Gods & Monsters, Ch. 1, October 25th, 2016, Pt. I

CHAPTER 1

October 15^th, 2016

The Wicked Stepmother

1

The time shifted on the digital clock radio nestled in the center of the nightstand on Thomas’ side of the bed to 10:23 when the sound of needless clatter rose up from the kitchen Thomas had just been in hours before and up the staircase and into the bedroom. This type of clatter – if there was a proper way to describe it – was the kind you would make by accident while attempting to be ever so quiet while making something to eat in the kitchen while your father was resting on the couch after a particularly exhausting day at work.

Only, this clatter didn’t sound like it was by accident. It sounded so deliberate and so familiar that it was enough to make Thomas’ almond-shaped brown eyes snap open with complete aggravation before they moved upwards – along with his head – to stare at the clock.

Now… 10:24 AM.

The sound was so familiar that it was enough to make Muse sit up from his place at the foot of the bed, his left ear floppily flipped back across his head, and a gruff and low bark escaping his jaws. Thomas hoped – in vain – that perhaps he had left a window open and the residual wind from the storm the night before had blown in and knocked something off of a counter or a shelf. For a moment, Thomas even hoped that it was his nightmare version of Jackson in his house, looking to skin the hide off of the annoying dog that was taking up a portion of his queen-size bed with Paul. The clatter came again from downstairs and Thomas could tell that she was now going through the dishwasher.

Paul, his left arm stretched out and over Thomas’ body, spoke without opening his eyes, his nose and mouth buried into Thomas’ shoulder.

“If we lie still, maybe she’ll think we’re dead and go home,” Paul said in a whisper that sounded as if he was half-joking and half-serious.

Thomas turned his head as close to his partner as he possibly could and spoke just as quietly.

“You know she’ll just walk up here with no shame,” Thomas said as more sounds drifted up from the kitchen. She was obviously aware that Paul and Thomas were awake, no matter how quiet they thought they were being. “If she comes up here, that won’t be good, you’re still naked and I’m pretty sure she’ll see that I have dried cum on me.”

“You could have taken a shower when we were done.”

“I’m lazy. Besides, you told me she was working the street fair today, I didn’t think she’d stop by,” Thomas hissed in an accusatory tone.

“The street fair is tomorrow,” Paul corrected as he kissed Thomas’ shoulder almost as if he was trying to say, I’m sorry that you were wrong.

Another clatter and the sizzling sound of meat hitting a pan was heard. If it wasn’t one wicked witch keeping him from sleeping, it was obviously going to be another.

“Ugh, get off me,” Thomas said playfully, his hair standing up every which way as Muse barked again – louder this time – and hopped off of the bed to pad his way downstairs with his massive paws.

“Bye, Felicia!” Thomas quipped with a commanding flick of his hand as the mutt disappeared from the bedroom. Thomas swung his legs down the side of the bed and placed his feet back on the floor again, just as he had done after awakening from his nightmare, still dressed in his white wifebeater and gray briefs. When Thomas stood up, he made it a point to pull up the back of his briefs, which had been pulled down and over his plump buttocks for reasons that were entirely between two consenting men.

Paul whined from bed, now holding a pillow in his arms in place of Thomas, “Why’d you have to ruin the view?”

Thomas smiled, he could feel that he looked tired and he knew she would point it out. Instead of responding to Paul’s clearly rhetorical question, Thomas shambled to the master bathroom to make himself appear more human.

“You going to leave me alone with her again?” Thomas questioned.

“You handle her so much better than I do,” Paul said with a fake smile, his normally oceanic blue eyes taking on a gray appearance possibly due to his dwindling hours of sleep; his blonde hair a shaggy mess, but only on the right side of his head, the side he had slept on most of the night after successfully coercing his husband into playing Insomniac Slap & Tickle.

“You just wait, motherfucker,” Thomas hissed comically. “Next time you slink in at the ass-crack of dawn, we’ll see if I put out for you again.”

2

Hey girl, look at my mom,

She’s got it goin’ on,

HA! You’re blinded by her jewelry,

When you turn your back,

She pulls out a flask and forgets his infidelity.

-Dollhouse, Melanie Martinez

After hearing the low grunt of that slobbering mongrel upstairs, she could hear the boys whispering among themselves. Even at their quietest, she could still piece together the important parts of their conversation and – frankly – it nauseated her.

It wasn’t the reference to their lovemaking that made her insides clench with discomfort. Nor was it the apparent disdain they had for her when she interrupted their slumber by inviting herself inside their home on the few days they had the opportunity to sleep in. Truth be told, if they – or Thomas, more precisely – had a real problem with her presence, they could have just as easily told her to stop coming over (a request she would have kindly obliged) or could have removed the key they kept hidden under the disgruntled looking lawn gnome that resided on the edge of their garden where Thomas’ tomatoes were looking luscious behind a wall of chicken wire to keep Muse from digging them up for the third time.

No, to Helena Whitechapel, what truly made her body stiffen as she weaved from here to there in the kitchen of her surgeon stepson and his exotic-looking husband was the fact that Paul was just like his father, even if he was in denial when it came to admitting such accusations. Be they verbal or silent. Paul had Harold’s exquisitely strong jawline, his strong nose, and those piercing eyes that flashed whenever the light caught them.

Like father. Like son.

Charming.

Confident.

Charismatic.

…And an adept cheater.

There had been others – Cora, Richard, Harold as well – that had vocalized concern when Paul dropped to one knee and proposed to Thomas during their high school graduation ceremony (Thomas said yes, but they didn’t tie the knot until five years later, when Thomas was finished with college, a condition of the engagement he had made to appease his parents). But Helena? Helena had been the only one to voice extreme discontent – not because of how young and naïve they were – but because of Paul and his potential to take after his father. She had tried to save Thomas the heartbreak that awaited him – that still awaited him – that lay in wait until he was unassuming and felt safe before it pounced like a wild cat in the jungle hunting its prey. Harold had broken her heart many, many times before; and while it had been so long since his first transgression, her mind began to think back to one of the more memorable times when she had confronted Harold about his infidelity as she dropped the two slabs of beef she had brought over this morning into a non-stick frying pan on the gas stove.

3

“Enough, Harold,” Helena said, her voice firm and commanding. “I’ve had enough.”

Harold Kingston refused to even look up at his wife. He was in no mood for her women’s lib bullshit melodrama, not on this day, not when he – the Police Chief of Fate’s Way – was up to his nostrils in paperwork following what the local press was dubbing The Maitland Massacre which saw Mayor Reginald Maitland and the other inhabitants of the mayoral manor – wife Morgan, their three youngest children (Samuel, Gabrielle, Terra), and the married couple that served as maid and butler (Denise and Theodore Barker) – savagely murdered and violated by eldest son Bronson. Bronson had turned himself into the station, a spry nineteen-year-old full of promise, the morning after the murders and claimed in-between hysterical sobbing fits that “the devil” made him do it.

The media circus was astounding and many looked to the chief for answers, wanting to know just how could something so heinous happen in such a quiet town. Harold had no answers, at least none that he could give publicly. The only thing that was pissing him off more than reporters sticking microphones and tape recorders into his face was the dramatic way that his wife Helena had decided to start off this particular morning.

Again, he didn’t look up.

It was Wednesday, March 12^th, 1986 and Helena had been holding this one in since late January.

“You promised me, Harold,” Helena said with as much venom as she could muster, she knew very well that her husband hated it when anyone tarnished his integrity by questioning the validity of his promises and gentleman agreements.

He still refused to look up and continued tying on his work shoes, neatly polished for the day of work that lay ahead.

“You promised that you’d stop when we came here,” Helena continued. Harold could see the sensual curve of her calves leading all the way down into thin ankles that fanned out into beautiful feet – no doubt meticulously pedicured thanks to his American Express card – that were adorned with red patent leather pumps that added an extra oomph to her already gorgeous stems. Had Harold not been so annoyed, he would have been turned on just by the sight of his wife’s gams. However, she wasn’t standing seductively or sexy, her legs were not crossed at the ankles, one leg was not slightly bent. No, both of her feet were planted side-by-side, firmly on the wooden floor of their bedroom. She meant business and even though Chief Kingston refused to look up at her, he could tell she was serious about whatever allegation – as he called it when she caught him with his hands in someone else’s cookie jar – she was getting ready to lay on him.

He went back to tying his shoes.

“I don’t have time for this bullshit today, Helena,” Harold voiced honestly. “Go blow off some steam and go shopping or get your hair done or do whatever the fuck it is that’ll get you to shut the fuck up.”

Click!

That sound was more than enough to get Harold to finally look up.

When he did so, Harold saw into the barrel of Helena’s Smith & Wesson Combat Magnum. After a moment, his gaze cleared and he could look past the gun itself and Helena’s white-knuckle grip on the trigger. He could see her. Although her face refused to sell her out from underneath her blonde updo, he could still tell that she was fighting back tears. She managed to keep her face from looking flush or strained, but she couldn’t do anything about her eyes shining like silver dollars under the sun. She dared not to blink because that just seemed like an invitation for the tears to come bursting forth like water rushing out of a broken dam.

“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” She hissed between clenched teeth and vibrant red lipstick.

“This is a bit theatrical, even for you, Helena,” Harold said mockingly with the gun pointed at his forehead. “You need to stop watching so much goddamn Dynasty.”

Helena let out a spirit of a laugh.

“You’re so brazen to make jokes. So obscenely arrogant,” Helena pointed out. Harold nodded. “Just like you were when you decided to put the moves on Demitria the day her grandson was born. You remember that day a little over a month ago, right? The day we went to the hospital together… the day I made ambrosia as a snack for Cora so she didn’t have to eat that horrendous hospital food… the day where I hugged a proud and beaming Richard while you were pushing yourself onto an unwilling Demitria in some empty on-call room.”

“You actually believe that?” Harold said dismissively. “That she was unwilling? I know I call you crazy a lot, but I’ve never called you stupid. Don’t make me start today by taking the side of some pot-smoking hippie spinster. Besides, it’s not like anything happened, an orderly walked in on us before she could really enjoy herself.”

Helena wasn’t buying it and she refused to let Harold twist things around to benefit his situation.

“For as long as I can remember, I have never been enough for you, you can’t even show me the courtesy of giving me respect for sticking around to raise twins that you had with another woman,” Helena roared. “Years upon years… wasted, gone… all this time, I’ve always hated the fucking tramps you’ve lusted for; I’ve been raging over the women that I felt stole my husband. But I realize now, with this instance involving Demi, it’s not them. It was never them. I wasted my anger on the wrong people. It’s you, Harold. You’re the problem… and here we are now. I should just pull this trigger and end it all-”

That’s when Harold’s arrogance really pushed through his entire body, almost like a self-projecting aura. He lurched forward and pressed his forehead against the tip of the Magnum. Helena’s breath caught in her throat as Harold grabbed the gun and pressed it even harder against his skull.

“Then do it, Helena,” Harold seethed, his strong jaw clenched and his angry eyes dancing wildly. “You’re such a victim, right? Do it! DO IT! Just pull the trigger and it all ends!”

The two engaged in a stand-off until Helena finally blinked, releasing the floodgates and allowing tears to gush forward and down her cheeks. Her face finally turned flush as she realized that she had lost.

Again.

Harold grinned that gorgeous – and smug – straight-toothed, blindingly white smile of his as he pulled the gun away from his forehead and took his left hand and wrapped it around the back of Helena’s exposed neck, some stray hairs that had not been swept up into her updo catching between his thick, sturdy fingers. He wasn’t choking her, but merely holding her in place so that she couldn’t break eye contact… even if she wanted to.

“That’s what I thought,” Harold grinned. “You can’t hurt me, Helena. Because deep down, you know it will never get better than this for you. You need me. And don’t you fucking forget that. Now, I’m going to go to work, something you don’t seem to do much of anymore, before I really lose my temper.”

Helena fumed, going over in her mind the many ways in which she fantasized about Harold dying, most of them involving prolonged bouts of agony and castration.

“Now,” Harold said calmly. “Give the King a kiss and tell him you love him.” His grip on the back of her neck tightened as he pulled her closer, her round and then-perky breasts pushing into his muscly chest. The kiss he forced out of her was devoid of passion and love, and was just as cold as Fate’s Way had a habit of getting in the middle of December.

“I love you… Harold,” Helena said quietly as he continued his grip on her. Helena hated him for making her say it but she hated herself even more because what she said was still true despite how much he continued to hurt her.

“That’s my girl,” Harold said with a wink. Then, just like that, his grip on her disappeared and he headed toward the doorway of the bedroom. Before reaching it, he turned on his newly-tied, perfectly-polished work shoes and – almost as an afterthought – punctuated his dominance over his wife. “By the way, if I had to guess, I’d say I’ll be home late tonight. Really late. Do yourself a favor… don’t wait up.”

Harold flashed that bastard grin of his again before heading out the door and that’s when Helena raised the Magnum once more, sunlight trickling in through the partially-opened curtains of their bedroom. She fired one bullet, missing him purposely, taking down a framed piece of artwork that they had picked up at some antique shop over in Amityville that hanged by the door. The frame hit the floor, glass shattering even further upon impact.

The Chief stopped in his tracks to gaze upon the mess his wife had made and then looked back at Helena’s tear-stained face, the pistol smoking in her hand as she held it raised from where she had pulled the trigger.

Unapologetic, Harold shook his head at her.

“You missed.”

Gods & Monsters, Prologue

PROLOGUE

A Not-So-Sleeping Beauty

Thomas was trembling due to a combination of fear and rage.

The downpour outside – which tapped furiously at the windows of his childhood home where his parents’ still resided, a sound that he enjoyed more than anything else on any other given day – had swept through the picturesque New York village of Fate’s Way without warning. There had been no gusting winds, no weather report, and the sky had been clear all day without a cloud in sight, which should have boded well for everyone hitting the streets in honor of Halloween.

Normally, Thomas would be worrying over tracking mud, rain, and other undesirable things through his parents’ home from the outside as he stepped over the threshold onto the hardwood floor of the foyer. By this time, he would usually be hearing the voice of his mother Cora – her voice loving, but with a sternly exasperated and exhausted tone – chastising him.

Thomas! Look what you have done. You know how much I hate having to do a chore over again. Now, you get to be mother’s helper. Go on, remove those shoes before you track more mud. Then, go grab a bowl with some soapy water and we’ll clean this up together.

Only, Thomas didn’t hear his mother’s voice either inside or outside of his own head. For one, Cora – or Thomas’ father, Richard – wasn’t home. Secondly, his mind was too focused on the intruder that had breached the security of home. Stepping through the doorway, the front door swinging ominously with a creaking sound that had been present ever since he was a teenager attempting to sneak home unnoticed past curfew, Thomas was instantly aware that there was more amiss than he originally had intended for his brain to realize.

The lights were off.

And there was silence.

Where are the pups? Where are they!? Thomas thought frantically to himself, rain dripping through his hair and down along the sides of his face, into the corners of his eyes, and also along the back of his neck. Perhaps “pups” was not an appropriate term to describe the three massive dogs that he had bathed, fed, walked, and wrestled with since his junior year of high school. That – the whereabouts of his usually rowdy dogs – was what consumed his mind and his stomach (a twisting knot developing with every step he took further into this familiar house that suddenly felt alien and unnatural).

Beyond the foyer of the Fairchild home, Thomas – in those rain-soaked and muddy shoes – stepped through the front room and ran his cold right hand along the curved edge of the antique table that played host to a vase of fresh-cut flowers. Thomas became increasingly worried about the location of his pups. The feisty Rottweiler, Amanda, named after Heather Locklear’s character on Melrose Place because she could be a real bitch (the Rott) at times. The loving St. Bernard, Cujo, named so because of Thomas’ love for Stephen King. And finally, Perdita, the hyper-active Dalmation who would always snuggle with her owners whenever they were bed-ridden with an illness. Thomas referred to her snuggles as “bug hugs.”

Thomas was moments away from calling out to the pups when he stepped to the left of the table with the vase of flowers and into the large doorway into the living room when he stopped in his tracks. His shoes making an unpleasant sound as he did so.

Squish!

The lights were off, casting the entire home in darkness. Thomas hadn’t even bothered to turn on the lights, so he was unaware if the power was out or not due to the sudden storm cascading overhead. Due to the fact that the lamp posts outside were reflecting light through the unshuttered windows of the living room, Thomas could only surmise that the power was working efficiently enough. He, however, was unconcerned with that, perfectly capable of seeing the intruder before him. The cold he felt from the rain suddenly evaporated, morphing into heat the angrier he became… which happened with every passing second as he stared at the smug appearance of Jackson Mayhew.

“I thought you’d never get here, Thomas, darling,” Jackson said jovially, one hand on his tight, slender waist. The other one holding a cigarette. Although it was dark, Thomas could still see the plumes of smoke rising into the air from Jackson’s mouth as he spoke.

Thomas’ slippery fists dripped with rain as he tightened them into fists, his nails digging into his palms. For a moment, Thomas couldn’t tell if he felt rain in his hand or blood.

“Where are my pups, Jacks.” It wasn’t a question that came out from between Thomas’ plump lips, it was more of a subliminal warning: Give me my dogs or I’ll fucking kill you, Jacks.

Jackson brought his cigarette back to his thin lips and took a steady drag, the cigarette breathing the life of light into the room ever so slightly.

My mother would kill you right now if she saw you smoking in her house, was all Thomas could think. Don’t you dare get any ashes on her Italian rug.

Jackson let out another stream of smoke, like a train leaving the station and smiled. His smile was wicked enough to send a cold shiver throughout Thomas’ entire body. He could feel the dripping tips of his hair developing frost as he continued looking at Jackson. Although Thomas had known him for years, Jackson – like this house – suddenly felt strange and unfamiliar. Finally, Jackson answered Thomas.

“Oh, come now, you didn’t come here just for the pups, darling,” Jackson said knowingly. And he was right. Thomas had come to his childhood home for another reason, a darker and more important reason, but for now… he wanted the fucking dogs. Before he could respond, Jackson’s voice cut through the air again as he flicked his cigarette, causing ash to land on Cora’s Italian rug. “To answer your question though, there’s no need to concern yourself with those animals.”

“What did you do…” Thomas trailed off, the knot in his stomach having tied itself so tight that he felt like it might make him explode in half once it snapped.

Jackson could only laugh, a laugh that made Thomas feel even colder than the smile he had received just moments ago, as he licked the index finger and thumb of his free hand and put out his cigarette without even flinching, disposing of it by tossing it over his left shoulder into the darkness spread across the back of the living room.

“Well, darling, you know how much of a fashionista I am,” Jackson pointed out. “But you know that, above all else, I just adore fur. I live for fur. I worship fur. Isn’t that why you always tease me and call me Cruella, hmmm?”

What followed next was something so macabre and startling that Thomas nearly fell to the floor – wobbly knees or slippery shoes could have been pointed to as the likely cause. Jackson reached forward to grab what looked like a dark sheet off of the navy blue ottoman residing in front of the matching couch. Only, the left side was dark as it flashed in the light reflected off of the lamp posts outside. The right side was white with black spots. The back, joining the two pieces together, was fuzzy and brown, with some darker patches of brown spaced throughout. Jackson placed his right arm in first and, for a moment, Thomas could have sworn he heard a squish as he did so, a squish that was not coming from his – Thomas’ – rain-sopped shoes. Sure enough, Thomas heard the sound again as Jackson placed his left arm into the makeshift sleeve of his coat.

Squish!

The color in Thomas’ naturally-bronzed complexion began to fade into a crème base, his jaw slackening in horror as lightning streaked the sky, illuminating the darkness better than the lamp posts were. The inside of the coat ran a deep red and that’s when Thomas realized his mother’s Italian rug was already damaged, not because of cigarette ash, but because of the blood and the chunks of flesh that were dragging along the inside of the coat.

His pups…

Their skin…

Thomas wondered what would come out of his mouth first, a guttural scream or the assorted sweets he had munched on at his father-in-law’s annual Halloween party. His wonderment didn’t last long, as an assortment of colors spewed from his mouth, hitting the floor hard and splashing back into his face, hitting the corners of the doorway, and even flying up into the air and causing further damage to Cora’s once flawless rug. That’s when Jackson let out another cackle of laughter as lightning cracked through the sky outside again.

“I simply do not understand why Cruella gets so much hate as a villain, all she ever wanted was a coat,” Jackson mused. “And look! Now she has one!”

Thomas’ stomach twisted up again and he fought to keep himself from lurching forward with more bile than before.

“No need to worry. I made it quick, old friend,” Jackson said rubbing his bare hands along the outside of the coat with a look of triumphant ecstasy, almost as if he was sifting through diamonds or gold. “If it makes you feel any better, they did put up quite a fight. Especially that Rottweiler of yours. My… she was a real bitch.”

And that’s when Thomas Fairchild finally felt the guttural scream beat out the stream of bile trying to make its way up his esophagus. As he let it out, Jackson laughed again, and that’s when Thomas bolted up right in bed, mouth wide open, the rain that had soaked his body replaced with glistening sweat.

It was all a dream. A very vivid and lively dream. Thomas jumped once again as lightning streaked the sky accompanied with a loud clap of thunder. Muse, the Black Labrador belonging to Thomas’ husband Paul – a pet Paul had before he had ever met Thomas – continued to snore loudly at the foot of the bed, his tummy rolled upwards toward the ceiling, his head thrown back as if he was subliminally begging to “be drawn like one of your French girls.” The thunder nor Thomas’ scream of horrified anguish seemed to disturb him at all. That was of no surprise to Thomas – whose breathing went in deeply and came out in short bursts – considering that Muse had never seemed to be particularly fond of Thomas despite the latter’s attempts to bond with him.

After several more moments of adjusting to coming out of his deep and terrifying slumber, Thomas finally noticed the tap-tap-tap sound of rain against the windows and roof of the home he shared with his husband of seven years. Realizing how parched he was, Thomas decided to shake off the remnants of his nightmare and carefully pulled his feet upwards from under the turquoise comforter and out to the side, placing them on the patterned rug placed beneath the bed on the hardwood floor, a rug that – unlike the one belonging to his mother – was a simple rug that could easily be replaced with a quick trip to Pier 1. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Thomas composed himself some more until his breathing was disturbed by the sound of Muse belching in his sleep, followed up with the sloppy sound of him licking his own chops.

Thomas eventually made his way downstairs in the dark, accompanied by the sound of the falling rain, and toward the kitchen. Paul, the Chief of Staff at Fate’s Way Memorial, wasn’t home tonight, for the fifth night in a row, working swing and graveyard – back-to-back – to make up for the fact that half of his staff was out with a hideous virus that had been spreading fervently throughout Fate’s Way since the middle of September. Thomas didn’t mind having space away from his husband seeing as how Paul could be a bit needy and overbearing at times. Had Paul been home and in bed when Thomas had his dream, he would want Thomas to recollect what the dream was about and then would proceed to psycho-analyze anything and everything that had gone through Thomas’ mind.

Thomas was in no mood for that tonight. To him, this nightmare made sense. The last person he had spoken to before heading to bed was Jackson, who messaged him on Facebook while Thomas was in the middle of putting grades into his computer log. He recalled calling Jackson “Cruella,” his pet name for the gossipy leather-and-fur-obsessed realtor he had met in college, happily reminding himself to stop by his parents’ house so he could visit his pups. Nothing deep. Just a myriad of ingredients that created one twisted fairy tale in his mind.

As Thomas guzzled his glass of water from the filtered tap – allowing it to freeze the back of his throat and travel downward until it felt like it had transformed his internal organs into brittle ice – he couldn’t help but recall that this was the third nightmare in just as many weeks. The first had revolved around the deaths of two of his favorite students, Jennifer Langenkamp and Todd Romero, while the second involved him sexually cavorting with a handsome stranger with jet-black hair. The stranger, who appeared to be only slightly older than Thomas, ravaged him sexually before baring his own fangs and plunging them deep into Thomas’ neck, something that frightened and exhilarated him at the same time. Thomas’ moans and spastic reactions to what was happening to his body alarmed Paul, who pulled him from his slumber – again – covered in sweat. Thomas informed him that he was attacked by a vampire in that dream but refused to tell Paul about the ravishing he received sexually, afraid that it would cause more harm and drama than necessary.

Finishing his tall glass of water, Thomas looked toward the microwave, with its digital clock shining through the darkness of the kitchen.

3:22 AM.

Thomas had three more hours or so before Paul would be home, slipping into bed beside him before trying to start a game of Insomniac Slap & Tickle. Drearily looking around his home, Thomas was relieved to see that Jackson was not evilly smoking in his living room in a coat made out of his pups when lightning lit up his house for a brief moment. Sure enough, when Paul came home at roughly 6:30, he undressed himself completely before sliding into bed beside his husband and tried to instigate some morning action by lightly brushing his steady fingertips up and down along Thomas’ body. When he noticed the appearance of small bags under Thomas’ eyes, he, as Thomas knew he would, inquired if he had suffered another nightmare and decided against having his husband sleep it off and instead asked him to recount what he could remember.

Ironically enough, there was so much that Thomas couldn’t remember and the sad truth was… he was not even aware of it, but Dr. Paul Leto was. And his main concern was making sure that Thomas never remembered.

Never remembered the family he used to have.

Never remembered the lover that once was his.

Never remembered who he once was.

And more importantly, Paul wanted to make sure that Thomas never remembered his purpose or the deal he had made with Hades before his untimely death and, ultimately, his passage to the Underworld almost thirty-one years ago. Unfortunately for Paul, the nightmares were just the beginning of the unraveling of he and Thomas’ picturesque life. Soon, Thomas would discover the truth about his past life… a life that traversed our world, a land of wonder, and even a city of emeralds. And Paul, as well as the other members of his family, would discover along with Thomas that there was no stopping fate.

The Park is Open!

Jurassic World finally hit theaters, much to everyone’s delight, and shattered the opening box office records of The Avengers. For that, and that alone, I say… thank Christ, seriously, I’m a comic nerd and I wasn’t fond of that movie and think it’s drastically over-hyped.

Allow me to state, for the record, that I am not the biggest Jurassic Park fan, but I like dinosaurs and was eager to see this just like everyone else, seeing as how I had seen the legendary original, the entertaining sequel, and that horribly shitty third film that ranks as one of the worst sequels I have ever had the displeasure of watching (Sam Neill return be damned).

Coming straight out of the gate with this review: I liked the movie. I didn’t LOVE it (for a bunch of little nit-picky reasons), but I enjoyed myself and was entertained. But in all honesty, when it comes out on DVD, I won’t be itching to purchase it straight away… yet if I received it as a Secret Santa gift or a random birthday present, I wouldn’t be offended or ungrateful (and wouldn’t return it). Unfortunately, the stupidity of some of these characters was just so grating and infuriating all at once that it made me root for the antagonistic dinosaur to slaughter half the cast because they were borderline insufferable.

Beware, there are spoilers contained within this review…

…So, if you come here and read past this and go, “Why did you spoil it for me?” just remember that I warned you and you deserve far worse for not heeding a kind warning… also, we all know the premise… there is a park filled with dinosaurs, they break loose and wreck havoc, the end.

Moving on…

The pros are numerous for the fourth installment of this franchise.

The graphics and visuals are stunning, there are really good jump scares a plenty, the sexy and charismatic Chris Pratt is great in his role as main protagonist Owen, and the cast not only features a black man (who survives, yay!) but also a likable male character of what appears to be Middle-Eastern heritage (I’m too lazy to look up everyone’s names, I’m just gonna keep it real, he plays the new park owner and I want to say he’s Indian but I just know some wise-ass politically correct douchebag looking for a reason to be offended is going to come on here and go “nuh-uh, he’s this-that-and-the-other”).

There were also Easter eggs a plenty paying homage to the original film, so that was nice, and the Asian scientist (this movie nailed every major diversity possible, I swear, hats off to you guys) played by B.D. Wong (I only know this because I’m an avid Law & Order: SVU fan) returns from the first film and plays a very pivotal role in this film as a character kind of straddling the fence on whether he’s a good guy or a bad guy. Then there is Vincent D’Onofrio playing the lead human antagonist who is just always amazing in everything he is in, even if his character in this film is your typical military villain trope… which brings me to…

The cons.

Trust me when I say, the pros far outweigh the cons, and I’m seriously just being nit-picky as both a creative writer and someone who needs to have an explanation for everything. I’m going to bitch and throw shade about certain aspects of this film, but don’t let that dissuade you from seeing this film… it really is enjoyable and great fun.

When speaking of Vincent D’Onofrio’s character Hoskins – who wants to militarize the Velociraptors trained by Pratt’s character (Blue, Delta, Charlie, and Echo) – he is played wonderfully by D’Onofrio (who can make anything work) but the character is written very one-note and is a trope that’s all too easy to spot. He’s the grinning, asshat military dude. Bryce Dallas Howard plays Claire, the character trope I hate the most… think of Miranda from Sex & The City, but with better hair… her career is her life, she hasn’t seen her nephews in seven years (the children in the movie), and she’s super-serious and has an itinerary for everything.

In other words, she’s a tight-ass and is Owen’s complete opposite, which obviously means these two are going to hook up by the end of the film. Because, well, you know, you always need a side-plot involving romance for movies like this for some fucking reason (I don’t remember Terminator II: Judgment Day needing one of those).

Then, of course, there are the two children. I think the younger child’s name was Grey or Greg, it sounded like the former to be honest. I’m trying to remember the older child’s name, but it escapes me at the moment. In any event, the older teenager is moody as fuck and seems completely bored with everything. The younger child is either supposed to be a genius or is suffering from Asperger’s Syndrome, I can’t tell… but I will say that Grey/Greg is a lot less annoying than his older brother who isn’t at all excited about being on a fucking island with DINOSAURS. Claire mentions that no one is amazed anymore since the park has been around for a long time… yadda, yadda… but I’m not buying that at all. The older child is just a dick and from the onset of the film, when we’re introduced to him, I already didn’t like him, his attitude, or his whiny girlfriend who laments about him leaving “for a week” and goes, “make sure to text me every day and send me pictures so I remember what you look like.”

I leaned over to my friend Nasiema, who I was seeing the movie with, and whispered, “I hope she fucking dies in this movie.” Thankfully, the kids’ parents make fun of him and the absurdity of his clingy Disney Channel discount-looking girlfriend and I feel like I’m getting a reprieve… until they start dropping massive hints about the fact that the parents are going through a divorce.

What?

WHY.DOES.ANY.OF.THIS.MAAAAAATTER!?!?

It’s almost as if they created this broken family subplot in order to make up a reason as to why the kids were getting sent to Jurassic World, and it was so they could have a secret divorce (that Grey/Greg is aware of but the older son is oblivious to). Why couldn’t they just be like, “Have fun seeing Aunt Claire”? The divorce is talked about twice between the brothers – again, with no bearing on the store or their dilemma (being stalked by dinosaurs) – and we see the mom obviously at the divorce meeting calling Claire from her cell-phone. Again, none of it matters, but it eats up time from the movie when we could be, I don’t know, seeing more dinosaurs or getting more action scenes…

That’s another thing. We didn’t get to see any of the tiny deadly dinosaurs from the second film (too lazy to Google, fuck your feelings) OR the Dilophosaurus from the first film (we get a cameo hologram appearance, but not the real thing, which saddens me as it was my favorite from all of the movies). We could have spent some time seeing some of those creatures, for sure. What was even more annoying was all the potential from this movie being wasted… one large ass mutated dinosaur escapes, right? Somehow this dinosaur only manages to destroy one area (the aviary) that frees other dinosaurs which gifts us with an awesome scene full of pterodactyls attacking park visitors.

I would have loved to have seen the mutated dinosaur do some damage to the park enabling some other carnivorous creatures to run free and give us some amazing kills. You know? This brings me to the stupidity of the fucking patrons of this park. Throughout the park, there are announcements being made about all the rides being shut down.

Instead of thinking, “Hmm, that’s a little unsettling, maybe I should just go back to the resort,” all these fuckers (22,000 guests) congregate outside in the heat and pack up the center of the park without even worrying about the potential threat that caused all the rides to shut down. It’s even more baffling because the original park is mentioned numerous times, so you know someone had to have mentioned the issues that transpired during the original trilogy, right?

Also, the scientists are so stupid cross-breeding dinosaurs and mutating them, thinking nothing bad was going to happen… and the Indian owner (although likable) is also fucking stupid for ordering dinosaurs that were “crueler and scarier” and then chastising the scientist for doing what he was ordered to do. Like, WTF? For real?

I also found it interesting that Claire manages to evade dinosaurs and run through the forest with her high-heels intact and she never falls down or trips… not once.

It was also infuriating that the only time anyone on this island cares about the T-Rex is when it’s needed as a last resort to combat the mutated dinosaur. Seriously, the T-Rex in these movies is like that one friend you don’t like – but you hang on to – because you just know you’re going to need them for something further down the line. It was very interesting to me that throughout the movie, the writers somehow get you to actually like the Raptors as heroes – except for that brief heel turn where they turn against Owen and the humans after they discover the mutated dinosaur is part Raptor herself. In fact, aside from Owen, the Raptors are the most fleshed-out characters in the entire movie, and when three of them are killed off, you feel sorry for them… until Blue makes a comeback and helps the T-Rex take down the mutated dinosaur (with help from another water-dwelling dinosaur that Nasiema called a “manatee” because she couldn’t remember the name, so I dubbed it the “manateesaurus”).

In the end, the kids – who make me long for the days of Tim and his hacker sister from the first film – are reunited with their parents (who probably will call off the divorce that has nothing to do with the main plot because nothing brings a family back together like mutual relief that your children didn’t get mauled by a manateesaurus) and Claire and Owen “stick together, out of survival” and literally walk off into the distance with each other.

Because, you know… when you have a woman in a lead role of any kind, she HAS to be in a relationship… am I right?

Not that I blame her for wanting him… it’s Chris-fucking-Pratt: fat or muscular, he’s adorable, so, just do it, who cares if he smells like Raptor.

Aside from Owen and the Raptors, Larry (I think that’s his name) in the control center is the other greatest character in the film, having the funniest quips and one of the best personalities in the movie. His attempt to make a move on his co-worker with a goodbye kiss as the island is being evacuated is hilarious and a giant “fuck you” to the kinds of relationships that are forcibly forged in these disaster-type movies (ironically enough, kind of like the Claire and Owen relationship). Larry, in a sense, was kind of like the Dr. Ian Malcolm of this movie, and it was glorious!

In the end, the movie was good, better than the other sequels, but did not come close to beating the original (nothing will beat the Raptors in the kitchen scene or the scene when Ellie has to turn on the power generators by herself). Hopefully in the next film – and trust me, there will be another one since the scientist got away – they don’t recycle plots (do we really need children in the movie, do we need family dysfunction?) and will delve more into the opportunities that were missed in this film (and most likely missed PURPOSELY to leave material for the inevitable sequel, which will be a huge success as it’ll be a reprieve from the plethora of superhero movies coming up over the horizon).

With that being said, I recommend seeing it in theaters… but two more spoilers for you, so you aren’t disappointed… Chris Pratt is not shirtless or without pants at any point during the movie and there is no post-credits scene.

I know, I cried too…

The Customer Is Always Right?

I currently work as a waiter in Las Vegas … it was last evening – the day school let out for the summer for a plethora of educational institutes in the area – when I was tasked with serving a couple that I usually always get in my section. I remember them almost every time they come in because they are an old-school Jewish couple who are so deep into their religion that they once interrogated me about what the corndogs were made out of! They are so Jewish that I’m pretty sure their favorite room in their house is the attic. (*Patiently waits for the joke to sink in*)

In any event, they are very cool people – despite being a little finicky at times – and usually very nice tippers. Nothing extravagant, mind you, but I don’t ever really dread serving them because I usually never have issues with them. Until last night, when I stupidly made an off-handed remark about the Duggar family scandal. If you’re not aware of what I’m talking about, then you have to turn on the news (not Fox News, mind you, that channel is evil) or go online sometime. The wife made the remark: “Oh, don’t get me started.”

I figured, like any normal human, that as a mother she would think what Josh Duggar did would be awful and whatnot and would launch into a Mom Rant being an old school Jewish lady. Imagine my horror (or just see the animation above) when she sat there and began -JUSTIFYING- Josh Duggar’s actions in where he molested his younger sisters while they slept (as well as a family friend). We’re not talking giving anyone a titty-twister or kicking someone in the cooter… we’re talking feeling up the breast and vaginal areas while they were unconscious!

I stood there with a big fake smile on my face – trying in earnest not make a reaction that would cause me to lose my job – acting like my grandmother Packy… you know, my eyes wide, blinking rapidly, while silently thinking: “Nope, this is not happening right now. Nope, I’m imagining all of this.”

The Jewish couple continued on with their banter… some of their more ignorant snippets include:

“It only happened once… and he apologized for it.”

“I’m not condoning what he did… but…”

“If people are going to cast stones and judge, they need to do that with all families on TV, like the Kardashian’s.”

“At least he had a conscience and told the truth.”

“His sister forgave him… I don’t know why the media is saying he’s a pedophile.”

“Children in big households get curious and sometimes things happen.”

Is your stomach in knots yet? Do you feel like throwing up? My skin was prickly as I heard them say all of this and I had to stand there and nod my head, acting like I saw their point of view… when I clearly don’t. All I have to say is that I DISRESPECTFULLY disagree. When I came home, one of the first things I did was look up all the details of what Josh Duggar actually did, so as not to sound ignorant myself. If you’re not caught up, take a gander…

http://www.intouchweekly.com/posts/josh-duggar-chilling-molestation-confession-in-new-police-report-59752

It didn’t happen “once.” It didn’t just happen to a sister… it also happened to a family friend. It wasn’t just the light graze of a tit or even two kids playing “House.” No, this was a fifteen-year-old doing unspeakable things to his five-year-old sister while she slept. Considering Jim Bob Duggar (who looks like The Beast from the old TV version of Beauty & The Beast) made it a point in 2002 to state that he felt incest should be punishable by death, it’s obvious that his offspring were probably taught a young age that such a thing was wrong… right?

It’s disgusting and downright appalling how the Duggar’s hold their daughters to a certain standard, but their son does this and they cover it up… that’s dangerous, it’s unhealthy, and I not only feel sorry for the victims, I actually feel sorry for Josh Duggar. His disgusting father and his spineless mother should have gotten him the help he needed when his inexcusable behavior became more frequent… but it’s as plain as the light of day that the family cared more about their appearance than about actually doing the right thing and that was actively seeking help for their brood. My mother loves me with all her heart, but even she’s said, “If you came to me and said, ‘Ma, I murdered someone…’ I would turn your ass in.”

It’s called parenting.

I find it entertaining and kind of sick that the rightwing are turning this into politics. It’s not about politics, it’s about the fact that a family that actively spews their hateful venom under the guise of “Christianity” is getting a healthy dose of karma. I have nothing against Republicans – they are amazing in bed – and I have nothing against Christians either… but when you claim to live under the guidance of the Lord and actively seek out to discriminate against the LGBT community and those who don’t follow the practices your family does (believing in God, abstaining before marriage, covering up child molestation, etc.), call me a kooky liberal or someone with a gay agenda, but I bust out my finest cha-cha pumps and do a little twirl, swirl, and twerk in the kitchen.

My thoughts and prayers – I hope God accepts those from queers still – go out to the rest of the family who has been affected (not the parents though, fuck both of them for the way they blatantly covered all of this up and allowing this to happen repeatedly). As the son of a woman who was repeatedly molested when she was younger and as the oldest of four and the only son among a tribe of girls, I feel really disgusted by this entire story.

As an older brother – or older sibling for that matter – it is your job to look out for your siblings. That’s a responsibility given to you, whether you like it or not. I haven’t been the best brother, but if someone ever harmed one of my sisters, I would snap their fucking neck without question. More over, on the Kinsey Scale of sexuality, I’m probably a solid five… with six being “Exclusively Homosexual.” I have been “curious” a time or two about women… wondering, “Hmm, could I?” Of course, this was during my youth, before I came out and before I was ever really sure about my orientation. With that said, I never felt the need to touch any of my sisters inappropriately unless I was wiping their ass while changing their diapers.

For a couple of years, I even shared a room with my sister Asia, who is six years younger… and the only time I climbed into bed with her or touched her while she slept was the time I attempted to cut her hair while she was sleeping or to draw on her face with a Sharpie. The argument that “large families equate to curious kids touching each other” is stupid… when I was curious, I climbed into bed naked with the daughter of my mom’s best friend (she’s two years old than me, I was five). It makes me furious when someone makes that suggestion… what, did the little sister “ask for it” by dressing provocatively in Lion King underwear?

Josh Duggar was obviously mentally ill and needed some form of treatment… and his parents failed him in every way possible. Josh also failed his siblings when he broke their trust and violated them.

Period.

The end.

No argument.

If it had been a fifteen-year-old that wasn’t related to the Duggar’s, I’m sure there would have been an investigation and a trial. The hammer of justice would have come down even harsher than the media is now some years later after Josh’s actions. It’s sad that people will make excuses for just about anyone these days… what’s even sadder is the fact that some of us service people have to agree with everything an ignorant guest has to say for fear of getting a complaint or receiving a write-up… but then again, “the customer is always right!”… Right?

It’s nice to know, though, that if you do something REALLY bad and you’re REALLY sorry for it and you ADMIT TO IT AFTER A POLICE REPORT LEAKS that it’s okay.

I guess now would be a good time to admit that when I was younger, I would ring up items in the self check-out at Wal-Mart under “grapes.”

Friends & Other Enemies, Ch. 5 – My Mother Hates You

“When are you going to come pick up this car?” my grandmother, Packy, asked in her thick Boston accent on the phone.

No “hello.”

No “is it me you’re looking for?”

Since moving to Vegas, I had left the Chrysler La Baren convertible I had paid off through high school at my grandmother’s because I didn’t have enough time to register it and was in no position – experience-wise – to drive it on the freeway into Sin City. At that point in time, from the summer of 2006 until the start of the summer of 2007, the car had been wasting away in front of my grandmother’s house across the street from Starline Elementary School, which I used to attend.

“We can make a trip of it, I’m so interested to meet this Packy in person,” my theatrical roommate James mentioned casually.

And so the stage was set, James and I would drive to Havasu – just two-and-a-half hours south of Vegas – to retrieve my car, stay overnight at my best gay friend Robi’s house, meet with other familiar faces, and then return home! I was finally going to have my own set of wheels in this bitch! Before we left, we tasked James’ bestie Lani to watch over the apartment – since she was practically living with us anyway – and told her to make sure our roommate John didn’t turn the air conditioner down to a ridiculous temperature.

John – who was, for lack of a better term, kind of a neanderthal – moved in after our old roommie, nineteen-year-old Josh, ran off to live with Deanna, the thirty-something Denny’s waitress and mother of two. In that time, John had managed to move a swamp cooler up into his bedroom to help deal with the heat. It looked ridiculous taking up unnecessary space in his room and making all kinds of noise while never actually contributing anything in the way of reducing heat. While John had been a friend of both James and I prior to moving in with us, he was starting to get on our last nerve… even our former house dog hated him.

Buttons – a miniature black poodle that our friend Katy needed to find a home for – moved in with us and I greatly appreciated the novelty of having a dog and the companionship that came with it… for all of a week until the dog started chewing on my action figures, barking up a storm, and refusing to let me put her on a leash to take her for a walk.

Nothing makes you feel more alive than wearing nothing but a Super Mario Brothers t-shirt and boxer-briefs while running after a miniature poodle wearing a bedazzled pink collar outside through your apartment complex. The only entertainment that came from Buttons was when she got loose from her kennel and decided to shit right on John’s bed. Eventually, a new home was found for the dog before I went all Cruella De Vil… but alas, we were still stuck with the other dog in John, who once fell asleep in basketball shorts on the couch and was sporting a massive hard-on.

I was overcome by such a fit of hilarity that I had to quietly pull James away from hanging out on the balcony to take in the sight of John and his hilariously obnoxious boner.

“What do we do? Do we turn him over, out of respect?” James asked, shaking his head as I was covering my mouth, trying not to let my laughter wake up John.

“I dare you to touch it,” I giggled.

“Ew, I’m not touching anything on John, you touch it!” James said with a grimace.

“Should we, like, wake him or just cover him with a blanket?” I asked seriously, considering he was asleep in the common area of the apartment and the sight of his baby arm out of my peripherals was distracting me from my video games. In the end, we wound up covering him up in order to keep it classy.

Lani promised to watch over the apartment while we were gone and to cover up any boners in her presence and before I knew it, James and I were in Havasu, where I warned him of all of the dangers of my natural habitat.

James – being one of the closest friends I had made since moving to Vegas – had heard all of my interesting stories about my upbringing and the people I was surrounded by in The Hav. He didn’t believe half the stories until he actually met the likes of my harpy-voiced grandmother, the passive-aggressive Robi, and the Glamazonian Laura.

The visit to The Hav was easy and fun, as I showed James around all of the various points of interest such as the famous Ed’s Deli, the McCulloch Realty building with the orange ball, my high school, and of course, Packy’s pink house that looked like something out of She-Ra. James, however, was more interested in meeting people.

“I hope we run into this Farrah Arkham,” James said on one occasion as I nervously ducked behind displays and clothes racks at K-Mart (JUST IN CASE!) as we went to purchase a new battery for the car. To James’ credit, his charisma really helped endear him to my grandmother – who asked me in private if we were, uh, “roommates or roommates” – and my best friend Laura, who remained flawless and unchanged since I moved away. Unfortunately, I could tell Robi was insanely jealous over my friendship with James, which was ludicrous considering I kept in regular contact with Robi since my move.

As was always the case with Robi, his jealousy and insecurity took on the form of unnecessary sass and biting sarcasm. That ended rather quickly when James – in his casual, chill “Vegas way” – fired back and made it clear he could throw down some shade with the best of them. In a way, I really enjoyed watching someone alien to the environment really hold their own against Robi, mainly because Robi had no way of attacking back or winning since he didn’t really know that much about James. Despite the rocky start, the boys played nice for the rest of our visit (or, should I say, Robi backed off) and we wound up having dinner with my friend Winnie and of course with Laura at Chili’s where Winnie and I used to work. Somehow, someway, the topic of my mother was brought up.

“Oh, Lisa loves me!” Laura stated emphatically, causing James and Robi to both snicker.

“Laura,” I said, squeezing the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger. “My mother hates you.”

“Thomas, that’s not true,” Laura laughed, until she saw both James and Robi – both having been privy to my mother’s tirades about her disdain for Laura – nodding their heads in confirmation. Even Winnie began nodding her head, just so she wouldn’t feel left out.

“Why does your mother hate me!? What the hell did I ever do to her? Did my house fall on her?” Laura asked exasperated.

“Ohmigod, Laura, you don’t remember?” I asked.

Laura looked at me puzzled and I gave her another look, telepathically trying to jog her memory.

“Oh, tell us, Tommy, tell us,” redheaded Winnie said with a big grin, stirring the pot ever so carefully.

“Seriously, who can forget Bitchfest ’05!?” I asked with a grin. “It all started when Laura’s little brother Nate started dating our co-worker Tanya…”

Friends & Other Enemies, Ch. 3/4 – You Can’t Sit With Us/Page Turner

Friends & Other Enemies, Ch. 3 – You Can’t Sit With Us!

After Furrocious came and went, I started developing more of a friendship with Ling-Ling and after a bit of time, he, myself, Richard, and a friend of Ling-Ling’s named Jaric collectively became known as The Gaysians of Mpowerment. We sat together during meetings, hung out together outside of the group, and Ling-Ling even began comparing us to Mean Girls, which was child’s play considering my time spent with The Heathers of Havasu.

To be perfectly honest, I found it slightly annoying and unoriginal considering every group of gay friends thinks they are in the same league as a group of fictional high school females; at least the movie Heathers had a body count, Regina George didn’t even die after getting steamrolled by a bus in her movie. Speaking of Regina, Ling-Ling – naturally! – fashioned himself the leader of The Gaysians. In his own little mind, he was a legend, despite the fact that no one knew who in the blue-hell he was. He was Regina, Jaric was Karen because he was the designated airhead, and Richard was the Gretchen of the group since he was the only one with an actual connection to Judaism and was also privy to everyone’s secrets and gossip.

Me?

I was left over as the Cady Heron of the group, blindly going along with this clique without thinking any harm was being done and not possibly giving any thought to why or how Ling-Ling would fuck me over, despite the warnings of my own “Janice” in Rai. Ling-Ling’s obsession with us being Gaysian Mean Girls was so ridiculous that he actually started up a Burn Book – some cheap-ass spiral drawing book – for us to exchange gossip, shade, and private notes.

Unfortunately, Ling-Ling was incapable of keeping his shade confined in the pages of the Burn Book and routinely went out of his way to insult others in the group. I was routinely lectured by the Mpowerment Coordinator Josh that there was a strict no-clique policy in the group, which I will state here and now was absolute dogshit considering how everyone splintered off into their own social circles. It was then, during one particular Mpowerment meeting, that the other dominant clique in the group – The Unfriendly Black Hotties – decided to have a “come to Jesus” meeting with me and mention that they wanted me to talk to Ling-Ling in an effort to curb his vicious tongue.

I really didn’t see how any of this was my problem or why it fell on my shoulders, considering the fact that Kris and Gavin were always giving me attitude for no reason even before my inclusion into The Gaysians. Sadly, they knew my weakness in order to get me to aid their cause and appealed to my ego.

“Everyone likes you, Tommy,” Gavin feigned. “Ling-Ling will listen if it comes from you.”

I believed Gavin’s words and decided that it couldn’t hurt. After all, Gavin, Josh, and Kris’ concerns weren’t unfounded… Ling-Ling could be seriously cutting and more often than not I found myself downplaying the things I enjoyed in an effort to keep from being judged, mocked, or ridiculed by someone I wanted to keep as a friend. Why I wanted to keep Ling-Ling as a friend was beyond me, considering we had no common interests… he knew the names of every Pokemon and I was more concerned about knowing the precise date that Sable debuted in the WWF.

Nonetheless, I attempted to keep the peace and had a sit down with Ling-Ling one night at The Center before the others arrived.

“Ling, look, some people came up to me and told me they’ve been really bothered with some of the things we’ve been saying.”

While many people’s gripes were about Ling-Ling, I was willing to share part of the blame as I had always just gone along with Ling’s backbiting, condescending humor. I was just as much at fault as he was, at least in my mind.

“I think we should probably tone down on some of our little quips,” I suggested, as if I was a child lecturing my parents on how to behave in public. “We’re really hurting people’s feelings.”

Ling-Ling sat there with a cold presence and flatly responded without even so much as a a hint of remorse, compassion, or humor, “Fine then. If they have a problem with it, maybe we just shouldn’t hang out anymore then.”

“That’s not what I said-” I started, but my shocked statement fell on deaf ears. Ling-Ling had made up his mind in that moment and shut me out of the group just like that. There was no more discussion, no explanations… not a damn thing. I was exiled from The Gaysians and worse off, Ling-Ling – who was four or five years older than me and should have been over these high school dramatics – went out of his way to play nice with the people who had felt wronged by him. What made matters even worse was the fact that Gavin and Kris didn’t give a shit that I was the one who lost a friend while they cozied up to him and began acting all buddy-buddy.

I was definitely hurt and felt slighted, as if everyone had plotted with one another just to make me look foolish and was even more angry at the fact that Richard didn’t go to bat for me and Bucky was also benefiting from Ling-Ling’s sudden turn to the good side. Rai – for those few awkward months where I was the Mpowerment pariah – was my only real friend in that group, being kind enough to not say, “I told you so.” Rai, however, did fantasize with me about various methods to get back at Ling-Ling, but neither one of us could afford the jail time.

That’s when Rai reminded me of something that Ling-Ling had in his possession that could be used as a weapon against me; an act he was not above doing.

“He has nothing on me, Rai,” I said confidently. “I’m boring as fuck.”

“Girl, did you write anything about Dicky in that Burn Book?” Rai asked nervously.

I was horrified at the thought. I had confessed – in the book – that I had secretly fallen back “in-like” with Dicky #2 and how I struggled and failed numerous times to get his attention. It was there, in black and white, written in my signature handwriting… unmistakable and there for all the world to see. I remember, in that moment, my ass was sweating at the humiliation I was going to suffer at the hands of Mr. Kung Pow Chicken.

“Ohmigod, Rai, what the fuck am I going to do!?”

After a moment of reflection, Rai set up the goal.

“We’re going to get that Burn Book.”

Friends & Other Enemies, Ch. 4 – Page Turner

The mission was clear: get the Burn Book before Ling-Ling could humiliate me.

On paper, it all seemed so easy, but the only problem was that everyone in Mpowerment knew about the book and wanted to read it desperately. This meant that the book was never out of Ling-Ling’s sight, and if it was, it was often left in the care of Richard. Since Rai and I were in cahoots, and we couldn’t really trust anyone else with this matter, we had to sneak around not just my former fellow Gaysians, but we also had to maneuver around everyone else. Since Richard and Ling-Ling enjoyed nothing more than to write in the book and give knowing glances to one another in-between fits of laughter, it was always a priority for them to bring the Burn Book to Mpowerment so they could have their little Mean Girls moments.

On several occasions, Rai and I failed to retrieve the book, usually trying to create a diversion that would distract The Gaysians long enough for me to pillage the book and tear out anything incriminating that I had written. The only problem was, I needed enough time to sift through the book as I wasn’t quite sure which page held my raw emotional confessions. More often than not, if The Gaysians were diverted away from their belongings, they always brought the book with them… or if Rai was meant to cause a distraction, Dicky #1 – the annoying asshat – would foil our plans by getting on his soapbox about something stupid (not nearly as stupid as those indigo contacts, mind you).

During all of this, PRIDE came and went, and I found myself on level ground with Dicky #2. Somewhere along the line, during one of the after parties hosted at the bar Flex, Dicky and I were left to our own devices… and we actually began to carry on a real conversation, something we had never done despite our encounter in the Stairwell to Heaven. I won’t sit here and pretend that he opened up to me intentionally or felt it was time to become good friends even though we had both sucked each other off to completion… I’m not that egotistical. I just happened to be around him at a time where his inhibitions were low and he was loosened up thanks to alcohol, weed, or whatever it was that he chose to celebrate PRIDE with.

We talked, we laughed, and… it wasn’t awkward. In fact, we were enjoying each other’s company so much that Dicky #2 offered to drive me home. As you can imagine, I was sweating profusely from nerves and was even more astonished when Dicky mentioned he was hungry and suggested we get something to eat. We stopped off at the Denny’s by my apartment and I had to make sure that crazy cougar Deanna wasn’t working or prowling the premises for another teenage boyfriend before we actually got comfortable in a booth of our own. We continued conversing, sharing funny stories, and having a wonderful time, allowing me the opportunity to build up my courage to actually ask about our tryst at the college.

“I thought we had a good time,” I said sheepishly. “Can I ask, why did you just blow me off after I asked you out and you said yes?”

This was the type of moment I wish I could have had with Spencer. I wanted to know the “why?”… and call it self-entitlement, but I felt I deserved to know why so I could avoid making the same mistakes in the future. Dicky shrugged and answered as bluntly and as politely as he could.

“Yeah, it was fun, but I’m really not looking for anything serious,” Dicky told me, which would set the trend for almost every other man that followed in the years to come. “I was just looking to get off, you know? It really wasn’t anything personal.”

In that moment, I felt a large weight be lifted from my shoulders as all of the cards were placed on the table and the awkwardness could now go away. The pink elephant in the room had been addressed, hunted, and had its head mounted above my fireplace. The night ended innocently with me being dropped off at home before hitting the hay. This entire encounter not only made me feel more mature, but it also made me like Dicky as a person now that I knew something substantial about him. He was interesting and I felt like we could become good friends with this clean slate between us… which was why retrieving the book, by any means, was so damn important.

I didn’t need Ling-Ling revealing what I had written long before my PRIDE experience with Dicky and causing Dicky to think that I still felt that way about him, sabotaging any chance of a good friendship or camaraderie. Rai agreed with me on all fronts and, as luck would have it, the next Mpowerment meeting following PRIDE – where we all marched in our Furrocious costumes, with Bucky putting together a “frog prince” costume that devolved into some random-ass “bird of prey” get-up – Rai and I were able to accomplish one of the greatest covert operations ever… at least for our ragtag group of queers.

Ling-Ling – who had started seeing someone – was not attending group the night that Richard was present. Even though I was still upset with Richard for not coming to my aid when I was kicked out of the group, I still had a softspot for the kid – who would later become one of my very best friends. Rai, to his credit, slapped me to my senses, almost literally, as I felt bad for getting ready to completely invade Richard’s privacy. Since The Gaysians – even when I was part of the group – often rotated who was in possession of The Burn Book, it wasn’t uncommon to see Richard take it home or for me to have it at work.

This go-around, Richard was in possession of the book as I overheard while he was on the phone with Ling-Ling, who was reminding him not to leave the book lying around. Richard promised him that it was safely locked inside his car…

…Or so he thought.

Richard, who was and still is notorious for misplacing items such as his cell-phone and his car keys, was summoned away by Rai with some sort of distraction. I believe Richard – a very talented graphic artist – was asked his opinion on a flier for the group’s summer event, which meant that this distraction could go on for however long I needed as long as Rai asked the right questions. This should have been a dead giveaway to Richard, as Rai was planning on moving to California before the summer event… so why was he even showing interest in the flier to begin with?

Richard, true to form, left his bag behind as group hadn’t started and there weren’t any shady individuals around. That’s when I rifled through his bag and stole his keys, rushing outside to the parking lot in an attempt to find Richard’s car. I found the car and eagerly unlocked the doors, knowing that I still needed to return the keys unnoticed.

I dreaded what was in store for me as I knew Richard’s car was a mess, but luckily the book was nestled on the floor of the front passenger side, the side I opened first. I immediately opened the book and began scanning the pages quickly as I stood on the outside of the car, the passenger door wide open. I occasionally glanced up to see if anyone was approaching as my blood pressure rose.

I remembered that on the page where I had written my confession, I had made a couple of doodles. Finally, I came upon the page and made a sound of triumph that sounded like a laugh dry-humping a roar. I ripped the page out of the book and put the book back in its place, locking the door from the inside, and then shutting the door. When I turned around, that’s when I was met with a very unexpected and unpleasant sight…

…The car next to Richard’s, a dingy midnight blue color, had the tinted window of the driver’s side rolled down and the driver – a man in his early-to-mid fifties – had his hard cock sticking out through the zipper of his khakis, with one hand working it over furiously as he gave me a stoic – but still inviting – look. I huffed, rolled my eyes, and ran off into The Center like I was on fire, as this kind of thing was not uncommon in this parking lot, situated between gay bathhouses and swinger clubs. I re-entered The Center, my page from the book folded in my pocket, and returned Richard’s keys to his bag just before he returned with Rai and Dicky #1.

I gave Rai a small nod and a smile, letting him know “mission accomplished” and the night carried on without a hitch.

Although, I will admit, I did die a little bit inside when I realized I could have easily gotten a hold of my page from the book if I had just waited for Richard to drive me home, which is exactly what happened after the Mpowerment meeting came to a close.

Friends & Other Enemies, Ch. 2 – Welcome to the Jungle

My first official Mpowerment event was the dreaded Gay Skate Night of 2006 months prior, that’s when I first learned about this group and had met Bucky, Richard, and a host of other interesting characters such as my fairy godmother Sister Loosey of the Sin City Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence and “The Unfriendly Black Hotties” in Gavin and Kris.

My first official Mpowerment event as an official member of the group, however, was the spring quarterly event leading up to the annual PRIDE parade and festival. Once more, we found ourselves transported to the mystical, magical realm of The Crystal Palace roller rink, where the aforementioned Gay Skate Night had taken place and a place where good taste had gone to die a slow and agonizing death… in the 1970s.

We had an animal theme for this event, because all queens love a good theme party. The goal for this event was to create a “fun and fresh atmosphere” in an attempt to attract new members in our age bracket. More members meant more grants and other forms of funding from the government. Unfortunately, we were unable to do anything too risque and we couldn’t even serve alcohol to members who were of age, which worked against us as a handicap of sorts. Trying to find new ways to recruit members through our events was difficult since we were located in a city whose entire foundation was built on booze and sex.

Essentially, we were the Disney Channel of gay men’s social groups… not even humorous enough to be a Nickelodeon program circa Salute Your Shorts. The name of our shindig was Furrocious: Welcome to the Jungle, and since I was the newest recruit whose cup runneth over with enthusiasm and perkiness, I tossed myself into the creative process of coming up with a stellar costume. In fact, pretty much all of the impact players of Mpowerment got swept up in the spirit of competition.

In the weeks leading up to Furrocious, Rai, Bucky, and myself made it a point to call one another out and attempt to sabotage one another in hopes of walking away with one of the three awards, which were reserved for the sexiest costume, the most original costume, and the overall best costume (or most animal-like, I can’t really remember exactly). Despite coming into my own sexually, I was still a little apprehensive about my own body and decided to play it safe, knowing that I could easily slay the competition with the most original costume. Part of my reasoning behind going for the most original costume was also a vain attempt at trying to catch the attention of Dicky #2.

Even though I wasn’t angry at Dicky #2 for kind of brushing me off when I attempted to take him out after we had our impromptu hook-up and I had moved on without incident, I had started developing a crush on him all over again because of the fact that we were constantly around each other due to our involvement in Mpowerment. It also didn’t help at all that he was the only person I was attracted to in the group that wasn’t a complete nutjob or Garbage Pail Kid.

I constantly sought him out and would make sure I always looked as pristine as possible and was becoming frequently frustrated at the fact that he refused to pay me any attention. I figured if I showed off my creative spark and dressed in something cute, perhaps that would peak some sort of interest. It was a safer plan than gunning for the sexiest costume and crashing and burning in the process, especially considering our own ebony queens in Rai and Bucky were going at it like Patti LaBelle and Aretha Franklin in their quest to one-up each other.

By the time the event was upon us, the diva claws were out and there was no turning back. Of course, there was a tedious amount of queens and fairies parading around in wifebeaters, animal masks, and animal ears. Richard, who was too reserved for such childish things, was one of the many rocking a headband with some form of animal ears attached. Bucky came dressed as a cross between an extra from CATS and a black Cruella De Vil. His aesthetic wasn’t half-bad… but I wouldn’t say it was half-good either as he refused to take part in the skating portion of the event and sauntered around in red and white striped leggings, a black wig, and a fur coat.

I had opted to come dressed up as a “cub” scout, complete with fur-trimmed socks, gauntlets, and a full-on boy scout uniform topped off with a propeller hat and face mask. I even brandished a whip, just for added emphasis. Rai, of course, had to show off his legs, his ass, and his abs dressed as a sexy panda, painting his face and rocking a chinchilla half-coat which infuriated Bucky to no end. Other key people within the group who had decided to come out in full costume included Javier, who was always the drunkest bitch at every event – despite us not serving alcohol, figure that one out! – and Dicky #1. Dicky #1 came dressed in a full human-sized pink flamingo costume – which belonged to Josh – while Javier was dressed in a cheetah-print top and I believe a black skirt. Javier was gunning for sexiest costume, but in reality, he looked like Selena’s assassin in Peg Bundy’s hand-me-downs.

Furrocious: Welcome to the Jungle

Rai took home the gift basket of assorted goodies for Sexiest Costume, which surprised absolutely no one but Javier, and Bucky was not amused to lose Best Costume to Flamingo Dicky, who took home a small stereo as his prize. Sadly, that stereo eventually was hawked for much-needed funds as Dicky #1 refused to work and never contributed anything financially to his “partnership” with Rai, who consistently carried his ass through life.

With the winners of the costume contest announced, we all carried on without a care in the world, skating and having a gay old time while making plans to go get drunk at The Eagle which offered up cheap, watered-down drinks but also allowed us to sneak in underage people like Richard and Bucky due to there being lax (or non-existent) security. I was slightly disappointed that Dicky #2 wasn’t at the event to see me in all of my creative glory but continued having a great time in my ridiculous get-up regardless. On this night, I met Ling-Ling, the chipmunk-looking Gaysian that would turn out to be the Wicked Witch of my little fairy tale.

Ling-Ling was your stereotypical Asian, he enjoyed sushi, anime, and sometimes when he talked, he looked as if his voice had been dubbed over. As the then-Editor-in-Chief of the queer-orientated publication known as QVegas – which featured more ads than content from cover-to-cover – Ling-Ling was at Furrocious in order to get pictures for the next issue and ingratiate himself to our little “coven.” Richard became friends with Ling-Ling right away, Bucky didn’t seem to care about him one way or another, but Rai instantly could tell that the little toadstool was nothing but trouble.

“I can sense it with my mystical Asian powers,” Rai said, looking ridiculous in white-face as a man-sized panda. “Cats, children, and Rai Couture all have one thing in common… we can sense evil.”

I soon learned what Rai meant when Ling-Ling sped past me on the floor of the roller rink and grabbed a hold of my whip, pulling me along at a speed that no uncoordinated fairy should be traveling at, before letting me go and launching me into a pair that were coasting close to the barricade. I laughed it off but should’ve taken it as a sign that that’s how our impending “friendship” was going to be.

As Rai would say after the event as we headed out to The Eagle, “It was like you were Gina Gershon and he was Elizabeth Berkeley shoving you down the stairs in Showgirls. That bitch is gonna come for you.”

There’s always someone younger and hungrier coming after you down the stairs.

I heard – and listened – to what my friend told me, but at the same time, there was no way Ling-Ling would “come for me” when the fact was I was still a “nobody” in the group. I brushed the insinuations and crazy theories off and continued on with my night as we Mpowerment boys prepared for another one of our legendary Eagle excursions.

Soon thereafter, Ling-Ling became a fixture in Mpowerment and as the PRIDE season loomed over our heads, it became increasingly clear what Ling-Ling’s endgame truly was. Sadly, I would be too wrapped up in trying to gain Dicky #2’s favor to really see what was going down before it was too late and I was, metaphorically, shoved down the stairs.

Friends & Other Enemies, Ch. 1 – “Toto, I Don’t Think We’re in Kansas Anymore…”

Life outside the comfort of my bowling nights and excursions on the Strip with my roommates James Van Buren and John Powell, along with our mutual friend Katy Moore, was odd, frightening, and exhilarating. Even though The LGBT Center of Southern Nevada was just a few miles west of my apartment at Antigua Bay, I constantly felt as if I was Dorothy and had just been swept up in a tornado and dropped in the middle of some random-ass village every time I stepped foot into the building.

“Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore…” I felt like muttering every time I ventured off to an Mpowerment meeting. In this case, I didn’t have a dog to refer to as Toto and if I felt like acting like Judy Garland, I would have to defer my comments to whatever bum sat outside of The Center with his fly open, begging for loose change and a shot of Penicillin.

The Center prided itself on offering a “safe” haven for LGBT members of the community, especially the youth, yet I don’t know how safe of a haven it truly was considering the building was in-between a swingers’ club and a gay bathhouse. The bathhouse next to The Center was Hawk’s Gym, where I had mistakenly thought I was going to be raped by my own reflection during Black-Out Night, while the swingers’ club was the famous Green Door, which charged upwards of $60 for a single male to enter and $5 for a single woman since the male-to-female ratio was insanely unbalanced… this I knew from a first-hand account made by a female theater acquaintance of mine who bragged about letting a dude ejaculate on her feet while patronizing the building.

The front of the The Center acted as a lobby, where you could see a variety of people on any given day waiting to take their HIV and Syphilis tests, the tension and anxiety so thick in the building that you could literally cut it with a knife. Of course, that’s if you weren’t being distracted by the drama that often exploded near the row of community computers that every ratchet bitch in the area came in to use in order to check their MySpace accounts, Adam4Adam profiles, or Craigslist ads. Fist fights would break out over who signed into the computers first and whoever was working reception would usually have to yell at one homo or another to use headphones when blaring their German remix of whatever Kylie Minogue song they found off of KaZaa or Limewire or whatever piracy program was popular at that exact moment.

If you walked down the singular zig-zag hallway, you’d find a huge community room on the left which had one smaller room (the original Mpowerment room) toward the back and a larger room toward the front (which would become the Mpowerment group’s new meeting space later on and which also housed the precious snack room and soda cabinet). Across the hall from the community room was the library where the pseudo-intellectuals pretended to give a damn about homosexual literature. Further down the halls were the bathrooms and the office of Josh Montgomery, the paid coordinator of Mpowerment, a couple more smaller meeting rooms, and then the office of the President of The Center, Candace Nichols, who was always rocking the angry lesbian haircut popularized by heterosexual Kate Gosselin.

Aside from the Mpowerment group, The Center played host to a variety of groups and clubs. There was The L Group, which – as you probably have correctly guessed – was the group for the saphiccally-inclined (i.e. the lezzies); The Youth Group (open to everyone from age thirteen-to-twenty-four, a group where those of us in Mpowerment took bets on who would positively contribute to society or wind up in Juvenile Hall), and The G-Men Group, which was a group reserved for the those who were really up there in age. While The G-Men Group was pretty much open to all men, the majority of their members were silver foxes collecting social security who had gone to grade school with Betty White. I wasn’t – and am not – ageist by any means, but I have to say I found it a little disturbing that two members of their group, in their sixties, had broken the sink right off of the wall in the men’s bathroom by having sex on it. I was even more disturbed – as was the rest of my Mpowerment brethren – to discover that the group had made an orgy DVD, entitling it Silver Dollar Productions.

In the words of Sybrina Bernabe, the woman who would later take over for Josh as the coordinator for Mpowerment, the sight of two old men giving each other a blowjob looked like: “someone tonguing a gummy bear.”

Just like Oz (Dorothy’s Oz, not the HBO Oz, although that comparison could work too), not only was the environment mind-altering and odd, so were the characters that regularly populated the halls. At the time of my initiation into the group, I was the Dorothy… I was the newbie, a stranger in a strange land. I was traveling down the Yellow Brick Road and started making friends along the way, or as best as I could despite looking like a complete fool my first night as part of the group (for details, pick up my first book Ex-Oh!-Ex-Oh, Hell No! available in stores soon, I hope/pray).

My first friend in Mpowerment, of course, was the incomparable Bucky.

In many ways, Bucky was my Cowardly Lion. He possessed tremendous courage and didn’t give a rat’s ass if he came off too flaming or if he offended anyone. When I first met him, he didn’t have a dime to his name and was about as impoverished as they came… but he never allowed that to affect his mood or his fabulousness. It didn’t matter if he was worse off than others, he was never going to allow anyone else to disrespect him because of that and would rightfully put people in their place if the mood called for it.

As he stated so famously just a few days ago on social media: “I’m sure you have a lane, so stay in it.”

In a lot of ways, Bucky was the prototype for the perfect Mpowerment member. He was strong, confident, and powerful – not just physically – but spiritually and mentally. Although, he really hated it when I referred to him as “Hollywood” because he reminded me of Meshach Taylor in the movie Mannequin.

Bucky England = Hollywood Montrose

Then there was Rai Springfield – or Rai Couture as he would refer to himself – who was a lot like me and Bucky, searching for himself while chasing dreams that seemed so fleeting. He was my Scarecrow, meaning he was also my closest friend in the group (at the time) and my most trusted confidante. He was too smart, witty, and sassy for his own good, capable of slamming a group full of horribly-dressed youth kids while also making the most nonsensical of things seem quite logical.

Being half-African American and half-Japanese, Rai had a unique look and a lithe frame that would put most teenage twinks to shame. Like the Scarecrow, he was a limber son of a bitch; with Bucky being the only person on the dance floor that could clash with him and walk away with their dignity intact. Of course, the only drawback to being Rai’s friend was the fact that he was constantly flanked by his “plus-one,” Dicky #1. Dicky #1 was referred to as Rai’s “plus-one” because we never knew what the hell they were… and neither did Rai.

Were they a couple? Roommates? Fuck buddies?

They lived together for a majority of the time Rai lived in Vegas, at one point they officially dated as well, but Dicky #1 was a complete and total odd job. A man born of Native American heritage, Dicky #1 desired nothing more than to fit in with white culture… bleaching his hair, lightening his skin, and wearing indigo contacts.

“Seriously,” Rai said one night when we arrived at Mpowerment early, being the only ones in the meeting room, “I don’t know why you find Dicky #2 attractive, he’s short and materialistic. He has the Louis Vutton logo tattooed on his body for Christ’s sake!”

“Well your Dicky looks like a discarded puppet from Team America,” I pointed out. “Seriously, he’s Native American, bitch needs to be painting with the colors of the wind, not walking around in white-face.”

Dicky #1 in “Team America”

Of course, I could never make any kind of ethnic jokes around Richard Datuin.

While Richard and I didn’t get off to the greatest of starts – because he was a major snob – we eventually became good acquaintances and then really good friends, even if he kept me at arm’s length for good amount of time before finally letting his guard down. The epitome of a true Tin Man, Richard had the capacity to be very cold, steely, and almost unfeeling at times. This, of course, was all a facade to keep people at bay in an attempt to guard himself from being hurt. As I got to know him and become closer with him, I learned that Richard had a tremendous heart and that his fucked up childhood led to him being very protective over himself.

Hailing from a rather affluent family that generally treated him like a stranger, Richard was Filipino with a Jewish stepfather and familial ties to England. Instead of constantly lamenting about his upbringing, he – much like Bucky – let it fuel his drive to succeed and better himself on his own terms. Essentially, his friends became his family and he showed time and time again that he would do nothing short of crawling across broken glass for a friend.

Unfortunately, while Richard’s steely outward nature was a facade covering up a good heart and character, there were others whose niceness was all a charade to mask ill-intentions and judgmental behavior. The arrival of a “Dorothy” would not be complete without the ill-timed appearance of a “Wicked Witch.” This Wicked Witch would prove to be quite the adversary – a whore of a different color – making his appearance felt as Rai, Bucky, and myself shined brightly at the second quarterly Mpowerment event simply known as Furrocious.

Friends & Other Enemies, Prologue – Not All Sequels Suck

I grew up a horror movie fan, like most children of my generation who were coming-of-age during the heyday of the likes of Pinhead and the Cenobites, Freddy Krueger, and Jason Voorhees. Of course, the bane of every horror movie fan’s existence is the inevitable and often ridiculous sequels that follow in the footsteps of the first installment.

The characters become forgettable with less development than their predecessors, causing you to care less about what happens to them and becoming more interested in their inevitable (and sometimes satisfying) demise. Everything becomes a rehash of what succeeded in the first installment and ultimately you walk away from the ending feeling as if you’ve already been down this road before.

Luckily, I have no intention of committing the same atrocities with my own sequel, and I can assure you that this installment will surpass the original – Ex-Oh!-Ex-Oh, Hell No! – in every way, shape, and form.

When we last left off retelling the story of my life, I had just abandoned my job at Gamecrazy for a waiting job at Applebee’s and had ventured forward on my path into the world of LGBT activism as a new member of The Vegas Mpowerment Project, a group for gay/bi men in their 20s that promoted safer sex education, outreach, and a safe haven to meet and make friends, being forced to work in close proximity with my former university-stairwell hook-up in Dicky #2; a would-be plastic surgeon who had purposely brushed me off when I attempted to take him out after our initial hook-up. A new phase of my life was beginning and as I started to move forward and discover more about myself than I ever had before, I tried desperately to drag everyone else along with me for the ride, unaware that I was growing out of old behaviors and friendships, not quite ready to let go even though it was painfully obvious that I was fighting a losing battle with myself and the Powers That Be.

Eventually something was bound to break.

SPOILER ALERT!

It was me who would eventually break and ultimately shatter.

Ex-Oh!, Epilogue – Where Are They Now?

I know what you’re thinking.

That’s it!?! The end!?! What the fuck!? We didn’t even get to the part that you mentioned in the prologue, about you getting beat with a sandal!

As you can imagine, the story does not truly end here. In fact, it’s merely the beginning.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but stepping my foot into that Mpowerment meeting for the first time ever would go on to change my life – for better or for worse – permanently. I was no longer dealing with the Heathers and their minuscule Havasu exploits, I was now playing in the big leagues… and in the big leagues, they played for keeps. I quickly discovered that playing nice was going to get me absolutely nowhere and that I’d really have to play the game if I had any hope of winning.

The sad part was, as Taylor Swift would put it, I loved the players and they loved the game.

But as I said, all of that – plus the guy beating me with a sandal – is an entirely different story set for a different time… a story where Dicky #2 and I have an interesting “rivalry,” O’Malley returns to put all past lovers in my life to shame, and I make friendships with people who, when the chips were down, came through for me when I needed them the most. While the likes of Laura, James, Robi, Richard, O’Malley, Madawn, and many others would actively take part in my life later on (at least towards the end of the next memoir)… but what of the rest of the cast of characters that failed to return to syndication in my soap opera known as life?

Oh, good, I thought you’d never ask!

SPENCER

Moved out of Havasu in 2014 and to Portland, Oregon. For a long time, I harbored a very strong grudge against Spencer because I had felt he had wronged me on a very personal level. Growing older and becoming more seasoned, I no longer feel that way. He never promised me anything and while his standing me up on three different occasions was extremely shady and rude, the fact was I really should’ve gotten the hint the first time and moved on.

He seems well and if we ever ran into one another, I would probably smile and nod before continuing on my path. When it comes to Spencer, many other men committed way more atrocities against me, so he gets a pass.

Although – no tea, no shade – I still look back and wonder, “Why the fuck was I so crazy about him?” Sure, the dick was amazing, but the face I could’ve done without it.

THE HEATHERS

When the Heathers broke up, I lost touch with everyone until I was introduced to Facebook. Jonathan moved to Butte, Montana, which just shows how gay he truly is considering he lives in a town called Butte. Even though we have each other added on social media, we rarely chat, but he seems to be in a much happier place than when we were friends living in the same town.

Lincoln – who kept in contact mostly with Robi – lives in Berkeley, California now and is street missionary for Unitarian Universalism. He really cleaned up his appearance and is no longer preaching for people to take part in social change… but is actually doing it, being involved in Occupy Wall Street and taking part in the #BlackLivesMatter protest. Even though we had our moments of complete cattiness and bitchiness, I admire him greatly for his follow-through and commitment to his passions, and whenever I’m forced to deal with gays in the wild, I deal with them the way Lincoln would and take them down with my wits, intelligence, and charm.

Robert moved to Pasadena, California and became a hair stylist – which only made sense considering his flare for fashion and obsession with being well-groomed – and also seems happy, healthy, and vibrant just like Lincoln and Jonathan. It’s nice to see that despite the turmoil we all went through with ourselves, with our lovers, and with each other from 2004 until my eventual departure in 2006, that they all ended up in a good place; I’m genuinely happy for all three of them.

ANDY – ERIK – GERALD – BO – JASON – DEREK

Andy, as I found out in 2014, ended up moving to Vegas as well. I found out from my former co-worker Kelye after she posted a picture on my Facebook timeline of her standing with Andy at their workplace. It took me a moment to place who the fuck was with Kelye and then it sunk in. Obviously, they must have had a conversation about Andy being from The Hav which must have led Kelye to ask him if he knew who I was. Since he was posing for the photo, I imagined that Andy probably didn’t harbor any grudges against me for getting him sent to the principal’s office back in the day and sent him a friend request. Looking happy and thin (that bitch), Andy bought his own house in the City of Sin and I wish him nothing but the best.

Erik still lives in Havasu and was one of those people who mostly stayed in touch with Robi, and that was probably due to the fact that we never made any effort to be more than passing acquaintances, not necessarily because we had ill will against each other, but more because we had no real reason to have love for each other either. Last time I checked, he had gone on to attend school to become a hair stylist. Another person who became a hair stylist was Bo, who was on my Facebook and then deactivated his account. The last status I saw of his had him using all caps and failing to use spellcheck, as usual. Other than that, the only other notable change for Bo was that he was happily committed to a loving and caring individual… a stark contrast from when he was dating Jason long ago, who moved to Missouri and has been in a relationship for the last four years.

As for Gerald, the bane of almost every gay’s existence in Havasu, last time I heard – because I can’t even be bothered to snoop around the inter-webs for his crater-face – he had moved to Bumfuck, Idaho. Boy, bye!

Derek eventually gained good enough sense to move out of Havasu also, but wound up in Texas. He looks virtually the same, except that he’s balding, and I mean stepfather-style balding… where you only have hair on the sides of your scalp. Even though we are not friends on Facebook, I had the strong urge to message him just to tell him to bite the bullet and shave his head. For the most part, I’ll always have a soft spot in my heart for Derek. He was the first gay person of my own age that I ever remember meeting and he was always well-intentioned, unable to carry out a vendetta or say a spiteful word about anyone despite how he was treated.

THE A-GAYS – SID – BRITT

I didn’t stay in touch with anyone from The A-Gays, nor did I care to. The only news I received about any of them was in 2009 when Bob died on February 19th. He was only 56 and had already retired from the school district, but the cause of death had never been revealed. I was informed that Brad took the news especially hard, as that had been one of his best friends. He was a passionate teacher and an old wise-ass, may he rest in peace.

One person who did not rest in peace was Sid, who I saw a picture of years ago on Facebook. Britt and I maintain contact with each other through social media (she and Tempest got married and have three adorable boys) and she posted a pic of Sid. I, being ME, commented, “Wow, Sid gained a lot of weight.” Let’s just be real… Sid got fucking fat. Not thick, not chunky, not fluffy… FAT. Britt commented and then the unthinkable happened, Sid decided to comment and my asshole tightened like a virgin at a prison rodeo. Why would Britt comment and even post a picture of him (knowing how I am) if he was on her Facebook?

“Thanks a lot, Britt,” was all Sid could muster and Britt, my gay progeny, responded with: “Well, it’s true.” Since then, Sid has been off-the-grid (and hopefully on a diet). In regards to Britt, she knows she always has a place in my heart as myself, Robi, Jonathan, and Lincoln all took an active part in raising her as our “baby gay” at a time when coming-out was such a traumatic and difficult time for her.

ST. VICTOR – BORING

Jake Boring and I corresponded briefly after I moved to Vegas, but beyond that, I never heard from him again. Earlier in 2014, I actually got up the nerve to log into my old Yahoo! account and email him, wondering what became of him after all these years. I believe I was going through one of my “I’ll never find love” phases and – out of my desperation or frustration – decided to reach out to him to see if there was anything lingering between us after eight years. Thankfully, he never responded and I was grateful the next morning when I was over being temporarily insane. Prior to writing him, I searched for him on Facebook but to no avail. However, there was one profile where the person in the main picture looked suspiciously like him, and if that’s the case, there is a strong possibility that he’s dating women now… which would be a first for me. Again, no real grudges with him on my end, as I was the one who ended things.

Not to sound harsh or rude, but I don’t regret ending things at all.

As for St. Victor, in 2014 I began working at Red Robin and found out that I worked with two Havasunians that I absolutely adore, Becky and Diana. When Diana mentioned that she was friends with a lot of Havasu police officers, I laughed and mentioned one of my former flings was a Havasu cop. When she asked me who, her eyes wide with curiosity, I told her. After all, it had been eight years, there was a huge possibility that she didn’t know St. Victor. Strangely enough, she actually was very close with Victor and revealed to me that his cancer did eventually return and he wound up having his lymph-nodes removed and pretty much had a difficult time “getting it up.”

I then decided to reach out on social media to him, only to have him ignore the message I had sent, plus my friend request. While I could be a cruel bitch from time to time, I was never heartless enough to wish his cancer to actually return with a vengeance. Although I am writing my life experiences with the mindset and the voice that I had back during said experiences, my current feeling – and the feeling I’ve had in the last couple of years – has been that Victor did me a great service by lying to me in the first place and cutting off communication with me. I don’t feel I was emotionally strong enough to watch a would-be lover go through what he went through and had he committed to me and chosen to be with me, I would have stuck by his side, never leaving Havasu and never experiencing some of the better moments of my life.

That’s why, if given the chance to go back in time knowing then what I know now, I would have ignored his initial email and would have never responded, saving us both the time and the stress that came with our covert courtship.

JOSH – DEANNA

After Josh moved out, I never saw him again other than for him to pay his portion of the leftover utilities. I tried remaining friendly – I have no idea why – with Josh and he proved to be boring on social media, so I cut off contact with him. He and Deanna broke up soon after… big fucking shock, and I never had the misfortune of running into her, her lip-liner, or her Cruella De Vil-inspired eye make-up ever again. Josh went on to join the military, got married, and had a baby that looks just like him, which is a good thing considering his past affiliation with Deanna the cheating skank.

CHANEL – TRICIA – RICKY – ALICIA – COREY

I still stay in contact with my theater family, moreso with Chanel and Alicia than anyone else, although Tricia, Ricky, and Corey do check in from time-to-time. Everyone with the exception of myself and Chanel moved back to Havasu at some point in time or another, with Tricia becoming very successful in real estate, Ricky becoming the star male attraction at Grace Arts Live! (Grace Ann’s privately-owned theater company, which she opened after leaving the college), and Alicia becoming the first one of us to actively start a family, giving birth to baby Scarlett who looks just like her.

Corey graduated from AMDA and then moved back to Havasu, toying with writing and putting together his own revue before moving to New York, where he still resides. Chanel, as we all predicted, became the flower child hippie after being featured – and winning a date – on MTV’s NEXT. Developing a fondness for traveling and still looking as stunning as ever, Chanel relocated from California to Texas and will randomly drop me love nights on Facebook, always at a time when I desperately need it the most.

Eight years ago, each of us had dreams of making it big and achieving great success in show business. In 2007, as I started my tenure with Mpowerment, I truly felt that my dreams were beyond my reach, as i couldn’t even snag a callback for an audition. I was happy for my friends pursuing their dreams but felt as if I was in a race with them and I was still at the starting line.

I resented my friends and found myself to be jealous of them as they all ventured off to California to make it big. In a way, that resentment fueled my drive to succeed in Mpowerment, but at the same time, it ate away at me as I truly bought into the thought that I was the least-talented member of my group of friends. We were like the Spice Girls, and I was Sporty… and no one wanted to be Sporty Spice!

No one.

Slowly, but surely, I pushed ahead to prove the doubters – such as myself – wrong. I slowly came to the understanding that, like love, if I was ever going to achieve success, there were certain things I’d have to work on when it came to myself. I’d have to be more open to accepting criticism, I’d have to be more direct and take more accountability for my actions and my decisions, and more importantly, I had to be open to accepting praise instead of shooting myself and my talents down… I needed confidence because, as good of an actor as I was, I was horrible at faking it and I knew, when I finally broke through the barriers I had set up before myself, the praise would flood in and I had to be humble but… ready.

I also had no desire to feel jealous of my friends and didn’t want that ruining my friendships, so the only thing I could do was immerse myself in everything possible, which proved to be the key to both my success and my undoing…

…Then again, as I said, that’s an entirely different story. And you’ll just have to wait to see what happened next.

XOXO,
Tommy