Make mine a double

I'm laying in bed, just letting my mind wander through all of the stuff that gets stuck in there. I was just flashing through a lost reel of memories and I just have to share (wink)! I guess it is my friend Tawnya's fault, and I love her for it!! Last week we were talking about her folks and something in our conversation triggered the long lost memories of my 21st year and how fucking rad her mom always was to me at the Red Lion, when we went dancing.

At that moment, all the files returned and I have been going through them. This point in time, my 20's, were rough for me and we live in a rough town and so I have walked away from a lot of moments in my life. Getting these memories back has reminded me that it may have been rough but we had fun and knew how to PARTY!!

The Red Lion was so cool. The walls were all wood, the tables were barrels, there were ropes, dark booths, a low ceiling, a very small dance floor, live cover bands and a lot of spandex!!! Not just on the girls. And spandex on a dude is always a sight to behold; especially since most of them were men enough to never wear underwear!! Yes! The volleyball games were THE best. One guy used to wear his black spandex with a t-shirt that read " if it swells, ride it" and he was George Michael, WHAM, sexy!!! Then there was my buddy that always wore his turquoise spandex! And he would wear them out dancing at the Red Lion!! 

This is reason one I always tried to sit so I could see people leaving the dance floor after a slow dance. Their excitement was always noticeable! One drunken night, the line to the bathroom was too long, so turquoise spandex and I went outside to smoke a cig and pee in the bushes. As we approach the bushes he turns to me, as he is doing what he is saying," The best part about wearing spandex is that I never have to pull my shorts down; I just lift the leg and slide it out the bottom like this and I pee." I'm in heaven. I need a drink!!

Tawnya's mom was a bartender there and she would ALWAYS hook me up with a double and in a tall glass too. I would just slink to the side and she would slide one my way and I would tip her big! It was always a stressful approach to the bar, having to wade between tables of dudes that wanted to kick my ass because of how nasty I would dance with their girlfriends. But the reward was always worth it.

Double vodka cranberry or double kamakazie baby! Those were my drinks. Well, screwdrivers and fuzzy navels too. And gin and tonics; they looked best under black lights. I kind of had to be loaded to calm my nerves and I sweat so fucking much on the dance floor I just never could keep my buzz.

I just loved sitting at those tables and laugh and check out who was with who and smoke cigarettes and dance dance dance. So many great nights in there playing with the people I grew up with, some of us friends, others people you'd know by face and those you wish you never would have met. All of us there for the same reason: to have a fucking  blast and party it out!

Then there was the Shilo Inn, in Seaside. That was always a good time because there were always more cute tourists there. And the dance floor was about 10 inches bigger, had higher ceilings and a brass railing along the dance floor that was perfect for practicing our body ripples and sexy poses. And... You could see the ocean while you danced to the DJ, who always played the hits ( which is generally better than most cover bands).

The line to get into the Shilo was always a rediculous power game for the bouncers and they would always make me wait a bit because I was known as the nasty dancer. I can't help that I liked to dance with their girlfriends, they had all the right moves and were willing to grind with me. But those moments were rare. There was a posse of us that would take to the dance floor and we would dance in a group being inspired and driven by the music and all of the moves being expressed around us and through us. It was always like we were having more than the experience that we were in.

Dance has always done that to me. Most times I am out of my fucking mind and in a different world, and not from the doubles, but from the moment. Dance brings something out that I keep trapped within me, my joy, my essence. Wherever I may be I keep a dance in my stride. I have always searched out the dance party. As I've said to many before," they are usually done at home and by myself or with a few friends." 

Over the years, I've danced more and switched to singles and quit smoking. I've lost some hair, gained a few pounds, learned some amazing dance moves and always have the beat within every breath I take and step I make. 

I think my mind has settled enough, I bid you good night! Love to you all and remember it's always best to DANCE IT OUT!

In other news ....

I have dedicated my life to be the best I can be, given the equipment I have been given. Every since I can remember, all I have wanted to do was make people laugh and help to ease the pain that this life delivers. I have always played the fool and made fun of myself in order to bring laughter to those around me. 

I have pushed myself hard. I have worked the lives of many into this frame of mine, scheduled almost every second of my time to ensure I can be everything I have always wanted to be. We all know I love to be on the stage and to entertain. I live for the sound of 5-6-7-8!!! I crave rehearsing and creating shows, dance, laughter, food and thought. I love the community I am apart of and the crazy we bring forth!!!

Because of my push and drive and stubbornness I have had to face a reality I have been avoiding for some time... I have injured my body in a way that is causing me to leave the stage and cancel Dragalution this year.  I am taking this next year to really focus on finding my strength, ease the pain in my back and legs and discover the means to survive and thrive with my new set of cards I have been dealt.

I am a fighter. I am the warrior queen and my quest is personal this time!! I really want you all to know how much your constant love and support means to me! It is the fuel I pack my soul with as I make my steps forward.

The interesting thing is that it is scary stepping forward not knowing what is ahead and not being able to fully feel through my legs as I take my strides. It's like walking in clouds or through thick fog; I think I know where I am but I never really do know. I'm just trusting as I step on, knowing that something or someone will be there when I fall and help me brush myself off and continue on.

I have no idea how I feel about any of it. I am excited for the adventure and I can not wait to be shown the hidden mysteries to who I am and how creative I can be at this game called life!!!

I love you all!!! 

An ode to farts

I grew up attending Sanit Mary's Star of the Sea School, in Astoria, Oregon. It really was an incredible growing experience in so many ways. I attended mass every day, loved recess, the kitchen ladies, the nervous feeling I got each and every time I walked into the buildings, especially the church; more specifically being in the side room or on the altar.  I ALWAYS worked at being a perfect loving example of God's love, yet I was always sweating, waiting for a statue or painting to speak to me and tell me I was GOING TO HELL. I have a flair for the dramatic, especially I my mind.  I just knew God was going to tell me how bad I was, and so, I would distract by being silly and causing trouble; which is exactly what I shouldn't have been doing in the first place.

In my family, we prayed a lot and we had a lot of gas. We had a living room rule that we were to go to the door and fart into the dining room, so as not to choke out the family while watching TV. We usually made a production of it, cribbing the door frame and forcing one out with a nice long rip. Always so satisfying!! Almost as good as those loud farts that wake you from your sleep (wink).

I also used my gas as a weapon. My standard operating procedure for winning a fight was to pin my opponent down, namely one of my siblings, by placing my knees along their rib cage, with my large ass in my cordory rubbed bare at the thigh navy blue uniform right on their faces; arms on their legs so they couldn't kick up and I would force one out! They were best when I was on my dairy kick and I had real warm smelly farts that would make the paint weep.

One of my all time favorite moments was my 7th grade year. I had Sister Catherine, the year before she became a Mother, we were gathered in the corner west facing classroom on the top floor... Incredible view! We were listening to Bill Cosby tell the story of Noah. We were all squeezed so tight around the record player, just laughing so much at how awesome his telling of the story was. He made it very enjoyable. I was kneeling on my chair, like a good praying boy, but my elbows were on my desk so my ass was up in the air, poised for a great sound off. We had had chili that day at lunch and I had felt a gas bubble building and I really wanted to go to the hall and fart in my locker, but the story was TOO funny to leave so I kept holding my little rosebud tighter and tighter.... My laughing and nervousness about having to fart was making my cheeks all red, my feathered-parted-down-the-middle hair stick to my face, my bucked tooth cackle quiver and my rosebud weaken.... Out of the depths of my ass came THE LOUDEST AND LONGEST FART I HAD EVER HEARD!!!! It seriously went on and on and my laughing made it worse and caused me to snap a few more out. Everyone was in laughter! Well, not Sister Catherine. She lifts the needle off of the record, grabs me by my ear (I'm not joking) and yanked me into the hall. While out there she leaned into me, her breath smelling stale and like face powder, her faint mustache quivering above her angry tight lips as she told me how sinful I had been to fart like that in public. She reminded me that I am a terrible young man and that I always fail at being a positive role model. I'd heard it all before, since kindergarten really. My punishment was that I had to move my desk to be right next to hers in class and I had to sit on the floor next to her log when we were on the carpet for other studies and singing practice. I was by her side for weeks. It began to feel so natural being at her side, observing the class from that point of view. I kind of liked it.

Anyway(ssssss), one day, while we were sitting on the carpet practicing 'Prepare Ye the Way' for mass; I'm seated at Sister Catherine's left, couldn't be her right because that is reserved for God, and out of the corner of my eye I notice her oh so gingerly lift her left cheek off of her stump and she let out a silent but deadly one on me!!!! I looked at my friend, Kim, sitting to my left to see if she caught what had just happened and there was no avoiding it because you could smell it! I giggled, made a little scene and she blamed it on me! Sent me to the hall! That was that, all farts would always be blamed on me since I had so publicly displayed my skills.

It got me nervous. I didn't want to be known as the farter, chub rub Davis was bad enough ( it's because my big chubby thighs rubbed together and made a great sound with the cords I wore for my uniform.) I asked one of the girls in my neighborhood how she controlled her farts. She told me that her mom made her wear a cork up her butt to hold them in. I just knew a fart could never hold mine in! I had force, just ask anyone.

A few years later, the year in 1987, I'm in my first yoga class at good ol CCC, Harvard on the Hill; we are doing cat/cow and an older lady next to me totally farts, ripping nice and loud in the gym. I started giggling so bad I had to leave the room. Namaste. 

As a gay man, I can't keep my hole tight enough to keep those farts away from potential dates. I will never forget the morning after my first time of being with a man.... I was sitting on the futon visiting with two of my girlfriends, smoking cigarettes and laughing at how fun the party had been and they wanted details because I had had my tongue down some guys throat all night. We were all laughter and good times and my laughter couldn't keep my sore hole closed and out came the loudest and wettest ky fart EVER. I was so humiliated, and yet, it is one of my favorite stories to tell. It is a great ice breaker... Which always leads to deal breaker. No wonder I can't get a date!

From that moment on, I lived in fear of my farts. Sleeping over with a fella was never relaxing, can't relax I may fart. It's my special spot, nothing nasty can come out of it! I'm perfect! NOT! During the night I would just edge my ass off the side and lift the covers to prevent a Dutch oven effect and pray for it to be silent on the way out.

Silly really. We all fart. I always found such pleasure in them . I still do while I'm driving or in bed or in the shower. I have a circle of friends that I am comfortable farting around. I don't use it as a weapon any more. However, in 1997, I took over my dad's former job at Star, although I could never replace Mister D, I went as Mister Marco, and he told me one of his favorite things to do was to walk through groups of kids gathered in the halls and leave a silent one and watch them fight over who just farted. I learned from the best.

It may be considered a filthy thing, but farting has always been something that makes me happy. I don't think it is a sin. I don't think it should make me undatable. In 2006, I choreographed an entire dance based on farting and the actions and reactions farting may cause. I do not sniff my own farts or think I'm smug from the act of farting. I just think it is natural, I'm going to own it when I drop it and I will, probably, always giggle on the inside when it does happen. I'm for sure not going to hell for farting!