April 26, 2020

Last July my husband and I were sitting along side a beautiful pool in a gay resort in Palm Springs, California. We were relaxing and on a quick getaway from life. My husband had given his all to his career for decades and was able to retire at a fairly young age; I took up the mantle and continued the whole “power gay couple” vibe and continue to do so today, with a sprinkling of vacation time here and there.

We didn’t know anyone around us at the beautiful gay resort. It was gorgeous and so were most of the men in the pool. Conversation flowed freely. Some were clothed, some were not. I was drinking early in the day. I was intent on exploring new facets of my personality. INFJ is a result, not a label. Let’s explore what it really means. I do this from time to time. There’s nothing wrong with new discoveries. Push your boundaries! There’s a place to do it and a place to refrain.

As naked and barely clothed men swam in the pool, as the club music quietly presented itself from the pool side speakers, as we mused about our current affairs and where we are in this life, I suddenly bolted up from my lounge chair and made a declaration to my husband.

I’m going to write my autobiography and it will be called “Trip The Moment Fantastic”! The exclamation points were in my voice.

He asked, “What does that mean”?

I replied, “I have absolutely no idea but at this moment in time it makes perfect sense to me.”

I will turn 52 years old here in this mess we call 2020. I’ve had a couple of successful careers during my lifetime and if I must say so I’ve done some pretty awesome things. When it comes down to the lowest common denominator, I have absolutely nothing to complain about. Nothing. As Sandy Duncan, while in her 40s, once said, “I’ve done some great things in my life. The rest of it is gravy”.

I like this gravy!

When I declared the title of my unwritten biography in my head I was in an altered state. As I write this right now my head is in a similarity constructed altered state. COVID-19, coronavirus, meteors, and all the other ills of the world: the fact of the matter is, I’m sitting in a beautiful condo on the north side of the third largest city in the United States. We moved here from a very red part of the country some folks call a “snowy Alabama”. The root of my upbringing is “Thank god I’m a country boy!”, my head is a middle of the road politico, not too liberal and not too conservative, and my heart is where I am right now: if someone gave me a test I’d be on something other than a rainbow spectrum, I love technology, people make me crazy, and I really want to fly an airplane. And I am hopelessly in love with my husband, so thankful for our chosen family, and grateful for my upbringing, my family, and my bloody relations.

If I sat down and wrote “Trip The Moment Fantastic” I’m certain no one would read it. While my life has been quite wonderful, I would have no dreams of it becoming Kardashian worthy. My life has been perfect for me but no chapter would make “Hard Copy”. So I write in a private journal, password protected from prying eyes, and no pieces will be shared until I’ve moved to whatever comes next. My husband knows how to share my musings after I’m long gone.

But the title rings beautifully for me. “Trip The Moment Fantastic”. Such beautiful words. Like the screen name “Machias”, which still rings as spectacularly as it did for me in 1990, “Trip The Moment Fantastic” rings as a reminder to me: enjoy the moment. It likes a loud, golden bell, ringing louder than anything Jaye P. Morgan smacked on a game show.

Enjoy life. Be Free. No one else has your point of view, make the absolutely best of it.

I want my gravy to be awesome.

One of the main themes from the 1960s sitcom “I Dream of Jeannie” is Jeannie was a jealous wisp of smoke that could never really have her “master” the way she wanted her master. At least not until the ratings push for the fifth season rolled around. Astronaut Major Anthony Nelson would occasionally date other women, even though Jeannie lived in his house in a bottle on the hutch in the Kravitz’s living room, and this would make Jeannie jealous. She’d then blink and with a jump cut and a sound effect the object of her jealousy would become a porcelain statue or a dog or something. Boing plink, I’m jealous.

I’ve been married (in the relationship sense) for nearly 24 years. You know where jealousy comes from? From within. It’s a signal of a lack of self-confidence. No one can make you jealous. Jealous is your own thing. You’re feeling inadequate. You’re feeling insecure.

People have asked me how my husband and I have managed to stay together for nearly 24 years. Well, I’m going to share a secret with you. Back in 1996 when we decided we wanted to spend our lives together we decided the only exit plan was death. There were no other options. Divorce? Not an option. Separation? Not an option. Murder? Under extreme circumstances.

I find many men attractive. I find some women attractive too and quite frankly since 24 years ago we established “death” as the only exit plan for our relationship, I don’t hesitate to tell my husband if I find a guy cute. Years ago we were walking together in Crossgates Mall in Albany, N.Y. and apparently a man was eyeballing me on the escalator.

OK, let’s step out of the blog entry for a moment. I’m going to tell you something about me. I have never been able to pick up on these “clues”. I never know when someone is flirty. I never know when someone finds me attractive. I have no idea what the homosexual signals are for “let’s have sex!” in a Thruway Service Area.

I. Am. Clueless.

My husband has a keen sense of who is scoping out whom and he knows who’s having sex in the mall bathroom. He just knows. Even though I’m eight years younger than him and I came out of the closet years before he did, he knows who’s shagging whom in the stall number three and I’m just there to pee and wash my hands.

So we were on the escalator in Crossgates Mall in Albany, N.Y. near a department store called Cohoes and apparently this guy was checking me out. I didn’t have a clue but Earl, being the card carrying homosexual that he is, did have a clue and he whispered in my ear, “that guy is checking you out.”

Had it not been 1999 with dial up access there probably would have been a meme with two girls and a guy (no pizza place) on a street.

This type of scenario does not happen in our relationship because death is the only exit. Do not take the elevator, the building is not on fire, no one is leaving the auditorium.

Honestly, if everyone conducted their marital affairs the way we did, NBC afternoons would have never been populated by “The Doctors” and the other soap operas of the 1970s. Where would Mac and Rachel be? Would Iris be mean enough to spring herself into her own soap opera named “Texas”?

See, you really didn’t know that I was gay enough to know these things about NBC soap operas but it’s not a gay thing as much as it’s a freak thing.

So, when I find a guy attractive my husband is fully aware of it and there’s no harm done. When he finds a guy attractive I am really into it and there’s no harm done. What the secret to a successful marriage? Be confident in who you are, lay down some ground rules, and be yourself.

Just because you’re chained to the fence doesn’t mean you can’t bark at the cars.

I wonder what the American marriage success rate would look like if people were confident in themselves and their relationships. How much happier would society be if people just accepted the fact that human beings are like every other animal on the planet and will always admire the beauty around them.

I’m musing about this because last night we watched a first season episode of “Bewitched”. If you’ve never watched it in its original black and white glory you should do so. “Bewitched” was a much more adult show in its first season and we enjoyed an episode where Larry Tate ogled women and suspected Darrin of having an affair with a brunette woman that resembled Samantha’s cousin Serena (who wouldn’t make appearance until much later in the series). At one point Larry Tate thinks Darrin is having an affair with his wife Louise (played by the much better cast Irene Vernon).

Speaking of “Bewitched”, why weren’t people upset about the fact that Maurice and Endora had an open relationship? I think I’ll save that dialog for another blog entry.

The bottom line of this rounds of musings is this, be yourself and allow your spouse or significant other to do the same. Love is the strongest bond in the universe. Allow it to stand on its own and put all of your confidence in that bond. Have confidence in yourself and have confidence in your relationship.

Leave the drama for the soap operas.