A drive to the country

I tried to relax this weekend in effort to clear my head about recent events in my life. My counseling continues and I am noticing small changes in myself.  They are slow but happening.  I have also tried to be more spontaneous recently.  I have given myself permission to be. Saturday was a prime example. I was getting dressed to go to the store and suddenly it hit me. I need to go the cemetery. So I grabbed my wallet and keys. I had no plans that day.  I filled up the tank. I put in a CD and hit the road. I drove the hour to Vashti Cemetery where GW is buried.  Vashti is a small farm community, about 12 miles outside of Bowie Texas. I needed to go see the one person who always loved me, gave great advise and always thought I was amazing, in good times and bad.  Even though he is not physically in my life, GW has served as my guardian angel and many times I feel his presence I was in a fair mood and look forward to quiet time at this scared place.  This place has become my sanctuary too. It is a sad place but yet I feel safe enough to let go of the feelings that plague me over the years. If I had anything thing pulling at my heart, I could go there and let it all go. 

I was chatting with a friend on the phone while driving.  My friend Jenn has always very friendly on the phone.  She just seeing how my day was and I told her I was driving out of town. We talked for a few minutes and she invited me to come to a charity show that was being held in Fort Worth.  I thought it might be nice. So I said yes.  I could go hang out with her and have girl talk and not have to actually participate in the show. I have not done drag in almost three months.  I hung up with her and turned up the music. 

Then the phone rang again.  Quickly I picked up the phone. Alonso.  A guy I had gone out with twice. We had a great lunch a few days before. We found a restaurant near our individual jobs and met for meditterain food. It was very good. Alonso was very polite, friendly and easy to talk to.  I turned the radio back down when the phone rang again.  Alonso was a nice guy, a few years younger than me. We had gone out the night before for dinner and movie.  I had a great time and he seemed to as well.  I asked how his day was because he had to work that morning.  I had not talked to him since we said good night after our movie date. He said an uneasy “fine”.  I first thought about our last.  He had come over to my place and we rode together for our evening together.  While at my place he noticed one of my drag pictures. He said is that you?  I reluctantly said, yes. I was hoping he would get to know me better before telling him. But his observation beat me to the punch.  

Yep you guessed it.  He started talked.  It was the phone call that all drag queens dread.  Alonso broke up with me on the phone. Why?  Because he was not comfortable dating a drag queen. I did not matter that I had not pending shows, or had an empty calendar for the last few months.  He seemed confused because he thought I was genuine and really great.  I was stunned. He didn’t understand how I could be just a regular guy and do” that’. I  assured him,  I am not a “that”. He tried to explain himself.  I tried to polite but my mouth took over before my brain could senor it. I told him that was too bad. His feelings were valid, but it seemed a shame that he could not accept everything about me.  Drag had been important to me though out my adult life.   I would not change who I am.  And any man who would be in my life would need to understand and support me if they expected me to understand and support who they are in return.  I also follo9wed up with I am a great guy, too bad his limited mind could not see that.  I was not mad. I was wounded. Alonso suggested that we might be friends. I told him, no thank you. I was looking for the man of my dreams…..I deserve to be happy.  Good bye.  Call ended.

My trip to visit my late partner turned out to be a release of emotions that had just erupted from my conversation with Alonso.  I called my friend Jenn back, we talked and cried for a while on the phone.  I eventually pulled into the parking lot of the Bowie Walmart.  Jenn was so sweet and reassured me that this was just  part of life. Not everyone is “the one” and it will be ok. She also kindly reassured me that someone better would come along.  That is what friends are for. They tell you to smile, it will be ok.  Even though they know you are hurting.  I stopped at the Walmart to get some new silk flowers to take to the cemetery.  I always feel out of place among the small town shoppers.    But I picked out some yellow flowers. I thought the color would bright my mood and be a symbolic gesture to   show how much I missed my late partner. Yellow is a happy color.  I got back in the car, turned my music back up and drove out the cemetery.  No sooner had I turned off the car, my eyes began to cry.  My trip to the country cemetery quickly became an opportunity to let all my emotions out.  I knew it was more than a coincidence; my inner voice had guided me to this place for a reason.  During emotional moments this is the place I always imagine that I am. And today during my pain of rejection I felt I was in the right place at the right time. I got out of the car, and walked to the far end of the cemetery.  I whispered as I walked.  I clutched the flowers against me chest. I looked down to avoid stepping on some of the faded head stones in the old cemetery. The weather was nice and the wind and sun felt warm on my face.  I saw the layer of dust covering the face of the head stone.  I dusted it off with the heel of my hand. I plucked the weeds.  I started to talk.  And of course I continued to cry. Here I was again, single and feeling alone.  The last time I was there, Scott and I visited together. Since then so much had happened.  And now all the weight of the world is back on my shoulders.  I put out the new flowers.  I sat down on the grass.  It was so quiet and the only noise was my own ramblings and the thoughts chasing me in my head.  I continued to talk to GW.  I asked him, why I was still here?  And why no one saw the way he did? He was always loving and accepting of me. I lay on the ground to get as close to him as possible. I sobbed while the wind rushed over me. He once made me feel special.  He loved me unconditionally.  I miss that. He knew my flaws were just part of me.  The painful scars of my life had healed, but were still part of me. He accepted them.  This feeling of self-worth and value is something that have lost recently and struggle to keep trying to find.  The years have beat me down and bad relationships have left a dent in my sense of wellbeing.  I know this is where I am emotionally, but this is not where I am going to remain. This part of my journey because  I deserve to be happy and I am holding on the thread of hope that someday I will have someone to share my happiness with…someone who thinks I am worth it.  I walked back the car after a long good bye.  I had made up my mind that once I was back on the road, I would continue to take control of my own life.  It was ok to revisit my sorrow, but I need to keep going.  I dried my tears and headed back home.

roller coasters are not fun

Where do I begin
To tell the story of how great a love can be
The sweet love story that is older than the sea
The simple truth about the love she brings to me
Where do I start

The last two months have been a roller coaster.  My relationship with Scott has ended.  I try not to portray him in negative light.  After all, I still love him. And I am sure it will take some time to get over this break up.  No matter how much I love him, he was not good for me.  I felt like I was compromising me self for the sake of a relationship.  I also felt that we had a different definition of love.  We obviously care about one another, but sometimes love is not enough. In the end, Scott was not happy and chose to move out.  He broke my heart and I let him go. 
Then I wrecked my car and I called him.  He was there for me. I really appreciated him.  We started to explore the possibility of a relationship again.  Then we broke up... again!  Apparently he was still not happy and so he dumped me again.  That is hard to admit because it hurts. He shredded my heart into a million pieces.  I never claimed to be perfect, but hoped he would over look my imperfections and realize how much I loved him.  I wanted to make him happy and thought it would be a long term relationship.  I feel foolish for opening my heart and having hopes. The future plans will never come to be now.  When I said I loved him, I meant forever.  I had kissed enough frogs in my life, and Scott was supposed to be my prince.  But once again, I need to let him go. 

I have had such a tough year.  Emotionally and physically the stress has been too much.  I have been seeing a therapist.  This is something I have never done before.  I am grieving the loss of my partner Scott and it had brought back the emotions of losing my first partner GW.  The circumstances are different but losing someone who I love has been overwhelming. I am going once a week and I am hoping that I will be able to cope with this loss and learn from the experience.  I feel broken and lost.  I need to find peace and sense of well-being.

1851 Club Arlington

I used to work shows in Arlington.  It was a fun little bar, but the biggest draw back as the physical building and lack of parking.  The bar in Arlington had been through a few different name changes, but had remained basically unchanged inside for well over ten years.  It was once called the 651 club, and then the six and most recently called the 1851 Club.  I was located at 1851 Division Street in Arlington.  I moved to Arlington in the fall of 2002 but really did not get involved in local shows until 2006.  I was recovering from my grief after the loss of GW.  And drag filled void in my life and gave me a hobby to focus on.  Up until that point I had only done guest “spotlight” appearances at the 1851 Club.  I had time to become a regular cast member and worked as part of the rotating weekend cast.  Each performer was unique with varying degree of experience. Each Friday or Saturday show consisted of three “gurls” plus the host of the show.  The four entertainers each did two numbers in the first set and then two more in the second set.  I could really express my range of talent at the 1851Club. I also learned a lot back stage.  I had four costume changes and each creative look pushed me to dress myself and style my own hair.  I notices most of the less experienced queen often wore the same wig, jewelry and even same shoes for every number.  I think part of this was due to economic limitations for these up and coming queens.  I could relate.  When I had first started years before, I too, had limited means and limited wardrobe. I knew what it was like to only have one pair of black shoes.  At the time I was working in Arlington, I had an extensive wardrobe and also the ability and with time to sew new costumes.  The shows gave me a place to fine tune my craft.  I was also to meet new people and some nights just laugh and party. That was what I needed in my life.  There were also many friends that I made at the bar in Arlington.  The MC of the shows was a big man, Called Stella.  Stella who wore short black curly wigs and she apparently painted in the dark.   He was not pretty and really it did not mater the audience. He was funny and very played the role of the comedian.  His character was not about looking good, or being real. It was about the farce of dressing up as a woman.  He spoke with a deep voice and walked like a dude.  This was his niche and it worked.  The audience never seemed to mind the fact that he always did the same songs and looked like someone’s dad in a dress.  I would joke back stage with him and often called him Uncle-Dad.  It was a reference to life in Arkansas, where some families are interbred.  Someone’s father could also be they’re uncle.  It was not uncommon for Stella to tease me about my hair or costumes.  It would bother me when Stella would just start talking to the crowd on the mic while I was performing my number.  I would walk over and tell her to politely “shut the fuck up”   It was never serious. It was funny banter.   After all she ran the shows and you should never piss of the “lady” in charge.  

Some of the friendship I made at 1851 have last for years.  Also winning Miss 1851 Club in 2006 was also helpful. I got to know a lot of people.  In fact they have not had the pageant since. So technically I am still Miss 1851.  I stopped booking there in 2009.  One friend Kiana  is now the host of the shows in Arlington.   Stella is no longer there.  I heard she has had some personal issues and does not perform anymore. Another friend, Caress Riata still continues to perform there.  She just won her place in drag history by becoming our new Miss Gay Texas State at large 2014.  We are now friends, and  now we are sisters.  I was so happy to see her enjoy her crowing moment in a pageant system that I hold dear to my heart.  The pageant system has already embraced her and I know she will do a great job this year. 

I have been thinking about going back to the 1851 club.  I was there recently to watch Caress in her show there.   It was great to know the staff there still knew me and the new MC, Kiana asked me if I would be interested in joining the cast again.  I was flattered and very interested.  It would be like starting all over again.  The crowd has changed and they are now in a larger building.  Actually they have a good location and more parking too. You don’t have to worry about hitting your head on the low ceilings like at the old bar.  I am confident that being a part of a show would be a boost in my confidence, and I would naturally win over the crowd in no time.  The last few months have been so tough for me. I have had so many issues in my personal life.    The hardest part about returning to Arlington is making myself do it.

new thoughts

When I was a kid it was very tough.  I grew up poor and it was obvious that I was different.  I grew up thinking that somehow that was all I was gonna be.  I was convinced that this was true.  My Dad would resent me and treated me like I was not his son. To a kid that was so sensitive, it hurt. As I entered college, that relationship became strained. I was discovering my life as a gay man, and realized that there were more people out there that have similar backgrounds.  My goal today is let stop letting those limited views affect me and my future.  I want to stop letting the “they’s”  rule my life.  I want to stop valuing the “they” that are such a big part of my past.  I was so used to saying, thinking and remember how “they” used to affect me.  “they” hurt me; “They” used to say …”they” used to treat me like…”they” made me feel bad.  I have come to a place in my life where I need to realize that “they” do not exist in my life anymore.  The people who once hurt me as a child are gone.  They cannot control me nor do they even care what my life is about now.  “They” do not have a place in my life or thoughts.  If I mailed them my bills, they would not care enough about me to pay any of them.  So they have no power over me.  They are gone, I am here and my life will be what I make of it.

Motorola

I worked at Motorola for four years. I liked the job and was one of 300 new employees that started on the day the facility officially opened. I had just moved to Arlington with GW in fall of 2002 and my job at Motorola has finally begun after many weeks of waiting for a start date. I think they had some inventory issues that set back the opening date for the new facility just North of Fort Worth. It was a huge undertaking to move an entire warehouse from Chicago to Texas. The plan was to get Fort Worth up and running, and as our warehouse ramped up production over the next few months Chicago production geared down. It would eventually close after about a year of transition. The facility in Fort Worth would assume the role of main production for all cell phone kits. The parts would be manufactured in other places and shipped into Fort Worth. Then warehoused and packed into the kits that are sold to retailers. Each kit was inspected to verify contents, serial numbers and ensure it meet customer standards. Standard items in each kit included the phone, battery, manual, charger, and back cover. All were packed in to glossy retail boxes that all had the large Motorola symbol on them. Rule number one at Motorola was never cover part of the symbol. The company took pride in symbols and brand name. My new job role was to pick and process orders for bulk distribution to the retailers. I did not have to work on the pack lines. That was a good thing. Standing in one place was not easy and hard on your back. Our smaller group ran only one shift and shipped bulk items such as phone chargers to stores like Best Buy and Walmart. I had no idea why Walmart would want 1000 car changers, but we just filled the order. I learned fast and took a great interest in meeting the expectations of our retailers. Ann was the lead for our group. She was from Chicago and was in Texas for three months to train new employees and help the new distribution center take off. She was an older white woman with long blonde hair. She spoke with a northern accent. She was friendly and she and I had a friendship right away. She was a great trainer. The very first day, she took a group of 15 new people, explained the process and defined goals. She put us to work and we had a fairly productive first day. It was impressive. I could see why she had been with the company for 20 years and worked her way up to lead. She would answer questions in a way that was understandable. Ann led our group for a few months. Then when it was time return back to Chicago, she talked to me in private. She shared with me that the lead job was going to be passed to someone in our work group. Ann was in Texas only temporally. She was going to suggest me. I was happily surprised. She recognized my ability to learn and had observed good work habits that could be developed in to a solid Group lead. She made her recommendation and the next week I started one-on-one training with Ann. I would become the Group lead for the next two years at Motorola. I had 15 people working for me and was responsible for training, daily work assignments and meeting production goals set our supervisor. I also learned a lot about warehouse logistics, and inventory management. These are two skills that have helped me in my career path. I was promoted to customer order expeditor in for the entire warehouse while at Motorola. The position had come open I and I applied. I did not get it. I was so crushed that I was ready to walk. But I chose to stay because I needed to keep my benefits. The woman they gave the job to, was a total bitch. And they felt that he would be more demanding and controlling when it came to pushing order through the warehouse. Actually it just made everyone hate her. My approach to working in the warehouse was one of cooperation, and team work, not by being an overbearing bitch. “The bitch” eventually got fired for talking down to the wrong people. She was too abrasive to be affective. So after a few months the job came open again. I did not apply. Why would I want a job working for the same manager who didn’t want me before? I knew they had made a mistake with the other woman. But they would never admit it. I was approached by another manager. Apparently he was replacing the existing and he wanted me to come work for him one he was officially in the leadership role. This was great news, I could finally work for someone who really wanted me and appreciated my skills. I applied and went to work as the new Expeditor for the warehouse. My new job was tracking orders, contacting customers, and serving a liaison between operations team and the retail customer. Finally I had what I wanted, advancement. I used my considerable operations knowledge to my advantage and was able to address issue directly with the inventory teams, because I knew them by name. I liked my new role at Motorola. I tried very hard and it paid off. But sadly the company had some setbacks. They were always in competition with Nokia and Apple was emerging as a lead in phone technology. Blackberry was always right in the middle. The last big hit was the Motorola Razr phone, but it could not complete with the apple products which hit the market in 2007. So in 2008, I was laid off by Motorola. The operations of the facility would be taken over by a third party company who felt they could undercut over head by using all temp workers. Motorola executives went for it and left their employees without jobs. I hear they got bonuses for saving the company money with this new scheme. So I finished out my term and left the company with a small severance based on my service time. It really was not much. I felt like a slap in the face from the company where I worked for four years. I turned in my badge on my last day, signed my paperwork in HR and never looked back.

Rascal's

I used to do shows in a bar called Rascal’s. I was much younger then. Many people referred to it as “little Rascals” in Wichita Falls. It was the only bar in town and the first one I had ever step foot in. I was 19 and a freshman in college. The social group on campus has arranged for a college night. The arrangement had been made with Rick and Carlos the owners. They were partners and opened this bar on Indiana Street. I was told it was once a restaurant. It had parquet wood floors and black walls. There was a front entrance and a back entrance that was used on the week nights. It was a good bar set up with a large front dance floor and back bar/lounge area. There was a game room in the middle of this down town building. There was a paved parking lot on the side of the building so a queen would not mess up her shoes on gravel or mud. I remember the night we all went to college night. We had met at MAC’s house. She was a lesbian who was the head of our student lead group. M.A.C. was her initials so every one called her Mac. She looked like a short man with boyish features and a mullet under her rainbow pride ball cap. She was out and proud. She was instrumental in allowing us new kids to be out and proud too. Sometimes the best way to lead is by example. MAC kicked down the closet door and said “follow me I know the way”. We all carpooled to the bar. I had only seen the outside, but had never actually been inside. The group arrived and made our way to the front entrance. We were met inside by a man in a wheel chair. I later found out his name was “Blue”. He was the door man who checked ID’s and took money. He had a white beard and wore a white shirt, black leather vest and a black cowboy hat. He seemed odd but spoke with a soft friendly voice. He sent someone to get the owner, when we walked in. Our group was very young and innocent looking. It was a dead giveaway that we were under age. The owner, Rick, made is way to the front. He advised “Blue” the door man, to give us all wrist bands. They knew we were coming and wanted to be sure that no one under age would be served alcohol. If anyone was caught, our group would not be welcome again and I am sure MAC would have kicked our ass. We finally made our way to a large party table that was set up on the corner of the dance floor. I admit it was very uncomfortable. Regular patrons just stared at us like we were on a field trip. I looked around a saw people laughing and sipping drinks. The music was provided by the DJ, Carlos. He was the other owner. From his perch in the DJ booth, he could keep an eye on the place and jump down to break up a fight when necessary. He played a mix of hip hop, pop and country. After all it was the only bar in town and catered to a diverse clientele. The hip hop people would quickly leave the floor when a two-step country song came on. Most of us college students sip our non-alcoholic sodas and watched people dance. We only ventured a few times to visit the restroom. I just sat there with my jacket in my lap while male couples spun around the floor in pairs I had never seen before. It was the first time I had ever seen men dancing together. I had never danced with a man or held a man’s hand. I had never thought I would. Secretly, I wanted to know what that would be like, but it would be a few more years before I would have anyone ask me. I was a virgin in several ways. I had no sexual experience, had never been to a bar, had never drank a beer and never danced with a man. I was shy and hardly spoke, unless directly spoken too. I was observing a whole new world that I knew nothing about. We ended our night at 1 am and I drove back to the dorms on campus. I didn’t I sleep much. I could not help but reflect on the people I had seen at Rascal’s. Who were they? What kind of people were they? Do they have real lives? Are they out? Are they accepted? I had a million questions and no one to talk with about my experience. Our college night was just a one-time adventure, but eventually I would return. Within a year, I had met my cousin’s friends who were dressing in drag. I soon started too and realized that being in drag was a great disguise for going to the gay bar. I was just one of the girls. Eventually I became a regular contestant in the open talent night shows at Rascals. They made us get dressed in the bar office. It was little more than a big closet. I would try to mimic the performances of the other girls. I tried to move like they did. I wanted be emotional like they did. I also tried to gesture in a way that would win the audiences approval. I didn’t always win. It was good practice and allowed me to learn. We were raw but it was fun. I probably looked like a boy in a dress, but really, that is what I was. For the first year I didn’t even have a bra. I had two Nerf foam ball stuffed in to a tube top under my clothes. We would sometimes go around the corner to the straight bar. We only went in groups. We were pushing our limits of what would be tolerated. No one would bother a herd of drag queens as long as you didn’t try to use the bathroom. We were not crazy, after all. We would stand and sip our cocktails and talk. Then leave without making any waves. Sometimes a straight boy would smile. But that was as far as it went. Sometimes we would lie and say we were from Dallas when actually we were from Rascal’s around the corner. My drag mother pictures of me from back then and maybe one day I will share them. The first night a Rascal’s changed my life and made me wonder what the world could be if I was gay and did drag.

stop and smell the tomatoes

Tomatoes have a distinct smell when you grow them. It’s an earthy, plant smell. And when I smell tomatoes still on the vine in the produce aisle, I remember growing them as a child. I guess certain smells can bring back memories of places we have been, or things we remember. I was four years old. My parents lived on Ave B in a large two story house. We always referred to it as the Old House. It was old but cheap and we called it home. I wish this house still existed, so I could go back and see it. In my mind it was large, with cracked windows and yellow peeling paint. The only flowers that grew were the honeysuckle along the side of the house and a spray of purple iris at the corner of the house. In the spring the bees loved exploring the blossoms. We had space beside the house that was grass with a few small bushes. But one spring my mother was motivated to plant a garden there. It was the sunny side of the house too. Plants could get plenty of the warm Texas sun. I don’t know the exact reason, but my mother just started digging and turning the soil. She told me to follow behind and break up the clumps of grass and release the dirt from their roots. The dirt would fall and the grass would be raked up and disposed in the far corner of the lot. We did not have a motorized gas tiller, so the digging and clearing was done with a shovel and a hoe. She would purchase seeds and seedlings at the feed store in town. It was not a big plot, but it would be enough space to grow some okra, squash, cucumbers and tomatoes. We planted the seeds and placed the tomato seedlings in rows. My mom would cut the bottom of old milk jugs to use to cover the plants and help hold in the warmth around the plant at night. I remember sitting on a bucket while watching my mom water and weed her little garden. I would walk in the warm wet dirt and then have to rinse my feet with the hose before going back inside the house. The plant needs sunshine and water, but began to show visible growth. Eventually wire cages would be used to help support the growing tomato plants. The smell of tomatoes plants would soon be infused with the smell of okra and squash. Once the tomatoes starting to grow, my mother would pick them and let them ripen on the window sill. I remember red natural luster of the fruit. She even had some extras to share with friends and neighbors. It was a lesson in life that if you can turn a small plot of nothing into a home garden I think of that small garden every time I see vegetables in the grocery store. I always stop to smell the tomatoes.

wash away the gray

I was talking with Scott the other day about my mom. She would have liked him I have no doubt. But sadly they will never meet because she died more than ten years ago. I still talk about her and see a lot of my own characteristics directly related to the type of person my mother was. I am my mother’s child. I also see similarities in my sisters as well. One of the last true memories I have of my mother happened when she was undergoing dialysis treatment. She had been in and out of the hospital for months and going to dialysis three times a week. It was a treatment that would prolong her life, but could not save it. The hospital had put a port in her neck that looked like tubes coming out. Each one capped and taped to keep them clean. This would allow them to clean her blood when she was hooked to the dialysis machine. For dialysis, a catheter is inserted into a large vein in either the neck or chest. A catheter is usually a short-term option; however, in some cases a catheter is used as a permanent access. With most dialysis catheters, a cuff is placed under the skin to help hold the catheter in place. Catheters have a greater tendency to become infected than the other access types because the device is both inside and outside of the body. A catheter must always be kept clean and dry. Even getting dressed was a challenge so as not to disturb the catheter at the exit site. Each session would last for hours and my mom had a special bag with a blanket, snacks and sometimes books or magazines to read while she was hooked to life sustaining machine. I remember taking her to treatment when I was in town and seeing firsthand the suffering of my mother and others like her. I was affected by the ill people I saw there. Each one had their own struggles. It was difficult to see my mother so dependent. My mother had a habit of talking to strangers. I remember her making friends at the center and she trying to comfort others with her smile and friendly conversation. My mother hated having those ports in her neck. It looked awful and was easily noticed by others. She would try to hide them with her hair or sometimes a scarf. My mother had them capped and taped to her neck at all times. She could not shower completely and had to wash her hair with a damp rag every day. The doctor advised her not to get the ports wet. The opening in the skin was held closed with sutures and tape. The doctor had tried to put a fistula into her arm as a more permanent means of accessing her blood for dialysis. A fistula used for hemodialysis is a direct connection of an artery to a vein. Once the fistula is created it is a natural part of the body. This is the preferred type of access because once the fistula properly matures and gets bigger and stronger. After the fistula is surgically created, it can take weeks to months before the fistula matures, it is ready to be used. My mother had one, but it never matured and left her arm virtually useless and drawn up. She lost all strength in it and could not even pick up a glass to drink. It was tough to see my mother turning into an old lady right in front of my eyes. Luckily one of my sisters was there to provide assistance to my mother on a daily basis. I came to visit her for the weekend. I had driven from Dallas back to Wichita Falls. My mother lived outside of the city in a small community called Kamay. She had moved there when she and my Dad separated. He remained in Electra. My mom was great at pretending she was not sick, even though I could tell she was faking happy. She still wanted to cook for me when I visited, and tried to do lighthouse work even though she was physically limited. My goal was to enjoy time with her, and I didn’t care if she played hostess. I was not a guest. I love her cooking, but that was not my reason for coming to visit. We sat at the kitchen table to talk. She updated me about her treatment and we did a quick run down of the local gossip. I think she missed me not being there all the time, moving to Dallas just a few months before she got sick really made her miss me. To be honest, it tore me up inside, not being closer to her too. I noticed the white in her hair had grown out round her temples. I was used to seeing her hair colored in a brownish red color. Even though like me, her natural color was dark brown. She told that it made her feel old to look in the mirror at gray hair. She couldn’t wash it nor color it. I knew exactly what to do. I pulled the hair color from the bathroom cabinet, and mixed up a batch. Put it on would be the easy part, but rising it out might be more challenging. I put on gloves and told my mother to put on an old shirt and grab the old towels. I applied the color cream all over her head and we waited for it to set. When it was time to wash it out, we wrapped two towels around her neck to guard the ports and keep them dry. We placed pillows on the floor in front of the tub. My mother kneeled down over the tub. I used a large plastic cup to dip warm water over her head to rinse the color down the drain. Imagine me, coloring my mother’s hair and her loving every minute of it. The best reward was blow drying it and her smiling when she saw the gray was gone. She was so happy to be looking like her old self. It lifted her spirits and it made me happy to see her smile again. It was also a story that she could share with her new friends the dialysis center.

just a dog

When I was a kid, we had several dogs. My dad liked German shepherds. He felt they were good protectors and would bark if someone entered our yard or passed too near our property. We had numerous pets including cats, rabbits, chickens, goats and turkeys. Dogs were my favorite, and still are. They were pets, but stayed outside most of the time. In the summer we would chain the dog under one of the big trees and used wash tubs for supplying plenty of water. We would use old hub caps as dog bowl to put food or scraps. Our dog had houses that were really little more than plywood boxes with left over tar paper for roofs. My dad would build them from scrap lumber that he would find in or near the dumpster behind the lumber yard. After all, it’s just for the dog,. “we are not making movies out of it” my dad would say. We never bought a dog, but would get a puppy free if someone local was giving them away. We never took our dog the vet, and rarely did they get a dog license. I remember once our dog got loose and was picked up by the dog catcher wile roaming the back alleys in town. My dad had to go claim him, or he would be put to sleep. The only way to get the dog back was to promise to register the animal and get his shots updated and present the documented proof to the city. My dad only did this once I think. And when that dog died, he would simply “transfer” the collar to the new dog. That was another advantage of having the same kind of dog. They all looked alike. We had one dog named Gypsy. I think my mom named her. She was very loving, but also very protective. She was a mix. My Dad only lets us have her because they claimed she was part German Shepard. She was black and had white on her chest. I don’t know why, but she had a bob tail. That is something that you don’t usually do to a German shepherd mix dog. She came that way. Gypsy loved to play and she liked when we could would her for walk around the block. She lived most of her life on a chain, so exploring the neighborhood on a rope was a better deal. I think now a days using a tie out stake is considered cruel. My dad insisted she be tied up, because Gypsy would climb over the fence in the back yard. Where was she trying to go? My dad would get mad and threaten to shoot her if she got out. That always scared me. My dad kept a 22 rifle under the seat of his pickup and bullets loose in the glove box. I had seen my dad shoot rabbits, turtles, and snakes out in pasture. And we didn’t want that to happen to our beloved pet. If she did get out, we would try to put her back so my dad wouldn’t find out. She even had puppies, although I don’t think we kept any of them. In the winter time, we would put old blankets in the shed and keep the dogs in there to shield them from the cold. They didn’t have a great life, but after all, they were only dogs. Gypsy had gotten pregnant and had puppies in the shed. Her litter was only four pups. My friend Michael had stopped by on his way home from school and I took him to the shed to look at them. They were so cute. They were like black balls of shiny fur that whimpered when Gypsy got up to eat or get a drink of water. Unfortunately Gypsy tried to bite him for getting near her pups. She had never tried to bite anyone. She would only growl and bark if a stranger was in our yard. My dogs today have it so different. They sleep all day, enjoy treats, toys and live indoors. I take care of them when they are sick and treat them like my own children. They are each special and precious. And I glad they have a better life than Gypsy. Gypsy suffered a deep cut on her neck from the old rusty chain. It got infected and we tried to keep it clean with hydrogen peroxide and clean gauze. We didn’t have money for a vet. But she was ok. But it eventually healed and left a large scar. She got old and lived a few more years. We eventually buried her in the back yard near the old shed. She was our dog and I have not forgotten her.

summer in Electra

We lived on the edge of the city limits of Electra for many years. The house my parents bought was three lots that included several small outdoor buildings including a chicken coop.  We had a huge yard to play in and it was large enough to play baseball.  I remember playing with my brother and sisters occasionally neighborhood friends.  The large open lot was great for running and hitting.  We could play for uninterrupted.  Except when my mom heard the ball hit the house.  Luckily no windows were broken, but she did make us move home plate so that the ball would fly in the opposite direction when struck by the wood bat.   We would each take turns hitting.  I was always good at hitting, but slow at running.  It didn’t take much to tag me out at first.  Which was fine with me, because if you made it to first, that meant you would have to run again to make it to second!  I just wanted to hit and spend a few minutes catching my breath.  And there was no milk create to sit on at first plate, so getting tagged out would suit me fine.  

There was also a bus on the opposite corner of our property.  It was really just the shell of an old church bus that was completely gutted with no seats, no engine and no axels nor wheels under it.  It was basically a body that sat directly on the ground.  We used it as a club house.  Us kids, had put ply wood over the broken windows and hung curtains over the ones that still had the original heavy glass.   We would even run an extension cord during the summer so that we could have light or radio when we camped out there in the summer time. We also used to play games in the bus.  We played school, charades, or cards in the bus.  Or we would sing songs.   It was fun to play in there and often times the girls would lock us boys out and claim it as a girls-only retreat.  My brother and I would circle the bus hoping to catch the door open or hop through a half open window. It was kind of a game that was sometimes settled by my mom’s intervention. She would threaten to make us all come inside or play right. You didn’t argue with my mother.  We had some good time in our club house, some days it was just a place to escape to it rained. 

We also made up games ourselves. We loved to play a game called handicap people.  My mom worked for a nursing home and my Dad made extra money by selling scrap metal.  The nursing home had given my dad some old walkers, and old wheel chairs that were thrown on the junk pile in front of the old bus. They did stay on the junk pile.   We would take the wheel chairs and put a scrap of ply wood across the missing seat and push each other while the other pretended to be crippled and retarded.  Oh my gosh, my mother was furious when she heard us acting out our crippled characters.  She thought we were making fun of handicap people.  And she put a stop to us playing this game anymore. Really, we were just kids having fun.  We continued to play with the wheel chairs and used them instead to race each other on the street. We would start by the big telephone post directly in front of the house all the way down the block to the group of mailboxes.  That was fun.  It got bumpy when you had to drive the chair into ditch to avoid approaching cars.  If you hit the slope too hard it would send your rider flying into the tall weeds.  And the pothole streets made for a jittery ride on its own.  Especially when all you had between you and the chair was a makeshift seat of rough ply wood. 

The summers in Electra were hot. We would also walk across town to the city pool. It was only a  dollar for kids to get in.  We were able to go without a mom or dad because my older sister looked older than she really was.  She was about 13 but looked 16.  My mom would give us five dollars send us all to enjoy a fun afternoon at the pool.  We were like a mini-mob of brown kids walking down the gravel covered brick streets.  We would venture down the street and up to the rail road tracks and veer diagonally through empty lots to reach the pool that sat in conjunction with the only city park. 

Once we were there, we paid our money dropped our shoes and towels.  We did not hesitate to jump right in.  We would splash and play together, even at the pool.  Sometimes we would get up the nerve to jump off the low dive.  My little sister used to always jump toward the wall, because she was afraid of not being able to reach the bottom with her feet.   Our least favorite was the fifteen minute mandatory swim break. They seemed to last forever.  I don’t know why they would do that, but we dreaded hearing “everybody out of the pool!”  My mom trusted us to look out for each other. She had taken us there and taught us all to swim well when we were younger. Plus being in a small town the life guards all knew you by name and would call our house in there was to much horseplay.  You didn’t want any one calling my mother. It would not turn out well.    Mom would tell us, “you better be dry when you get home and don’t sit on my furniture if you are still wet”.  The Texas summer sun would dry us out, and many times we would have tan lines on our feet from walking home from the pool in flip flops.  

dress



I made a few new dresses. I had pruple thread on the serger, and it lead to making another purple gown so I would not have to change it over to a new color.

one of my dresses

Melody Lane of Fort Worth wearing a Mattie Madison Original Design

I saw one of my dresses on FB today.  I wanted to share it. I love when I see my work on display. 

the real me

Scott and I have been very busy in the month of July. We started out the month with a big step in our new relationship. Scott moved in with me. He sold some of these things, and stored the rest. Together we moved him in. It happened sooner than I expected, but it would have happened eventually. There was some stress on my part, because some of my things I had to part with too. Plus I physically had to make room for him in my apartment, in my closets and in my life. I packed away old pictures and cleared out drawers for him to take up space in our new home together. Lord knows I had held on to some things way longer than I should have. Once we got him moved in, the reality sank in quick. Scott was feeling like it was not his home. We had both made sacrifices to join our lives. But why would he feel this way. He was exactly what I needed in my life. He is the only man I wanted to share my life with. I kept saying that to him, but was I show it in my actions. After a few strained days, we finally were able to work things out. I told him that I would have gladly moved in with him if the table had turned. I also could empathize with feeling out of place and like you are living in some one else’s home. I had those similar feeling back in 2000 when I came to live with my last partner. I wanted to do whatever I could to make Scott feel that he is my equal partner and the home we have is ours together now. I think that is part of loving each other. It made me so happy to see him display some of his family items in our home. I need to let go of my need to coordinate everything. I was so used to trying to “hold” my life together and make things work. I had forgotten what it is like to let someone else offer suggestions, or a better way of doing things. The first few weeks of living together I ran the kitchen, I did the house work and I handled the bills and such. I needed to stop treating him like a guest and more like my partner. I let him cook. I found it hard to resist the need to check the food cooking on the stove. Instead I would wander into the kitchen, peek at the stove and steal a kiss as I left the room. Obviously he is a good cook, he impressed me the first time I had d inner at his house. He knows the way to a man’s heart. I just need to leave him alone and let him cook. I still do most of the laundry at home. Actually, It is the one thing I enjoy doing. I don’t mind doing it. And I am sure Scott would handle it if it needed to be done. Scott and I have also been able to do some things together that once seemed like luxuries to me. I am not sure if he understands what it was like for me over the past few years. I got used to buying only what I needed, counting my pennies and juggling bills in order to survive. I was lucky to have support of friends when times were really tough and often relied on my sewing skills in order to make some extra cash when needed. We spent the day at the Fort Worth Zoo. That was fun. But all the walking always gets to me. I am not as young as I claim to be. But the weather was comfortable that day and I always enjoy being with Scott. Sometimes it is nice to get lost in your adventures. I wish there were a service that would bring your car to the end of the Zoo. They should bring your car up to the front after your hike through the Zoo. Scott and I also traveled to Oklahoma City to spend the weekend with my family. That was a great weekend. I had not seen my family in four months. We took my sister and her family to see a Historic Mansion. The Overholster Mansion in Oklahoma City is a 20-room, brick-and-stone Victorian mansion was built lies in Heritage Hills District. It was built in 1903 and passed through the family until it was transferred to David Perry, the husband of Overholser's daughter, after her death. In the 1970s, the mansion was donated to the state and is currently maintained by Preservation Oklahoma through an agreement with the Oklahoma Historical Society. It is a museum and historical home all in one. It was some place we could all go as a family and learn about the history of OKC. My nieces had a great time. Scott and I both love antiques and such, so being able to introduce the girls to something new was awesome. We also had lunch and all went to the movies. They loved Scott and he fit right in. I only had to playfully scold him once for talking about boys with my 12 year old niece. By the time we left, they were calling him Uncle Scott. We even took a day trip to my home town of Electra. I wanted to go, but was nervous about what Scott might think of me. I had not been there in over ten years. And have not lived there in 20 years. I knew that the house my parents once owned was gone. It was condemned and the property was seized by the city in lieu of back taxes. The property was then sold at auction and now belongs to a local man. It is an empty lot now with the remains of sidewalks like islands in the grass. Most of the large trees are now stumps. The large cedar tree along the front walk are all that remain of the front yard. The entire town is in poor shape. I drove and narrated to Scott, stories of my parents and childhood. I showed him the school I attended, the building that was once Paul’s market and told him about what it was like growing up in such a sad place. I noticed how dry and brown everything looked. I also noticed how narrow the streets were and made mention about how odd it was to see streets with now curbs or neighborhoods with no sidewalks. I shared stories about how we used to walk from out house to down town or across town to the city pool. My mam would give my sister five dollars and tell us to put on flip flops and walk to the pool. She would also tell us to make sure we were dry by the time we got home and don’t sit on her furniture if we were wet. Memories like that happened every summer. I wanted to share with Scott a piece of who I really am. Maybe by seeing how I grew up, he would understand why I act, say and do thing I do. And why holding on to things are important to someone who grew up with nothing. I felt I needed to go there. I sometimes feel like I am still that little Mexican kid, trying to get out of the shadow of that small town. I was feeling a lot of emotions that day, but I only cried once. When I drove out the cemetery, the place my Dad dropped us off and made us walk home in the dark. The dirt roads are just as I remember them. Parallel tracks with grass growing in the middle. Only this time it was daylight and not dark.

Happy 2 year Blog-avirsary to me.

I have been writing this blog for two years.  It s hard to believe.  I have changed so much and tried to share the things that my life is about.  I will continue as long as I am able, even though at times I feel like I'm only talking to my self. 

Mini-wilson

When I worked at Honeywell about five years ago,  I became friends with a guy named Andrew.  He preferred Andy, but I called him Andrew, Andy or sometimes Drew.  He was young. He was probably about 25. He was thin and tall with red hair and a goatee. He had sexy blue eyes and a great personality.  I admit, I checked him out, but he was obviously straight.    He was attractive, but not my type.  He always had girls from the company trying to date him. He enjoyed the attention. Most women were not shy about acting like a cat in heat around him. It was obvious he liked to flirt back too.  He was in a long term relationship with his high school girlfriend.  They were a couple for many years but parted a few times due to issue in their relations hip.  I worked next to Andy for about a year.  We both worked in receiving and part of our job was to inspect incoming orders of parts and unload trucks.  He and I were a great team.  We enjoyed being friends at work. We both liked to joke and talk while working.  There were many times we were talking and laughing too much.  Our boss would come by and give us a scolding glance.  I think other people would tell on us and the boss was just following up to keep the peace.  Jealousy was a catalyst at Honeywell and lead to many unnecessary petty dramas.  Andy and I would keep our cool. But really I felt like the General Manager of the facility did not like me and always was looking for reasons to get me fired.  He didn’t like how I dressed, and would tell my boss.  He also didn’t like my long hair and felt it was a bad reflection on the company image. Really, I felt he just had a problem with gays.  Our work group always watched out for him and alerted each other when he came around.  He was always watching to see who might be in the internet or texting on their phone at their work station.  We would whisper “here comes the Weasel” if he came around the corner to spy on us.  Andy was the one who came up with that name.  He said he would pop up anywhere like a weasel.  Weasels have been assigned a variety of different cultural meanings. In Greek culture, a weasel around the house is a sign of bad luck, or even evil.   Especially if there I is to be an upcoming wedding.  The weasel (based on its Greek etymology) was thought to be an unhappy bride who was transformed into a weasel and consequently delights in destroying wedding dresses. In more modern meaning, a weasel is some one who can’t be trusted.  And you could not trust the General Manager at Honeywell.  He would always try to get people in trouble. 

Andy and I worked very hard, slinging boxes, counting freight and inspecting paper work.  We also tried to help each other if one got behind. It wasn’t unusual for him to steal my chair and hide it. He enjoyed the confused look on my face as I searched around for it. We were true buddies.  Andy was cool with me being gay, but I never told him about drag.  It was not a big deal to him. We were just good friends, but I don’t think he would have ever come to a show or stepped in to a gay bar.  We did however hang out a few times out side of work. We would go eat or even join other coworkers for a few drinks at happy hour at a near by restaurant.  It was more of a social thing.  Andy is the one who got me calling everyone DUDE, or MAN. It‘s funny how much you pick up from your friends at work. 

Honeywell’s business was on the down hill slide. The company was bought out by another company.  The Weasel had told everyone that it would not happen and jobs would be secure, but he lied.  Never trust a weasel.  Luckily I got out when I did.  Old co-workers were given notice after I left there and they scrabbled to find work. That was a sad situation.   Andy got another job about a month before I, myself, left Honeywell.  I was sad that my friend was leaving the company.  Andy was such a great guy to be around.   On his last day he gave me a golf ball, with a red hand print and face drawn on with permanent makers.  He called it Mini Wilson.  He said “if you think you no friends, you will always have mini-Wilson just like Tom Hanks in the movie Castaway”. Tom Hanks plays an executive who must transform himself physically and emotionally to survive a crash landing on a deserted island. His only friend is a volley ball with a face/hand print on it that he calls Wilson. I left Honeywell and came to work at my current job. I like it here and have been able to advance.  My time at Honeywell only lasted about a year. .  Honestly, I didn’t like Honeywell.  It was not a good work environment.   I was offered a better job and never looked back.  I don’t know what happened to Andy.  I assume he is still working in Fort Worth.  And knowing Andy, he still has girls chasing him. He was a good friend and I still have Mini-Wilson on my desk at work. 

a show and gay Chuch

If you ever want to feel like you don’t belong or every one is judging you, there are two places you can go. One is your local gay bar. The other is your church.  In my case, I was double uncomfortable when I attended a large gay church in Dallas recently. Scott was out of town visiting his family for a few days.  And it turns out my friend Kelly was home alone for the weekend too because her partner, Trish and kids were out of town too.  So I asked Kelly if she wanted to go me to a show that I had in Fort Worth.  I am so used to traveling alone but having a friend help me back stage might be fun. Kelly and I are so cute together; I knew it would be girl talk all evening.  The show started early and I had the chance to see some of my friends in Fort Worth. The last few months have I had been avoiding traveling across the metroplex, because I was involved in Dallas activities. Also I was trying to avoid seeing  an ex I used to date.  I needed time to  to move on. Shortly after, I started seeing Scott. Scott had become my world.  I enjoy spending my time with him.   So the time away from Fort Worth was beneficial.  Being back in Fort Worth was an odd feeling.  I knew most everyone at the show, and some of the “girls” in the show were friendly.  I was excited to wear some to the new dresses I had made.  Especially since my 300 dollar serger died last month and could not be repaired. My serger is sitting in my drag a room and is a useless hunk of spare parts.   I had made new dresses with the used serger that my friends from Colorado gave me. They brought it to me when they came to visit Dallas a few weeks ago.   It works great! It just needs a little lubricating oil, an adjustment and tender loving care, but hey, don’t we all as we get older.  My new dresses were a new style. I wanted some thing unique.  I cut a sewed some new fabrics I purchased recently and produced two show gowns and a cocktail dress.  The cocktail dress was made from two yards of fabric that I found in one of the bins in my drag room. It was colorful and fit like a glove. Over all I was happy to be sewing again. But unfortunately, not everyone agreed with my joy of sewing.  It only takes a few snide comments from jealous queens to make me feel like my gowns are nothing more than crap.  Those people are not my friends, just people I know.  One queen commented about my cocktail dress.  “Isn’t that scraps from another dress?” I quickly remembered how rude people can be.  They hold their tongue rather than give a friendly compliment.  They would rather cut you down. I mean really? What a rude bitch!  I never said anything negative about the drapery fabrics that she uses to make her look like someone’s old sofa. In stead I focus on the lovely jewelry that she wears.  Maybe I’m too nice.  I never cut people down but keep my comments to myself.  I always try to add genuine compliment where I can.  There was also another queen that commented about how she has a black and white print dress like the one I had on. Funny, I had never seen it. . It was never my intention to look like her. Queens always seem to use jealous remarks to knock me down.  It really does hurt.  I’m not made of stone.  Their quips hurt because I work very hard at costuming and design.  I some times feel like a parent who feels the sting when some one insults their children.  Making clothes, especially wearing my creations is very personal to me.  But I tried not to let it show, instead I smiled.  I finished the show and tried to focus on the genuine compliments by friends, instead of the shady comments by acquaintances. 

Kelly and I had a few drinks after the show then I changed and we went to get breakfast at a local pancake house.  I was not about to go in drag and quickly changed into regular clothes and removed my makeup.  

Kelly had also invited me to visit her church in Dallas. She and her family/partner had been attending Cathedral of Hope in Dallas.  It is the largest gay church in Dallas.  I had driven by, but never had been invited or inclined to attend.  The last time I had been in a gay church was back in Wichita Falls.  GW and I had gone a few times.  It was nothing like the mega church in Dallas.  I thought it might be a good experience for me.  I love God and leaned on faith for comfort many times in the last few years.  I consider myself a spiritual person and my relationship with God has been very one on one.  He knows where I am, what I have been through and that I try to be a good person in all aspects of my life.  He listens and guides me on my journey.   I agreed to go with Kelly to Cathedral of Hope on Sunday.  She drove to my house and we rode together. She was dressed in a summer dress and her hair pulled into a sophisticated pony tail and her makeup soft and pretty.  I wore some slacks and a polo shirt.  She assured me that what ever I wore would be fine.  Still I wanted to look appropriate.  I was pressed and ready to go when she showed up. 

We talked in the car as we drove from Irving to Dallas.  I enjoy girl talk with Kelly.  She is always friendly and likes to joke and laugh.  We arrived at the church for the 11am service.   The large building seemed bigger when you looked up from the sidewalk.   I could tell by the people in the parking lot this would be an experience.   Some men dressed in like they were going to work in an office.  Others wore clothes like you would see in the club. Interesting I thought.  Being a gay a church must mean they welcome all people, even those who park their motorcycle on the side walk and wear bandanna or skinny jeans with flip flops.   The looks of the church goers, ranged from fashion show to poor white trash.  I took a deep breath and walked in beside my friend Kelly.  She greeted a few church deacons she knew and made a quick trip to the ladies room.  In fact, I was thinking, Ladies room?  In a gay church?  Heck every bathroom was a ladies room.  They needed a signs that designated “penis” and “vagina” to be more accurate.   The prettiest girls in the church were the girly boys who seemed to flock in the back of the sanctuary.  They just wanted to been seen. It was S&M….stand and model time. 



Kelly and Mattie



Kelly and I found seats on the side of the main aisle.  She knew a few people and said hello.  We were sitting with the hearing impaired.  Kelly knows sign language and the sign interpreter was standing just in front of the row of pews where we were.  We could see the pulpit and got a better view thanks to the big screen mounted high on the wall.  I sat quietly and read thought the Sunday handout. It included the music for the service and a scripture reading that were going to be presented during the service.  It gave me something to focus on while sitting uncomfortably surrounded by strangers.  “All these homos sure are funny looking” I thought to myself. Tall-short, young-old, rich-poor and most obviously the butch-fems.   It wasn’t long until the service began.  It was nice to see such a large group of singers and musicians.  Our section was just near the orchestra pit. It made me wish I still played. After all, I was once very accomplished.  The congregation seemed to know automatically when to stand and to sit.  I was starting to feel out of place.  So I just started flipping through my handout again. Kelly asked” are you ok” The truth was I was very uncomfortable. Did I need this?  So many people there were stand off-ish, and unwelcoming.  I could not understand why anyone would be part of this large scale worship. I whispered, “Honestly?, No,  I don’t’ like it here”  I was ready to leave when they did the welcome and only one person turned to me and shook my hand. The group gay men behind me were to self involved to say hello or even make eye contact.  My mom used to say- Don’t go where you are not welcomed.  Kelly tried to smile as a way of reassuring me to hang in there.  I smiled back.  I made up my mind that was not the place for me.  We sat through the remainder of the service and stayed briefly so that Kelly could say hello to some friends in the fellowship hall.  Why do they call it that, they need to call it the free cookie and coffee area after all that is all it was.  It seems to be that all these people were not real Christians.  Or maybe they are not the kind of Christians that I know.  Christian is how you treat people, live your life and it shows with out even trying.  I know many fine Christian people who never went to church, or felt they need to put on false personas like the people at Cathedral of Hope did.   Sadly there probably are good people there, who get overshadowed by the over the top, attention seeking Christians who just keep  up appearances by attending.   God does not give you extra credits for attendance.    HE knows what is in my heart, what kind of person I am and that I try to live a good life. 

SHOW PICTURES

I just wanted to share some pictures from this weekends show.  Have a great day!

 

Mattie Madison at Club Reflections in Fort Worth



Mattie and friend Jason in Fort Worth.

last two months

I have been enjoying two month with a new special guy in my life.  It has been a struggle to find a man who understand who I am, and accept my baggage. Baggage comes in many forms.   I have held on to the things that once held sentimental value, kept emotional secrets and only in the last few years opened up to finding love again.  I have found a really special man named Scott.  At first I was very resistant to him.  I was scared of being hurt.  Each relationship I pursued previously was a disappointment.   Often time’s issues built up and I was frustrated.  Each experience taught me to refine my search and not settle for less. I fought my heart to remain open.  I had even put my feelings in neutral at times.   Scott has been an unexpected blessing.  I see now why relationships didn’t work with others.  Scott has all five S’s:   Single, Smart, Sexy, Successful and Special.  Some times, I think maybe he is out of my league.  That is not necessarily true. All of these things I looked for in others were not there.  They fell short. Now thankfully, Scott is a man worth having.  And he sees the qualities in Me that are worth having too. I am worth having.   .  My insecurities are something I deal with.  But as I get to know him more, we fit so well together.  He is very understanding, caring, and patient.   He enjoys many of the same things, and he listens to me when I talk. In fact he surprises me often when he recalls things that I have said or made reference in regard to my life and my childhood.  He also enjoys hearing about how I see the world. He has even shared many things about his person life experiences that I feel have shaped him as a person.  Scott and I were not strangers when we first “met” or re-connected.  He and I have been aquatinted for about five years.  He was in a previous relationship years ago that ended a few years ago.  I had never considered Scott anything but a friend. I tell him that he had to” talk” me into it.  That is not completely true.  He just saw it first, and opened my eyes to new possibilities.  

My heart changed and feelings about my friend grew into love.  I smile when I think of him; he brightens my day and makes me so happy. 

I ran into Scott by chance about six weeks ago. April 24^th. It was a Wednesday.   I went out to watch a pageant. I wanted to be around my friends. I had been through a tough break up with another guy I was dating. I was tired of staying home.  That guy would not even admit that he was even dating me.  Two months had passed and he rejected the idea of calling me his boyfriend.  That hurt.  He did not deserve me so I ended it.   I used the time to refocus and let go.   I had no idea that person I needed most was right in front of me.  There are two entrances to the Roundup Saloon in Dallas.  The front door is on Cedar Springs and a parking lot access door near the rear of the club.  The  Oaklawn area of Dallas is also referred to as the Gay-borhood.  A majority of the residents and establishments are gay.  I came in the back door.  I knew where my friends would be. So I quickly made my way from the back of the place toward the front. They usually congregate in the same area of the clubs interior.   I was high from smoking the joint that had been in my sock drawer for a while, but I knew where I was going. I walked to the u shaped bar to slam a few drinks and locate my friends.  The Round Up has a dance floor that is lower than the rest of the bar and is accessible by stepping down a step.  It makes watching an event, such as a pageant, better because everyone can see what is going on. I passed the side railing and saw my friend Scott. He had his arms folded and hands under his arms. He had been watching the pageant which had already started. He said “hey” and dropped one hand to tap my shoulder as I was passing. He said “hey how are you” I turned toward him and spoke as well.   He was smiling and looked me up and down quickly.  He said” well, you look good” and he smiled.  I quipped back “shit, I’m sexy!” We both smiled as I continued though the crowd.  Indeed I was looking good and felt confident that the clothes I had on showed off my recently weight loss and exercise regiment.  I was happy with how I was looking and apparently Scott noticed too.  I quickly turned to continue to the bar.  The joint I had smoked in the car had mellowed out my mood and I wanted to have a drink to keep the buzz and high going.  I smiled as I walked away from him.   I always enjoyed a good pageant.  Another friend was a contestant but  he did not win. I was glad to have an evening out. I was miserable and a pageant would surely pull me out of the rut I was in.  Scott and I have many of the same friends, so talking to him was easy the second time I saw him.  I had chugged my two drinks, and talked to him as I was standing in a pack of mutual friends.  We talked about the contest, and who we thought might win.  We both had our favorites, but it was clear who the top girls were.  At some point Scott asked if I wanted to go smoke in the patio.  Why not, I had already smoked a joint, drank a few drinks so adding a cigarette to the mix was no big deal.    I followed him outside. 

We stood off to one side of the patio and began to light up.  I was carrying the half pack of cigarettes I had brought with me.  We talked.  I remember he asked me what was new in my life.  I just started talking.  He seemed to follow every word I said. 

He also inquired about my personal life.  I had been through a string of frustrating and short relationships.  Each one ended quickly but still painfully.  I told this to Scott.  In fact the last guy had me second guessing myself.   Was I really so great? If so who didn’t any one notice it?  I kept asking myself these questions. I had put effort into building my self esteem, career and physical appearance.  I knew I was a happy person who was looking for someone special to share my life with.  All of this frustration lead me to give up and say “no more”.   I didn’t want anything from any one.  I had even shared some personal health issues with Scott. He did not know until that night that had been fighting a long term illness but my health had finally improved in the last few months. I told him about my time in the hospital 6 months prior and how serious it was then.   He is a great listener.   It was nice to vent and have some one understand.  After all he was no stranger; we had known each other for over five years.  He continued to follow along and smile in a re assuring friendly way.  I had no real idea what he was really thinking.  We talked more and he asked in my phone number was still the same.  In fact I have had the same number for many years, “Yep it sure is” I responded.

 He asked if I might be interested and going to the International Jewelry Show at Market hall the following Saturday.  He said he would text me the following day.   I thought it might be fun, but I knew I had some things I needed to finish before committing to an after noon.  He did invite me and I finally confirmed.  I thought it might be fun, even thought I had no idea what it was about.  Market Hall is in Dallas. This was a dazzling display of gems, jewelry, beads, accessories and minerals. For more than 44 years, the acclaimed International Gem and Jewelry Show has been bringing the largest selection of jewelry at the lowest prices to locations across the country. You can expect to find colored gemstones, exquisite fine jewelry, gold and silver earrings, necklaces and bracelets, beads and crystals, ethnic jewelry, classic pearls, vintage estate jewelry, rings, designer watches and one-of-a-kind seasonal pieces worldwide designers and manufacturers.  It was a great afternoon that first started with breakfast.  Then we ventured to the jewelry show.  The entire day we shared conversation and a love of bling.  I quickly learned to point out things that he might like.  He seemed to enjoy being with e as much as I was enjoying spending time with him.  I was out of my comfort zone, but was totally at ease.  Scott had even purchased jewelry at one of the vendors.  He put on the sterling rings and wore them home.  I had even given my approval on things he picked out. He was so nice to pick me up at my apartment, treat me to breakfast and drop me off after a afternoon together.  I had no idea what this after would mean at the time.  He smiled and I smiled back when he dropped me off in the afternoon.  I had a great afternoon. 

I got home and quickly I began to feel my mind begin to wander.  I text Scott and thanked him again for inviting my to the jewelry show. He had even surprised me with a gift.  He bought two matched bracelets and had given me one when I got out of the car.  I didn’t expect it, and it was a sweet gesture.  I knew I would wear it and think of our afternoon.  I tried to focus on house work.  It was not long before I text Scott again.  It was Saturday and it was one of the few times that I had no shows, or plans with friends.  I asked Scott if maybe he might want to go to the Roundup.  I knew Scott was fun to be with.  He responded “like a real date?”  I am not sure exactly what I said, but I was interested in having fun, and enjoying my Saturday night.  I text back ”I guess so, I just want to have fun.” What followed took my breath away. And I paused as I read it.  Scott expressed that he was fond of me and he enjoyed spending time with me as more than just a friend.  And he was open to dating me, if I felt the same.  I didn’t know what to think.  We were only friends; I was not looking for anything, except friendship. I had kissed enough frogs and had not found a prince. So I stopped and put my feeling in neutral.  I was done trying.  Why the hell would he want me?  I had been pushed aside for better, over looked and under appreciated by the wrong guys in the past.  No one  saw me as a good potential partner.  And here was my friend, telling me that he was interested in me.  I had put up many emotional walls.   Also I told my self to stop “wanting” any relationship ever again.  Little did I know that Scott had just pulled a brick from my ‘wall’ and it was about to come crashing down.  We made plans for the evening.  Scott and I had a great night at the Roundup that night.  Once again, he picked me up and we rode together to the club.  He was proving to be a gentleman.   I remember standing together and having my arm around his waist.  It was a moment that I will carry in my heart.  He was dressed nice and smelled good too.  I started to see my friend differently.  Me hugging him and sharing a kiss seemed so right.

Visually he is a sexy man and I was finding it hard to resist him.  I knew I was looking for more than the just the physical.   Other, lesser men had never made it past my front door.  I was not willing to jump into bed with anyone. At this point in my life, I was a Nun living alone in a convent.  At one point I had even prayed for God to take the love from my heart, so that I would not have to worry about what was missing in my life.  Scott had told me later that he was looking for true love not just a one night stand.  He wanted more too.  He had prayed to God for me.  Everything I was as a man was soon checked off of his list.  He felt he had found the man of his dreams too. (ME!)  He understood when I told him, I wanted to wait be fore we made love.  At times, I know I gave him mixed signals.  Touching his body was hard for me not to throw my caution to the wind and head to the bedroom.  But I held back because I was scared.  The physical attraction was there, but would he respect and love me in the way that I wanted?  Also could he handle all of my baggage, hang-ups and emotional walls?  The pain of my past, left deep wounds on my heart and it would take a special man to understand that. 

Scott and I began spending lots of time together.  We would bounce back and forth from his place and mine.  Each time, my feeling would grow stronger.  I was learning to trust him, and open up my heart again.  He charmed his way into my life with his honesty, understanding and caring nature.  I felt safe when I was with him and it was nice to have some one make the effort for me.  We were both at the right time in our lives.   If we had re connected months prior, I do not think it would have happened at all.  Scott and I continued to see each other, and I could tell in his eyes, that he loved me.  I was not ready to say it. I could feel it in my heart and it scared me.  I eventually had to let go and allow my self to say it out loud, if not I would risk losing the man of my dreams.   He told me he loved me before we ever made love, or had ever seen me naked.  It was obvious that the love was real and not clouded by just physical attraction.   I was enjoying the closeness, holding hands and passionate kisses.  The first time we made love was at my apartment.  He seemed to respond to my touch and in turn it excited me more.  Making love with Scott makes me feel special.  He cares about my needs and he makes me feel sexy and masculine.  He has also pushed me to explore new pleasures and let go of my own inhibitions that some times limit me.  He has taught me it is not be ashamed of my body.   The private moments with Scott are like nothing I have ever felt.

Scott and I in Dallas

There have been embarrassing moments, which only he knows about.  There have been arguments and heated discussions that we have had to work through. But I could never “un” love him.  I fell for him hard. I love him with all my heart.  Each thing we over come makes us a stronger couple. And he has pushed me to remain open and honest.  Also he is not afraid question my motives or what thought are going through my head some times.  Some times, I am in awe of my own hang-ups. I don’t think I will ever understand why he loves me so much, but he does.  I am thankful for every day we share and miss him when we are apart.   He and I are planning a future together and each has goals we want to accomplish.  These goals will affect both of our lives and we know it is important to work together if we are to obtain our goals.  That is what having an equal partner ship is about.  It is our life. Not just mine or not just his anymore.  The future is what we will make of it.