To Trivia I Go... Or What A Group!

Once a week, I hang out with a group of guys and we compete in a brain-testing game of trivia.  I enjoy their company and have been wanting to write about them. I decided it was time.

First comes the disclaimer... I can't write about everyone in the group!  I just don't know everyone that well. So don't be all judgy if you don't read about yourself.  I've decided to write about the ones I know best... Or at least I think I know them... Hmmm... Maybe I don't know them... Maybe they'll become offended by what I write...  Ha!  Oh well. They'll just have to spank me... No wait.... I better rethink that.  Anyway...

Okay, back to the ones I know best...

First, there's this couple I like to think of as Little Cub and Papa Bear.  They are so cute together.  I've known Little Cub the longest; in fact, he was the one that invited me to trivia.  I've seen him go from very heart-broken to finding the love of his life.  However, at trivia, Little Cub can get pretty annoyed when we agree on one answer, then debate it and chose another, then find out we should have gone with the first choice. We really should have listened to Papa Bear...  He knew best when he said Monet. I can picture this pair together, snuggled up on the couch, watching a zombie-infested world go by.  They're so in love.  They make me feel hopeful that I will find that someone who will think of me more than just a "wham bam thank ya ma'am".

Now there is this one guy...  All I can say about him is...  He can be such a Gloomy Gus!  Look here Gus... Here's what I've got to say to you. "Be happy.  Don't be bitter. You're attractive. You have friends who care about you.  And yes, we know you're a loner.  But don't be so hard on yourself. Just remember you make other people hard..."  Or at least that's what I overheard. He reminds me that everyone has walked rough paths and we need kindness and lots of beer.

Of course, I can't forget the one I think of as "The Matriarch."  He reminds me of the type who sits and watches and evaluates.  You know like Maggie Smith on Downton Abbey.  I could see him in one of her big brimmed hats. With his white beard.  Sipping tea. I'm sure he would have nothing but nice things to say... Maybe. And don't even get him started on politics. He's pointed out that "orange" is truly the new black...  Or I should say "black-hearted." That's why I like him. His views encourage me to keep in touch with what's going on in the world.  And that there's a few things that after you've touched them, you'd better go and wash your hands.

I've heard of couples where one is outgoing and the other is quiet.  There's a pair that makes me think that is true.  And it appears to be the case here. One seems to be introverted.  For some reason, I regard him as a wise sage. I suspect if I needed advice on anything, he should be my first choice to ask. His partner, on the other hand, appears to be the extrovert.  Always smiling.  Always laughing. And always looking kind of... hot...  Well, to be honest they're both hot.  Okay, I'll be even more honest if they wanted to, I'd let them "take me down and pass me around"... I'd be happy to be their 99th bottle of beer on the wall...  Hey, I've got to stir in a little controversy into this.  They show me that great relationships do happen and that I shouldn't give up hope. And periodically check the expiration dates on "the supplies" in the night stand drawer.

Well, my post has met its limit and here I must stop. So much more I could write.  Maybe next blog post...

CSM

On Being Gay... Or Would You Like Sex with That?

Being gay sometimes gets me down.  I don't see it as a curse or a disease or a punishment.  It's part of who I am, but it's not my entire world.  I've filled my life with so much more that just my sexuality, like writing stories that I store on my computer but never try to get published.  There's my expensive Lego habit.  My Disney mania. The love of Ethel Merman belting out everything's coming up roses... Okay, yes, I know, but I didn't say I wasn't a stereotypical gay.  I just said that it gets me down.., And yes, listening to The Beauty and the Beast soundtrack does get to me.  It's Angela Lansbury...  But I digress.

But there's that one part about the gay lifestyle that grinds my ax.  

I get really tired of feeling like all I am is a piece of meat for oversexed a-holes who think that's what being gay is all about.  First, good for them.  I'm glad they have a lusty hobby and I'm glad they found meaning for their lives.  What I'm not glad about is when they tell me that I'm the a-hole because I won't pleasure them.  I'm avoiding graphic detail, like describing what they want to do to me.  I actually had to look up a couple of terms... Those S&M guys...  Oh brother!

I have only one response for these guys who won't take "no" for an answer...  "Go fuck yourself, honey. I've got better things to do."  Since being back in the dating scene, I have said this a lot.  

On my dating app, guys will send me unsolicited pics of their... well... you-know-whats and their you-know-wheres.  And trust me, I've got my new canned response... "Thank you for the pics.  I will assume that you are showing me your true personality and that you are a dick and an ass.  Thank you for being honest up-front. Sincerely, I'm-blocking-you."

I'm sorry but I think this so-called world of gay hook-ups isn't that great.  In fact, the guys I know who do a lot of hook-uping seem to be the most self-abusive. But if we consider the old saying "You are what you eat..."  

They also seem to have no self-worth or low self esteem. They sleep around with guys that turn them on at that moment then simply move on.  I recently had a crush on a 20-something who told me that he had already been with 50 guys... and apparently counting.  I'm 47 years old and not any where near that number.   I can't help but roll out the sarcasm by saying "Gee, there's something I'd like to be remembered for.  Not things like I loved all my friends and cared about their well-being.  Or that I wanted to teach people about history and how it got us where we are today.  And god forbid that I be remembered for my caring nature."

Why would someone want to do that -- just sleep around?  So, I asked, read a few reports, gathered information, slammed back a very glasses of Riesling and drew up a theory.  Please disagree with me if you like... but I've decided that most gay men are just like dogs.  They only want to sniff your behind. And my response is "Get your damn nose out of my butt."

Over the past few months, I've kept swinging back and forth between the realization that I'm going to be single the rest of my life and the complacency of  just giving in and fuck around since no one gives a shit about the fact that I have a life.  

Once, I met this kind of a nice guy who just wouldn't let up.  He wanted to... you know... go "downtown"...  He finally wore me down.  I simply gave in, dropped my pants, and said "There!  Knock yourself out!" Guess what his response was... "Well if you're going to be a-hole about it..."

It gets old so fast... No wonder I have a "Why Bother" attitude... Sigh.

CSM

My Eulogy... Or Don't Wait Until the Last Moment.

The other day I was thinking about making a will, who to leave stuff to, and what do I want to happen to my body... My flabby pasty body.  But even more, I wondered what I would want people to say about me.  So, I decide to write my own eulogy...  And here it is... Or at least part of it.... I may have more to say... And now here it is...

"When Christopher Marshall was born, the entire country celebrated his birth with fireworks... Well, okay, it was the Fourth of July, but who cares.  Christopher was definitely a Yankee Doodle Dandy, which he often sang "Yank my Doodle, it's a dandy."  He always had a way finding the dirty alternative.  He relished the world of double-entendres.   Regardless of his lewdness, he tapped his way into the world and never stopped.

He loved to entertain and make people laugh and smile.  I mean who wouldn't forget the time he dressed up as a nun and went bar-hopping.  And who couldn't forget about the time he helped that old lady across the street only to find out she wasn't an old lady who didn't want to go to the other side of the street.

Chris had a way about him... An honest way.  Too honest... He didn't really need to agree with Penny when she kept saying she was fat.  He was just being honest... "It felt like Godzilla approaching the city," he would say.  He always pointed out stray pink curlers.  He offered free and very useful advice like make sure that it's a pineapple ice and not yellow snow.  Or how about "Don't go away mad..." And he always loved it when people complimented his behind.  When he walked away, people often said "What an ass!"

He loved deeply.  He cared deeply.  He wanted to kick people in the balls. He loved so hard and so much he wanted people to feel the same pain and he figured that would be the best way.  And trust me, if he didn't care, he would let you know with a hearty round of a tune he called "Fuck off motherfucker and don't let the door hit you in the ass..."  I wish I could remember how the tune went, but I was quite a showstopper and toe-tapper that a chorus line could really kick to.

I will tell you this.  He believed that death wasn't the end, but just another beginning.  He believed that he would wake up and find himself in his own Heaven, filled with what he always wanted in life, including but no limited to, an unlimited pass to Disney World, time to spew all of his fictional stories into print, and win that Academy Award (where he can walk across the stage naked and nobody laughs.)  He truly believed that it doesn't end here.

I was there to hear his last words... "I loved too hard, over thought everything, and I accidentally farted during an organ recital one time, but nobody noticed. They must have assumed it was a D-flat and was part of the song."

And I was told to tell everyone his last three words...
"So long suckers!"

CSM

The Tell-All Story behind Last Week's Facebook Rant

Ha!  Tricked you into reading...

Although I know you might enjoy it, I am not going to write a tell-all about the very minor episode that unfolded over the past week.  And yes, my attitude towards it is that it was very minor...  very very very minor.  It was brought on by someone else's drama, not mine. And it would just give more power to the other person.

In fact, I am only going to reiterate "Thanks to those who congratulated me. Many hugs.  And thanks to all who posted kind words about the whole craziness."

I would like to say one thing. I was mad. Pushed to the limit and sent over the edge. Not the kind of mad where you're upset that you didn't get any of Joan's famous cheese ball at work or mad at Rover for chewing up your favorite shoes.  I'm talking about mad. I wanted to punch something. Like take a whack at Ouiser Boudreaux.  I might have been able to uproot a mighty sequoia given the chance or at least flip over a Mercedes.

Me getting angry is so infrequent that I'm surprised that the National Weather Service didn't picked it up as a sudden 90 degree heat wave across Central Indiana in mid-December. It just doesn't happen.

My father was the type to fly off the handle and the whole episode was over in flash.  My mother, on the other hand, had that type of anger you should fear the most.  You know that "look." The one that mother's give.  The one that says "no need to worry about what your father's going to say."  It's more like "you need to worry about right now and what I'm going to do to you."  That look that has made grown men cry.

I have my mother's kind of anger.  Once you're there, and it takes a lot to get there, you had better get the hell out of my way.  But not before I let it ferment and fester.  Or if you like, let it simmer and put it in the fridge over night, allowing the flavors to blossom, then reheat it and see how they dance across your palate.  Which is exactly what I would do... Push you down and clog my way across your face.

But for the most part, I chose not to get angry anymore.  There's no need.  I always stop and ask myself "Will this matter in five years?"  If so, then I might throw a temper tantrum, but even then I don't feel like dropping to the floor and banging my fists on the carpet.  It's just not good for my back.

I prefer to think that I am like a fine Chardonnay or Pinot Noir.  The more I age, the better I get. Pop open my cork and see what you get. Tasty. Bubbly. Flamboyant. Velvety. Yes, those are all words used to describe fine wines.  Don't believe me, just Goggle it.  Look up "words to describe fine wines."  Go ahead...  Search...  Go on...

HEY!  I said "Search..."  Or else!

CSM

The Year 2016 in Review... Or Thank God This Year's Over

Well, the year 2016 is almost over and once again, I failed to accomplish the following...

Lose 50 pounds
Win the Hoosier lottery
Find a boyfriend and build a long-lasting relationship
Make a New York style cheesecake
Go to Disneyland
Take a long weekend to New York City
Finish writing another book
Make out with or at least kiss Darren Criss
Meet Julie Andrews
Make an Academy Award winning movie
Fly to San Francisco
Win an Academy Award
Win a Pulitzer Prize
Win an all-expense paid trip to Paris for two
Play strip Candyland or strip Monopoly
Learn to fly a Sopwith camel
Buy a giraffe
Travel about the countryside in yellow-painted gypsy cart with a horse named Cyril
Read Vanna White's biography
Write a love letter to the boyfriend that I didn't find
Do the jig-saw puzzle of Florida sitting on the shelf in the bedroom closet
Find a lost stash of gold coins
Travel to Mars
Meet Joanne Worley of Rowan and Martin's Laugh-In
Punch anyone in the face
Try Absinthe
Get anything stuck in the vacuum cleaner hose
Establish contact with the Great Beyond
Memorize Edgar Allen Poe's poem The Raven
Dig up a dead body and put a normal brain in it and bring it to life in my castle laboratory
Learn to play the imaginary piano that I only bought in my head
Get snowed in at an all-male adult film convention
Discover the long lost city of Atlantis
Get stalked, as far as I know I didn't
Throw up after seeing a vagina... maybe gagged a little
Make promises that I didn't intend to keep

That's just a few of the things I didn't get done...  But I did get a lot of other things done...  And made some great strides... And I laughed and cried and hoped and prayed...  Maybe I'll get some of these done in 2017.

CSM

A View of the Town, Episode 10: The Strange Tale of Amaryllis Stemm

Welcome to A View of the Town, the adventures of Dr. Willis Fletcher in a small coastal town in Maine. Offering tidbits of local color and the lay of the land, we turn now to Dr. Fletcher and Amaryllis Stemm's Arrival in Misty Cove.

This episode of A View of the Town is brought to you by corn.  Dent, flint, pod and pop, flour, and sweet. It's a-maizing. Corn.

And now on with The Strange Tale of Amaryllis Stemm.

From previous episodes, I've told you about a "witch" named Amaryllis Stemm who came to Misty Cove back in 1882.  When I first arrived, one of the first stories I heard about was Stemm and her disappearance into the woods north of town.  There's been a lot of mystery around the woods over the years.  People seeing lights, hearing chanting, and even a couple of the town's children disappearing for days.  I am going to recount for you one story from one of the town's old citizens -- Amos Wolf.

Amos recalled the day she walked into town and camped near the north edge of town.  She was strange and mysterious just like a gypsy fortune teller.  After a few days, she hired some townsmen to fell trees and build a cabin deep in the woods.  They chopped the trees downs, but never built the cabin.  It simply appeared over night.  Folks could barely see it, nestled between the fir trees. Smoke curled up from the top of the squat smokestack. Sometimes the cabin was hard to see, like it wasn't there at all.  At night, folks could see lights, floating balls of light really, moving about, weaving in and out of the trees.

But back to Amos, it was a Sunday morning, right before church, and Amos was out walking to the small Lutheran church he attended regularly, not far from the her camp.  As he passed, Stemm watched him, standing next to her tent.  She was in the middle of packing up.

"Good morning," said Amos, trying to be friendly.

As he recalled, her voice was sweet and silky. "Good morning."

"Are you leaving Misty Cove?"  Amos slowed down.

"I'm moving.  Into my cabin. There in the woods."

"I see the chimney peek." Amos picked up speed again and turned away, but he decided to stop and ask her if she would be coming into town and maybe she would like to come to church.  When he turned, she and the camp was gone.  Completely vanished.

"Hello?  Where are you?"  He yelled towards the cabin. "You were very quick to take down your camp."  But there was no reply.

Amos turned to walk on, but stopped again.  This time to listen.  From somewhere in the woods, maybe near the cabin, maybe from the sea, or maybe from the earth.  There was chanting.  He could hear it all around him.  He couldn't quite make out the words, but he swore it sounds like Latin.  Latin phrases that seems to swirl all around.  Then the faded and...  BOOM!  There was a flash of light from near the chimney of the witch's cabin.  The leaves in the trees rustled.  Birds flew in all directions.  And a ball of turquoise light popped for just a moment and faded just as quick as it came.

Amos didn't wait.  He ran to the church, and in moments, the whole congregation stood at the edge of the woods.  No one could see the cabin now. It was gone.  Searchers scavenged for a few days but found nothing.  No logs, no stones, not even a foundation on which could have stood.  Amaryllis Stemm and her cabin simply disappeared.

It wasn't until later someone thought they spotted it.  That was just a few weeks before Halloween when one of the town's children vanished, only to appear a few hours later.  Otis Major later disappeared for a few days.

Many people have seen the cabin appear and disappear.  I know I have, never believing at first.

And that's the strange tale of Amaryllis Stemm.

Join us again next time, when Dr. Fletcher tells us another tale from Misty Cove.

This episode of A View of the Town is brought to you by corn.  Roast it, grill it, boil it, pop it, eat it on the cob.  Corn. Savor its sweetness.

Join us again soon for another episode of A View of the Town.

CSM

Change, Please! Or... Could I Get Four Quarters for the Meter?

I'm going through the change again.  I've longed for it.  It is in my reach.  Very soon, I will make a major change.  Moving from one job to another.  I cannot tell you how long I have waited. Sometimes I thought it would never come.  And here it is.  But I'm not here to talk about my career move.  The real change that I want to write about is the change in my attitude towards everything else.

A few months ago, I made a decision to focus on three goals.  If it didn't pertain to those three goals, it would be swept off to the side.  (Except for housework. I insist on cleanliness.)  Those three goals have set the tone for the adjustment of my attitude towards life.  And it has changed me.  I am not the same person I was at the beginning of the year.  Once I set those three goals in place, focused my attention on them, all else became irrelevant.

I focused on only them. That was the first key.

I have to stop and point something out.  These are long term goals. You know like losing weight.  I set out to lose fifty pounds. Which I did... over and over, but once I crunched the numbers it was well over fifty pounds.  Somehow the scales don't seem to care and remind me I still weigh the same.

Back to the keys of this change.  Next, I pushed away the negative.  That was the second key.  I pushed away consistently annoying people.  I packed up unwanted stuff in my apartment and got rid of it.  Stuff can bring about negativity.  Think about moving it all.  The packing, hauling, unpacking, dust, bugs, the money you'll find that you thought you lost, but fell between the stacks and got covered up. I also got rid of negative thoughts.  Don't get mad, be glad. I was glad that I found that $50 that I stashed away... and then hid elsewhere and now I can't find it.  That is a little negative, but then I think about how I'll feel when I find it again.  And voila, I'm happy.

And the next key was I downed a couple of bottles of Sangria.  That was just for the hell of it.

And the final key, I committed to my three goals. If I truly want to meet these goals, I would find ways to make it happen. (Sometimes through trial and error.) Make sure, however, that they are what you really want.  This is where your spiritual journeys, meditations, vision boards, peyote-induced hallucinations, Tarot card reading, dream interpretations, self-explorations using yam-based lubes and whatever else come into play.

You HAVE to know what your heart truly desires and not be lured by false dreams, tainted hopes, and overblown expectations.  Know the difference between love and lust.  And be prepared to change when you realize they are not the goals you really want.

Find your connections by getting lost. Not literally lost... like in the woods or in some abandoned amusement park where a serial killer lives.  Think along the lines of... say... going to a nudist camp. Buck-ass naked with a bunch of other naked people. Questioning whether you can do it.  Letting it all hang out.  Flapping in the breeze.  Worrying that really was poison ivy.  Are you saying as you read this "Hell no! I'm not letting it all hang out."  Well, think again.

The point isn't to get physically naked (unless that is something you want to try); it's to do something that you've never done before.  Break away from the rut.  Yes, it's hard to get out of that rut.  Yes, you're used to it.  And damn, that was poison ivy and you want to itch that spot but don't because it will spread further...

Aha!  To spread further.  Once you've got the confidence and you do it, you may never view yourself the same way again.  And you confidence spreads further and you begin to see yourself as someone different. Does that mean you have to keep going to that nudist camp.  No.  You simply set out to challenge yourself and found that it didn't change you.  Other than your new found fear of poison ivy in places you can't see.

And please, believe me, I know. I was there and I challenged myself to do things I have never done before.  Some I have done again.  Some I will never, ever ever, do again.  But I tried. And have some left over calamine lotion in case there's more poison ivy.

The three keys to my success intersected perfectly, because I wanted them to. What is that they call it when everything intersects and it aligns beautifully?

Oh yes, The Bermuda Triangle.

CSM