History repeats and you still gotta have friends…

As I've been running around like the-little-homo-that-could lately, it's become painfully obvious that I can't. At least with regard to keeping up with all my blogger duties. What's worse, is this is apparently part of some sick pattern of behavioral abuse – as evidenced when I went poking around the posts of the past trying to find something to re-place before you, never pretending to not be blogger hand-me-downs, while simultaneously hoping you wouldn't actually notice either. LOL!

Now that I've blown that evil-ploy all to hell, we'll move on. As I was saying – upon reading the following post from several years back, I was immediately struck by the fact that I have a pattern – something I'm now looking into having turned into a diagnosis I can go to the doctor and get a pill for. I'm calling it Lazy-blogginitis. And I suffer from it, big time! : )

 

That being said, I hope ya enjoy this blog-blast-from-the-past!

 

Because You Gotta Have Friends…

Whew…smells a little musty in here, lemme throw open the curtains and crack the windows in this joint. I feel like I haven't been here in ages!  Before you go getting all finger-pointy let me just say…it's totally not my fault!  I mean, I lost my keys…the locksmith wanted to charge a fortune to let me back in…he was kinda hunky so we worked something out in trade.  Can I just say…he had a really nice master-key.

 
Okay…right.  I'll end my holiday in the fictional town of Pornotopia now.  I thought it might sound better than, "I've just been busy."  Between the new job, new-book promo, and submitting what I hope to be my third book, the weeks just sorta got away from me.  I can't help it…I'm a Pisces, I get easily distracted!

 
I've been thinking a lot lately about the past, my past…my friends, the boys – the girls.  Obviously this is something we all do, but perhaps not with quite the same vigor and determination we writers do.  Personally I tend to attack my memories like an invading army, or possibly a kid furiously digging through his toy box, desperate to find that one special toy.  The missing strand of story-DNA that will allow us to create our very own Jurassic Park…which in my case is more likely to be over-run with spastic, yet lovable gay boys and snarky, sarcastic females than Velociraptor's.

 
I'm more than willing to rape my own experiences for the good of my fiction.  So, is it really that life imitates art so much as the opposite?  Perhaps it's both?  I have zero qualms about using my friend's misfortune and personality quirks for my characters.  For those who might think that awful…I'm equal opportunity and take full advantage of my own personal agonies as well.  One of my BFF's sent me text over the weekend laughing his ass off at something in Dreaming of You that was one of my personal misfortunes which while not fun at the time it was happening to me in my real life, was hysterical after the fact.

 
I've had a lot of people comment about really loving the 'driving scene' in Dreaming.  I laughed my ass off when writing that because it was based on one of my gal pals from many years back.  She was from New York and the single worst driver I've ever known.  We literally came out of a store one time to find a policeman sitting on the hood of his patrol car waiting on us to come back out.  As he wrote her a ticket, he made a point of letting her know she'd been barreling through town so fast that he'd been unable to catch up to us.

  
I obviously change the names and sometimes even the genders to protect the not so innocent.  Let's face it.  None of my friends are all that innocent.  All this playful rummaging about in my memories got me wondering about my friends in terms of gender.  My first really good friends were gay men.  It was upon meeting them that I really allowed myself to just be me.  No pretense, no hiding my light under a basket.  Flame on!, so to speak.  There were two Boy-BFF's I was especially close to; we'll call them Beau & Luke.  How very Dukes of Hazard of me, I know.  For a year we were practically inseparable, The Three Musgayteers.  Then of course, Beau moved away with some guy.  He was supposedly in love or something!  I know…how rude right, so much for Bro's before Man-Ho's?

 
And for those of you've read my blog titled Jealous…again, you know how my friendship ended with Luke.  What I like to call the Tourette's Tragedy of 1992.  Needless to say, after that I'd had my fill of gay boys.  They were apparently only good for one thing…well maybe two or three, but friendship wasn't one of them!  This kicked off my 6 year Man-haters-gal-pal-only-club.

 
I'm not sure what draws me toward the women folk.  Perhaps it's a little nature vs. nurture in action.  While my little head always turns my attention toward the big-beefy-muscles that be men, my big head seems to gravitate to the girls when it comes to actually having a fulfilling conversation.  Despite the fact that I covet the man-meat, I suppose growing up surrounded by women has made the ladies something I derive a lot of comfort from.

 
Of course, just like the gay boys of my past, the chicks who were my BFF's kept finding BF's and thus also ran off to marry their orgasms.  At this point I realized that friendship shouldn't be determined by genitalia.  And over the long haul, I've discovered that while my gay friends tend to desert me more often, they also seem to come back sooner, scratching at the door while licking their rug burns.  My girl friends on the other hand run off to the 'land of the little people who carry big germs', hardly ever to be seen or heard from again.  Shady bitches! : )

 
Perhaps it says more about me than anything that I've always valued my friends more than the men I've dated.  I keep telling myself that it's because I haven't found The One yet.  But to be perfectly honest, I'm sick of looking for the son of a bitch!

  
The One needs to get off his hairy ass and come find me. ; )  Honestly…what the hell does The One do all day?  Sheesh!

 
End Rant

 
Much Love
Ethan