest in just about everything except drinking and running from bar to bar in the Quarter.

It was the week of "Art Against AIDS." I was quite resourceful in getting some great items for the silent auction, everything from local artwork to a "Will and Grace" script signed by the entire cast. The volunteer assigned to help me with the silent auction (I'll call her Meg) was pushy, rude and a downright bitch. This event would be bring me to the brink. On top of everything, I told Greg I was moving out.

The night before the event, I would not leave my NO/AIDS office until 3:30 a.m. preparing bid sheets. I had to be at the venue the next morning at 8 a.m. I drove up to the house crying and suddenly was hit with a tremendous pain in my chest. It had to be tension. I had never felt anything like this before. I managed to get myself to the guest bedroom and swallowed some muscle relaxants left over from my back surgery. I also took 18 mg. of Klonopin. I laid down in the bed and every move I made was painful, it even hurt to breathe. Greg was sound asleep in his room.

I overslept the next morning and jumped right out of bed and got to the Contemporary Arts Center at 7:45. The pain was still present in my chest, but not as bad as the night before. Nothing would go right this day. It rained, I got a parking ticket while unloading materials, the event volunteer was bossing me and other volunteers around. She was becoming quickly unpopular. The donated table coverings arrived and did not extend to the floor. "Meg" went off on me in front of everyone: "We can't use these! They are unacceptable!" I reminded her that they were donated and that we could simply move them forward as the tables were not round and the presentation would be fine. She snapped back: "I'm calling your boss and someone I know that can get us better tablecoths." This is the part where I get respect. I yanked the phone out of her hand and slammed it down:

"Meg, if you want to whip out a credit card and pay for better tablecloths, by all means do so. the Task Force welcomes your kind donation. Now, if I could kindly remind you that are a volunteer for this event, not my superior. If you are not here with a good heart and good intentions, the core qualities of a good volunteer, I think you should leave. We WILL use the donated tablecloths. Have I made myself clear on all this?"

The large ballroom was completely silent. "Meg" backed down and walked outside for a cigarette. This would not be our last encounter. All the other volunteers did their best to look busy, but when "Meg" was out of listening range, they all applauded. I just grinned and continued to work with the infamous tablecloths.

Everyone involed in set-up did an excellent job. Everything began falling into place as all the food, lighting and alcohol people started to arrive. I headed home to change. For some reason, I needed Greg now more than ever. He had planned to attend the event with a co-worker. I raced home hoping to catch him.

"There is only
one perfect storybook ending.
That is the end of pretending.
That is the moment I say:
Love me now."

On my soapbox again.....

I'm sorry but Supreme Court nominee Harriet Miers looks like the caseworker "Juno" (portrayed excellently by the late actress Sylvia Sydney) from the film "Bettlejuice."

With that said, it just pisses me off that everyone cares about what Harriet Miers thinks. I may be a little simple but if you are nominated to sit on the highest court in our country, you are not supposed to bring predisposed thinking to the bench. Law is supposed to be interpreted fairly. I wrote and was published in the "Dallas Morning News" my thoughts:

"Religion, race, civil rights, and abortion: many would agree these are all passionate issues to most Americans. If the job of the United States Supreme Court is to interpret law FAIRLY, where does one's views on any of these issues come into play when being nominated? Suppose an openly gay man or woman were nominated to sit on the highest court in the country? Would that nominee automatically rule in favor in all cases concerning gay Americans? I should hope not.

Harriet Miers is being treated like a brand of soft drink that when initially introduced, sold poorly. Now, though a convenient questionnaire stating her pro-life views on abortion, Ms. Miers has been "re-branded" by President Bush to quiet his restless constituents. It's time to stop labeling Harriet Miers and let her speak for herself at confirmation hearings."

And another political note:

As the city of New Orleans was being inundated with flooding from Hurricane Katrina and thousands were pleading for help from FEMA (the "Fail Everyone Management Agency"), Marty Bahamonde, a public affairs officer under then director Mike Brown, pleaded to Brown in an email days after the storm about how quickly conditions were deteriorating at the Louisiana Superdome. Brown's secretary, Sharon Worthy's reply was as follows:

"it is very important that time is allowed for Mr. Brown to eat dinner." In Baton Rouge, Worthy went on to express concern that Brown should be allotted plenty of time in his schedule because "restaurants are getting busy."

AMAZING! Good job Browny!

For David: Happy Birthday!

My brother David called me this morning during his commute on the "Causeway." The longest bridge in the world (and he knows it), it spans 25 miles in the middle of Lake Ponchartrain to the south shore into Metairie and eventually to I-10 leading to New Orleans. My family has been very blessed in the wake of Hurricane Katrina. They never complain about the "interruption of life" this storm has created knowing many others have lost so much. David celebrated his ?? birthday yesterday.

Anyway, I don't know why I'm posting this famous rant from "Designing Women's" Julia Sugarbaker. I guess it's maybe that there is just a little bit of Julia in David. Come to think of it, every member of my family is portrayed in "Designing Women":

Julia- David (caring, but a bitch when need be)
Mary Jo- Me (always writing editorials to newspapers when politicians are just plain idiots)
Suzanne- DEFINITELY my brother Mark (permanently beautiful, but prone to "potty mouth")
Charlene- my sister Mary (sweet, caring and always well-intentioned)
Anthony- my brother Jerry (I think "Anthony" was straight)
Bernice- My mother Rose (a little wacky, but always lovable)

David, here it is:

"Yes, and I gather from your comments there are a couple of other things you don't know, Marjorie. For example, you probably didn't know that Suzanne was the only contestant in Georgia pageant history to sweep every category EXCEPT Miss Congeniality, and that is NOT something the women in my family aspire to anyway. Or that when she walked down the runway in her swimsuit, five contestants quit on the spot. Or that when she emerged from the isolation booth to answer the question, "What would you do to prevent war?" she spoke so eloquently of patriotism, battlefields and diamond tiaras, grown men wept. And you probably didn't know, Marjorie, that Suzanne was not just any Miss Georgia, she was THE Miss Georgia. She didn't twirl just a baton, that baton was on fire. And when she threw that baton into the air, it flew higher, further, faster than any baton has ever flown before, hitting a transformer and showering the darkened arena with sparks! And when it finally did come down, Marjorie, my sister caught that baton, and 12,000 people jumped to their feet for sixteen and one-half minutes of uninterrupted thunderous ovation, as flames illuminated her tear-stained face! And that, Marjorie --- just so you will know --- and your children will someday know --- is the night the lights went out in GEORGIA!"

Love you David!

"Love With a Proper Stranger and LOUIE"

For those of you that have dropped in to read my recollections of self-discovery, fear, laughter, love found, love gone wrong, loneliness and addiction, I've discovered that in my own writing I'm getting impatient.

Where did Greg and Matt go wrong? In the end it's ALL our fault, mine, my family, my friends and yes, Greg. After the back surgery, it was quite clear I had changed. I went back to NO/AIDS Task Force September 10, 2001 and we all know happened the next day. I think 9/11 changed all of us down to our psyches. I was already on an arsenal of medications to keep me calm, but this event fueled even more fear and uncertainty. Soon I began to mix alcohol with the medications. I was surrounded by so many but felt so alone.

I began to act out against Greg who became emotionally paralyzed where I was concerned. I would work all day, but still felt the need to "run." I started the ritual of going to happy hour directly from the office. Soon this behavior would spiral to all-nighters. I could easily be out until three in the morning and jump out of bed at six and get ready for work. I was still sleeping in the guest bedroom. I felt this enormous guilt along with an urgency to send Greg a message: I was out of control. I could see the signs of crying in Greg's eyes in the morning when we crossed paths. He was lost, lonely and felt betrayed, but sadly, so did I.

In the mean time, the NO/AIDS Task Force had become a pisshole of stress and politics. I was not equipped to deal with either one. I was exhausted and manic trying to keep control at the office which escalated into a pissing contest between me my boss. No matter what I did, it was never enough. Okay, to sum things up, not only was I a loser at home but also at work.

At times, there were glimmers of the old me. Greg and I would grab dinner at Joey K's, one of many great New Orleans neighborhood diners on Magazine Street. The owner knew I worked for NO/AIDS and approached me one night asking for help with one of his tenants. In one of his units in back of the restaurant resided "Louie" a gentleman in the advanced stages of AIDS. The owner was allowing him to live rent free and was feeding him from the restaurant. He wanted the Task Force to get involved as his own attempts to guide the man to help failed. After dinner we went to see Louie. The apartment was dark and cold and the conditions were deplorable.

Louie was in bed and not responsive. All I could see was the skeletal form of a man I thought was dead. Somehow, I was not afraid to walk up to him. I sat next to him on the bed and called out his name. He opened his eyes as I began to ask him simple questions to see if he could understand me. I introduced myself and asked him would he mind if someone from my office came to talk to him. I told him I wanted to help him feel better. I spoke to him softly as I could see he was afraid. I looked around and saw filty clothes, soiled bedding on the floor and ice cream containers with sputum near the bed.

The caregiver in me kicked in at high speed. I gathered all the dirty clothes in the bedroom and bathroom as roaches scurried. I took the sheets as well. I assured Louie I would get him the help he needed. Greg and I headed home so I could wash everything. In the pocket of a pair of Louie's jeans was a "buffalo nickel." I put it aside. The owner of the restaurant would wait for me. After three hours I had everything washed and folded and went back to Louie's place. I changed his sheets and placed all the clean clothes on a large dresser. The owner of Joey K's and Louie were grateful. I returned to NO/AIDS the next day and alerted client services about Louie and gave them the owner of Joey K's phone number.

Because Greg was on the board of NO/AIDS, I often came home bitching about the endless politics of working for the non-profit. Greg refused to get involved. I obviously did not belong in this position as it was an enormous conflict of interest. To make matters worse, Greg was named a co-chair of my department, pure lunacy.

One Sunday evening, I had enough as Greg and I got into another pointless "discussion" about the NO/AIDS situation. This was on the heels of "Art Against AIDS", an annual holiday gala fund-raiser. I headed to the French Quarter bars to escape. That night I would meet a University of New Orleans student who saw me sitting alone. He walked over with another beer for me. "Looks like misery needs company" he offered. Jeff sat with me for a few hours and was not only entertaining but smart. He had a buzz cut and big green eyes and towered over me at about 6 ft. 5 in. There was something laying heavy on his mind as well, but he only cared about making me laugh.

We would go back to his place. We sat on his couch and talked a little more when he asked if he could just hold me. I moved closer to him and he pulled me into his lap. "I have something to tell you. I'm not like most guys." "What do you mean?" I said. "Promise you won't leave?" I took a more serious tone: "Okay Jeff, what's up?" He started to tear up "I recently was operated on and I'm undergoing treatment for testicular cancer." I made a huge sigh and smiled telling him: "That's much better than I have a big knife and I'm going to kill you." He laughed through the tears. We headed to his bedroom as Jeff slowly undressed, I held him and told him everything was okay. I told him about my crumbling relationship and he told me about juggling school and the illness. We cried off and on, both needing someone to hold, to understand.

The next thing I knew it was 4 a.m. I had a radio interview to do at 6 a.m. and local morning TV show appearance promoting "Art Against AIDS." I kissed Jeff good-bye and told him to tune in. He was laying naked on his bed when he signaled me to go to him, he gently kissed me again.

I went home and showered and the phone rang for the first interview. Radio morning talk DJ Ed Clancey always enjoyed interviewing me. In my first spot with him I mentioned that I fell asleep in one of his journalism talks at my high school. We giggled like school girls and hit it off immediately. He always described me as "the ever gregarious Matt Cortez." What a crock, what an act, I thought to myself.

Greg awoke, again ignoring the fact that I had been out all night. I would not kiss Greg good-bye, not on the heels of jumping out of bed with Jeff. I headed to the local CBS-TV affiliate to do the morning show. My mom would call as I headed to the office after the TV spot. "You looked tired." she remarked. YA' THINK!

Coupon "Queens"

It's already turning out to be a busy Monday and I've just returned from Walmart to pickup a few things. I have to credit to my partner John. He's helped me master the art of coupon clipping and corresponding our shopping needs to these neatly clipped, bar-coded golden tickets.

My Walmart total came to $45.75 and after coupons I paid $33.47 to which my cashier responded: "God, you never see men use coupons. I could have just let that comment lie, but for those who know me, well...... I went on to tell her I was a motivational speaker that teaches men to economize and tidy up their lives. My cashier, I'll call her Shirl, was quite intriqued. Yes, I continued remarking that I went from city to city handing out catagorized organizers in packed meeting rooms preaching the practice of practical shopping.

DOUBLE & TRIPLE COUPONS
Supermarkets make money off the quick-trippers and and non-coupon clippers. It's always a bonanza to find a big, chain grocery store that double and triples coupons. You can even save more money tailoring your shopping experience buying sale items for which you already have a coupons. You may have to sub a brand here or there, but what the who.

BRAND NAMES vs. STORE BRAND
Beware when clipping coupons for name brand items. The store brand usually ends up cheaper even after couponing a name brand. This goes for items like glass cleaner, paper and plastic products, frozen foods and dairy.

WHAT SHOULD I BUY WHERE?
Walmart is always going to be your best bet for general merchandise. This includes any personal hygiene items like soaps, razors, shampoos, anti-perspirant, to other items like pet food and over the counter medications.
example: "Maalox Max" at a local supermarket is $6.29. Walmart sells the indentical product for $4.29 and this item is frequently couponed at $1.00 off, making your Maalox now $3.29. That is half of the cost of the supermarket! Nifty huh?!!

You cannot beat the pricing of food items at a big chain supermarket with couponing. STILL,always be on the lookout for what could be considered a "Walmart" purchase.

WHAT IF I LIVE IN A BIG, SCARY CITY?
Big metrpolitan cities like New York and Chicago usually don't have "Big Bob's Grocery Bonanza." It's all about quaint neighborhood markets, which are really great, but they're not going to save you any money. This is where you just have to get inventive and make do. You'll soon find a place to shop for food and another for the other items and still use coupons. With hygenic, and general merchandise, it's always going to be worth stocking up with a trip to the burbs.

BUT NO MATTER THE PLACE..... keep clipping, filing and saving!

"Amazon.com" profiling and "What did you say?"

Since when did anyone give "Amazon.com" the right to "out" me to myself. Geez! you buy one "dance" CD and the next thing you know your flooded with recommendations of "Cher's Farewell Tour Greatest Hits", "Cher's "I Swear This is the Last Farewell Tour" Greatest Hits with scary bonus DVD", "Beaches" on DVD and "Judy Garland at Carnagie Hall." And it doesn't stop there. I get offers for subscriptions to "Out" magazine and great deals on books like: "The Boyfriend Inside", inside where?

My great friend Rachel once used my computer to look for books on antique furniture. Rachel knows I'm gay, but after buying a couple of books she remaked: "You buy a lot of gay stuff. What the fugh?? I thought to myself. She was right as the screen was offering everything but the rainbow flag. I said to her: "Great, and your buying books on antique furnitue is really going to help.

When I was a single gay man, I tried my best to groom what the Lord gave me and left the rest to fate. I'm pretty approachable (no giggles from anyone who knows me) but was always amazed at what someone staring off in the distance would come up and say. I hope you'll find these amusing.

1.) "You have some nice hairy legs. I'd love to lick them." (Yikes and Yuk!)

2.) "I'd like to talk to you about something serious?" (This always means run very fast.) He's married, from out of town and would like to know your sexual proclivity.)

3.) "I bought you this beer and I see it's the wrong kind because I couldn't see your label across the room."

4.) "You think you're ALL that, just standing here talking to no one." (speaks for itself)

5.) "You're so straight-acting" (I'll never understand that one, obviously he needs to see my Amazon.com homepage)

6.) "Can I ask you something?" (See #2)

For my very few readers, I have 3 gay siblings: 2 brothers and a sister:
7.) "Do you and your brothers ever get it on?" (see comments for #1)

8.) "You're Italian with a big nose so you must have a big hose!?" (WRONG!)

9.) "Can I see your nipples? (What?)

10.) "Are you into armpits?" (well, only when I'm putting on deordorant)

11.) "I have to leave with friends to go to dinner and I'm leaving you my FAVORITE baseball cap (places it on my head.) You wouldn't leave with a guy's favorite baseball cap, would you? (I fell for this one as it was a come on line by my current partner John.)

I hope you chuckled a bit through those. I've learned it's always best when single and out alone to be the guy standing by himself and "talking to no one"

Gay Teens, the Vatican and Gay Marriage

It's been a busy week for the homosexual community. The cover story of this week's "Time" magazine focuses on some of America's Gay teens and their amazing courage to "come out" earlier than the national average age 18 years. In Rome. the Vatican tones down the rethoric in a document almost banning gay men from serving in their ranks. In the mean time, the state is Texas which already has "The Defense of Marriage Act" in place defining marriage between a man and a woman has introduced new anti-gay legislation in the form of Propositon 2.

The "Time" magazine piece is very informative covering a wide range of topics from the fight young gays face in their early teens to establish a true identity to friends and community to the increase in numer of gay/straight alliances in high schools and colleges to address a better understanding of the situation. It is sad that some religious groups see these alliances as "recruiting" cells to covert confused teens to homosexuality.

I am from a family in which four of five siblings are gay. I can assure you my older siblings were not talking to me about same sex fun much less proding me to increase our number to take over the family. My view on sex with women is sort of like that old 7-Up commcercial and caffeine: "Never had it, never will." I have known fom the age of 11 that I was homosexual.

In my early 20's, a well-intentioned, married, friend guided me to a sexologist for change threapy. This ended with the good doctor questioning my own friend's sexuality. Maybe fixing me would squash his own curiosity to "get it on" with me. Dr. "Dick Is Bad's" great therapy was my taking home lesbian pornograpy and at the moment of orgasm (supposedly a key window of time to change a desire) think only of women, NO MEN! I will leave this whole paragraph as I left his office without paying. What a crock of shit!

The Vatican is in heavy damage control to reclaim the masses that have walked away from well......their masses. I cannot comment on the horrendous. misguided turns the religion of my birth has taken, they speak for themselves. Okay, maybe just a few words: Stop using Gay men as the scapegoat for your own blind and wreckless ignorance that has spanned the ages. Their are more cover-ups in the upper ranks of the Catholic church than most governments. Science has already proven that the majority percentage of pedophiles are heterosexual, not the gay men you are targeting. Last and most importantly; God did not give a man a penis if he did not intend him to use it. This is stupid man-made dogma, contrived by stupid, old men. And yes, this Catholic, Gay man still prays a rosary to Our Lady everyday, and recites the "Stations of the Cross" once a week. You guys in Rome need all the help you can get.

As far as Texas's Propositon Two, a mean-sprited bit of government garbage that is "technically" a ban on Gay marriage, it is filled with less publicized verbiage that would take away many legal rights from Gays. It is a "Trojan Horse" bill without merit as marriage between a man and woman is already protected under current law. Governor Rick Perry has stated: If you're gay and you don't like it here, move. Gladly, Mr. Perry. Chicago here we come.

And God winked...

For those of you who are not familiar with the best-selling book "When God Winks", it can be best described as a collection of short stories that share one thing in common: sometimes what we perceive to be a series coincidences are actullay winks are nods from God prompting us to make a crucial decision or a move to a new place in our lives. In my case, God has, on occasion, had to use a two by four and whack me in the head.

It will come as no surprise for those who know me that I completely embrace this concept because I have lived it. Sobriety has brought many wonderful things back to me: confidence, clarity and conscience. There were days at the beginning of 2005 that I thought my life was over. I was pill-popping, drinking, but most of all sad and crying almost everyday. It was clear I had a choice to make: either remove the excesses of life and work with God or fade away. I'm glad I made the choice to remove all or most of the negative and start focusing on my recovery.

It is not my intention to get all WWJD ("What would Jesus do?") to those who are reading this. In fact, I think Jesus would say: "Stop putting my name on tacky bumper stickers and license plates etc." Anyway, it is in good decision making and good living that I was able to reclaim my old "self." I do believe that at our darkest (and I have had my share of pitch black) and at our best, God does indeed hear us. When I was at the height of my addiction, whether it was over-medicating, drinking, eating, sex, or buying, I was racing from one to the other trying to fill a void. It takes great strength to realize the "void" is not a place to fear. It is what you decide to do with the void that brings about change.

"Who Moved My Cheese?" is another great example of a simple read that offers one conclusion: "move on." This concept is easier said than done when our lives are filled with good memories of what is familiar or what used to be. This could be a job, relationship, new city or all the above. Well, God has winked (actually several times) again. My current partner John has accepted a tremendous career opportunity in Chicago. All the elements seem to fall strangely in place making this move possible.

In our recent visits, I've felt unusually at home in Chicago. I love it's neighborhoods, obvious diverse population, and the excitement of discovering new possibilities with John. The past few years have been a lesson of mourning what used to be. Here's to new beginnings, new friends and most importantly, "moving on."

-Matt

"A house divided......the phone call"

It was early August 2001, my days did not change much as opposed to prior to my surgery. I was little paranoid as to what were my limits lifting and otherwise. My doctor made it very clear that jogging was no longer an option for exercise. Any sort of compression to my spine could land me again on the operating table.

The combination of medications I was taking (Paxil, Xanax, Klonopin) had taken it's toll on my personality. I had become almost dense, taking a few seconds to answer the simplest questions. Greg and I were still in seperate bedrooms. We were both hoping that the surgery would be a "fix it" for us, for me. Greg really didn't need to be fixed more than he needed to understand. We had become so distant. My role as a hyper communicator now silenced with the all the medications.

Soon the calls started coming in from the NO/AIDS Task Force asking when I would be able to return to work. Even worse I was asked if it was okay to drop off work as our annual Walk was closing in. I reluctantly agreed knowing that to get anything done at my office I needed to be at my office. With Greg being on the board of this organization, I didn't want to disappoint. As the days progressed, I became increasingly paranoid about re-emerging into the work force. I had this unfounded fear of doom and failure. This period was vital for communication between Greg and I, sadly it would not happen. I missed the old me too, the confident guy that wrote a clever letter to a tall, handsome stranger. a letter that started a ten year realtionship.

It was March 1993, and the infamous letter was on it's way to Greg. A few days elapsed and I was at my office. A call was passed to me. I picked up the line to hear a deep, articulate voice: "Matt? Hi, this is Greg." I had to put him on hold to get myself together. I was so nervous. I picked up the phone again and said: "You mean Greg (I began to spell his last name letter for letter as he did on Bourbon Street that beautiful Mardi Gras day.) Greg chuckled explaining he had a bit to drink. He went further to say that he almost threw my letter out until he saw the signature "Marty Graw." He then examined the correspondence closer and caught all my hidden messages.

No ego, this letter was genius, a witty calling card for a meeting. Greg and I agreed on a date and a place. I immediately called my friend Clay who agreed to join us as our get together would take place at a local bar. Greg was familiar with my friend Clay and with Greg still in a relationship, it helped in appearances as it would look less like a date.

The night arrived and Clay and I made our pre-bar cocktails at his house. We headed to the French Quarter's "Bourbon Pub", a popular gay club on Bourbon Street. We met Greg who was very punctual and greeted us very warmly. I quickly disposed of Clay as I knew he no trouble finding trouble.

Over the thunder of redundant club music, Greg and I began a conversation that would last for over three hours. The attraction was obvious. This would be the beginning of a sweet courtship over the next few months, but how would explain my work uniform? (I'll explain later.)

HAPPY ROSH HASHANAH to all my Jewish friends!