Follow up to coming out

So some people have been wondering how everything has progressed since I came out to my parents. I am sorry guys if this post is not the most concise or clear. It's just kind of hard. Just talked to my mom. And, yeah, I am crying right now as I write. Perhaps, however, in being honest about how much this hurts, it will encourage compassion for those who know someone in a similar situation.

So initially my parents' only response was "We love you. You're our son. Nothing changes that. We miss you and just wish we could talk to you more."

I felt so relieved and loved and accepted and just warmed. I thought that no matter what, and I had two really amazing parents. I still know that I do and that this is not easy for them to accept.

Last week, however, my mom finally asked me all of the questions she had been wanting to ask me and I think realizing that I had a boyfriend really hit them in a way she didn't like. Like maybe it was more real.

Basically, my mother is convinced I will never be truly happy, that I am turning my back on the pattern God has set of a man and a woman, she is worried people will take advantage of me or that I will get AIDS. I did have to respect my mother's vocal resolve to stick to the tenets of her faith, but I also told her that I coudl not live my life for her and her desires. And it's true. I just can't. I can't give my life over to the desires of someone else. It is beyond me.

She apparently came across my blog somehow and was appalled to realize that all of my friends read it. I guess she thought it was like a private journal (My mother's comfort with the Internet is hit or miss). So she actually knew about Brandon before I told her and has been shielding my father from this news. She said it made her very sad to learn about this.

I have always been a source of pride for my parents--a top student, a well-behaved child, talented, a spiritual leader. In the last few years, since I had a nervous breakdown on my mission and had to come home early, I feel like I have been a source of disappointment and shame for my parents. Even then, though, I knew my parents were proud of me in many regards. Then I changed my major to art. Then I distanced myself from the Church. Now this.

How do you go to being the apple of someone's eye to being someone who just makes them sad? How do you live with dashing every hope your parents had for you? Crushing everything the sawin your future?

My parents expected me to become a great psychologist, a bishop or stake president, marry a Mormon Selma Hayek and give them beautiful grandchildren that would be sealed to them for time and all eternity.

I told my mother I still want a family; I still want a loving companion and children. I have no idea if that was any mollification.

Tonight my mother told me she told my father I have a boyfriend. I asked her what his response was. "He was very sad, John."

I understand that my parents are sad. I understand why my parents are sad. I don't know that I can ever really expect them to be happy for me. Their religious teachings tell them they cannot be.

I am happy. I have been happy. Why can that not equal my parents also being happy? If only it were so simple.

I love my parents so much. They are such a part of my soul. To inflict this kind of pain on them . . . is so bitter and hard.

What can I do? Live a life of solitude? Stand in an organization, professing to believe something I do not, morally conflicted always? Is that what is required of everyone in growing up? To eventually accept that there are no easy answers to happiness, and that basically all avenues are forever also weighed down by sorrow?

How can I live my life feeling that everyday I pain my mother's heart? For those of you who know my mother, you know how true this statement could well be.

She has suffered so much. I have suffered, too. And my father. I don't even know about my father. He has also suffered and I fear that whatever pride I, as his son, may have inspired may now be dashed.

When I came from my mission, rather than tell people that their son was mentally ill and emotionally distraught, they told everyone I came home because of migraine headaches. What stories will they tell now to cover up this shame? What fantasy will have to be conjured and projected to cover up the disgrace that is John Quintana.

I am now the disgrace. The disgrace of the family.

Ha! To add insult to injury, only one of my siblings has shown any support. The other two have not called, emailed, anything. All I know is that they have been murmuring behind my back all these years. Some happy, eternal family! That was bitter, I know. I apologize if it came off harsh. But the irony of what is supposed to be this loving, supportive family unit to be perpetuated after this life and on into the eternities is just so rich.

I guess it is easier to muster some anger and resentment at them than it is to accept the deep, likely irreparable wound I have inflicted on this family. Just by virtue of being me.

I have always felt like the odd man out in this family, never really understood. Let's face it, even in college I was something of an out-of-the-box, too-analytical-for-comfort thinker, but I don't remember the last time I have felt so misunderstood than I have tonight as I tried to explain where I am and why I wouldn't marry my ex girlfriend even though at one time I did love her. My mother has no real idea of my feelings about the church or how committed I am to living my current life. I don't believe she ever will. I don't know that she can. This has been a long and difficult journey, from which she has been entirely excluded. Her approach and perspective on life are so entirely different from my own. In so many ways we inhabit different worlds. And now I can't even share joys like how excited I am to go listen to an opera in the park with Brandon.

Well, I have been crying for like an hour now. I am exhausted. I don't even want to think about this stuff anymore. Every time I think about something new: my dad, what my mom must be feeling, what it will be like when I see them over the holidays, . . . it just hurts all over again. For those of you who have read this entire mental meandering, my commendations for your patience and indulgence.

Thank you to my friends who have listened to me and supported me in this time. I know I am a friend who at times really needs a sounding board and a shoulder to cry on, I hope I have been a good, decent friend in return.

Neti Pot!!

I have been insanely congested since ... last Thursday, I believe. I have been over dosing on Sudafed (the good stuff you have to be tracked by the government for) to no avail, and I am afraid I will soon lose all dermal layers on my nose from excessive tissue use. It was time for desperate measures. My friend, Travis, suggested the neti pot.

Of course I had heard of the neti pot, thanks to Oprah and her evil mind control powers on middle American housewives, the neti pot hit general public consciousness a while ago (I think last year). For those of you who don't know, the neti pot originated in the India and southeast asia (Of course. I mean, it wouldn't be cool if it like originated in Dallas or something). It is a process of nasal irrigation. Basically you stick this little pot in one nostril and pour saline water through your nose until it comes out the other nostril. Pretty gross-sounding stuff, if you ask me, and exactly why I did not want to do it.

But I was running out of options and was tired of hiding my equally gross-sounding nose blowing from others. So I went out in search of a neti pot. I did some on line research and became more comfortable with idea. It actually was starting to sound pretty freakin' hippy, which was mollifying, and, besides, I had recently resolved to get more reacquainted with my inner hippy. Also, the lady in the video [please see below] seemed pretty darned happy with her neti pot. Okay, so she actually seemed like the Portland, Oregon-librarian-hippie-granola version of Children of the Corn, which was kind of scary in some ways, but I have always been pretty confident in my abilities to not succumb to lobotomy-like stupors of action.

Travis said that I could find a neti pot at any Wal-Greens. I was surprised when my local pharmacist promptly pointed to aisle 4 when inquired about their stock of neti pots. Hell, this is San Francisco. I was surprised my pharmacist spoke English as a first language.

I wasn't too happy to be paying $17, but I was desperate and figured I had already spent more than that on Benadryl and Sudafed combo packs in the past week (two boxes of each so far). When I got home, I was actually pretty eager to open my new neti pot box. I reached in and pulled out a blue plastic pot. Hmm. Plastic. Not very hippie-friendly. I was expecting some little ceramic pot. With an "ohm" symbol would be nice. Or a smiling fat buddha wishing me good nasal health.

17 bucks. For a cheap plastic toy tea pot. And 50 packets of salt. Hm. Supposedly they are special salt packets: non bleached, non idiozed, Ph Balanced. What a rip!

Whatever. I paid for it, now I had to use it. I went into the bathroom hoping I wouldn't cause irreparable damage by, I don't know pouring water up into the cavities between my eyes or ripping some sort tender tissue in my nose or something. Hell, maybe I would really mess up my nose, and I could get that rhinoplasty everyone has been begging me to get.

I leaned over and I poured. It didn't take me long to figure out that even with my mouth open, I was holding my breath (which you're not supposed to do). So I started just talking, to make sure I was breathing through my mouth. There I was. With a blue spigot up my nose and water pouring out of my opposing nostril rambling inanely about how odd this experience was, hoping to dear God that my roommate couldn't hear me and thus firmly cement in his mind the notion that his roommate was indeed too daffy for words.

I finished my business and breathed clearly for the first time in days. Aaaaaah! And then it happened. The overwhelming need to blow my nose and expel all resident matter (ew, i know) continued for the next two hours! I finally had to go to work for a long night of setting up visual displays. I was pretty irritated. I showed up late and was definitely not breathing easy, like the box and video said I would. In fact, I was back to my once an hour nose-blowing ritual. 'Neti pots suck!' I decided. (Perhaps the better conclusion would have been that neti pots blow.)

Tonight, I decided to give neti one more chance. After all, I had paid good money and it's not like I could use those little salt packets for margaritas. This time I doubled the salt. We were going to do this hard core! And you know what? It worked! Sure, I have a bit of a sinus headache right now (more so than I did after my intense round of steam inhalations last weekend), but I think once I neti tomorrow morning, I should be good. And either way, it's so much better than feeling like some alien being is slowly trying to escape your body via your nasal passages!

Anyway, thank you gentle reader for bearing with me through this graphic retelling, and, Rae, if you see this, once again, I am so sorry for bailing on Saturday night because of my swollen sinuses!


You guys enjoy this clip. Seriously.

Birthday Blog Post

I actually greeted this new year of my life sipping tea and listening to Phillip Glass, looking at paintings on a gallery website. It was not planned. A complete accident of circumstance. And it was wonderfully sublime. I felt the day of the 29th come upon me feeling, 'Yes. I am me.'

It was nice to be with one of my favorite people in the world, who, throughout all of these years, despite his quirks and neuroses, still provides the most wonderful companionship--John Quintana.

As the minutes rolled by, I couldn't help but think about me and my life. Life has perhaps never been a greater mystery to me than it is now. But if I were to die tomorrow, I can honestly say this has been my life, I have lived it the best way I know how.

I love you, my friends, whose many paths in life have been an example to me of diligent striving, hoping, believing, yearning, and willing. I love you my friends, who have shown to me different facets of myself and what i could grow to be, who have challenged me and made re-evaluate. I love my friends who are also my parents who have taught me lessons I am only now beginning to discover. I love my friend and companion and strength and hope that has been and is God, from whom I hope to continue to learn and continue to turn to in humility.

Life has been good to me. And gracious. I have no reason to feel anything less than gratitude.

As I listen to this beautiful music, I cannot help but be touched by, more than anything, the sublime gift that is beauty. Beauty in art, music, nature, spirit. In many ways, it too has been my god. I have sought after it so much. I am grateful to God that I can appreciate beauty and that it is here for us to learn from and be guided by.

A birthday gift to be grateful for. Beauty. Truth. Love.

Gym Etiquette

My gentle gym-going readers, let this serve as a reminder: once you leave a gym station or piece of equipment, you lose all claim to it! You cannot run off to the other side of the gym, or even to the nearby vicinity, and then come back and say, "I was using that."

It is absolutely insufferable! And unfair. It's like coming up to someone in a movie theater and being like, "I was sitting there, I went to get some popcorn/make a phone call/pick my nose/whatever, I want my seat back." Guess what? You left! It's not your seat anymore. Pick another seat.

Also, if you are on a piece of equipment, do not just sit there like a bump on a log between sets or reps contemplating, I don't know, why Britney Spears has stopped returning your love letters. Just use the equipment and move on. It's like childhood tag: no babysitting. Man! I hate seeing a station in use, I go off to do something else, and 5 min. later some idiot is still there staring off into space, or worse, talking on their cell phone.

Which brings me to another point, if you're going to talk on a cell phone on the gym floor, do not do it while using a piece of equipment. You may not think it slows you down, but trust me, it does. Also, I don't want to have to be the one to rush to your aid because your stupid butt was too distracted listening to Megan's play-by-play of her loser boyfriend's inane nattering to realize you're about to lose control of the dumbbell/barbell/stairclimber.

Also, mirrors are there for two purposes: to check out your hot self and to make sure you are doing proper form. If someone is working out in front of a mirror, and there is room on the floor, avoid getting in the way of the person working out. Don't just plunk yourself down right in front of them, so they can only help but strain over your shoulder or interrupt their own work out to move. If you are checking out your hot self, that is fine, but once again, don't get in other people's way and don't sit and check yourself out while you're on a piece of equipment.

And this goes for life in general: DO NOT LITTER!

On the plus side, the dork who came by to tell me he was using the bench just as I was finishing loading the barbell so inspired me with ire, I busted out an extra three reps and managed the weight much more easily than usual. So thanks dork! You might just help me up my max.

Lagging Behind in Updates

I know I have not kept up the way I should especially in light of recent dramatic events. However, this week has opened up for me and I anticipate catching up fully on the last couple of weeks.

For those who are wondering--my parents and I are doing okay. My coming out has been met with repeated expressions of love. I anticipate at some point there will be questions, but so far there have been none.

Webs

Oh what a tangled web we weave when at first we practice to . . . be gay???

Okay, so I am learning that in spite of living in a major urban area known for being a gay mecca, the gay world here is in fact very small. Please entertain the following examples:

Example 1.
Tim is some guy I randomly chatted with online. He has red hair and was once on a boat. This is all I can remember about him. He asked me out for drinks. I acquiesced. However, on the fateful day of our rendezvous, I bowed out to go have drinks with my dear friend, Travis. We never spoke again.

Weeks later, Brandon and I are traipsing around the Castro area Pride weekend and run into several small groups of his friends. A couple of days later, Tim IM's me: "Was that you with Brandon?" Apparently, red-headed Tim is a friend of my red-headed boyfriend, I met him, spoke with him, and had no clue.

Example 2.
For Pride weekend, Brandon brought up the possibility of actually participating in the parade. Sounds cool. Graeme is an ex boyfriend of mine. While briefly chatting, I came to find out that if Brandon and I participated in the parade, we would likely run into Graeme. I just about had a coronary.

Brandon and I ended up watching the parade on the sidelines. Whew!

Example 3.
Ethan is some sweet-faced kid who works at the Gap (the shameful site of my summer employment), in the Women's Dept. I have never really spoken to him. Brandon's best friend, Renato, is like "Do you know Ethan at the Gap?" He had to show me a picture of the kid for me to know who he was talking about.

A few days ago, Ethan was in the break room and he called out: "Hey are you dating Brandon? The Mormon guy?"

Apparently, Brandon is known as the Mormon guy in his circle of friends (which seems ironic since he seems to have collected a coterie of every gay Mormon between here and Palo Alto).

Example 4.
Blake is a graphic designer (from Texas, I believe) here in SF. I met him online. He's really cool. He also grew up conservatively Christian. In fact, he want to a theological seminary. He also kind of fell into design, and he has some interesting insights into both design and the nature of religion. We have had some good discussions and have hung out once.

Yesterday he IMs me: "Okay. I have been sent to spy. Are you dating Brandon?"

Aaaaaaaah!!!!!!!!

How does this guy know Brandon? Who is sending him to spy? Can I ever make a move in this town without having it carefully documented by the gay mafia?

So lesson learned--when it comes to gay scene in SF, tread carefully you never know where and how your footfalls will reverberate in the tangled web that is ... the SF gay scene! Dun Dun Duuuun!!! (Please see related Dun Dun Duuun Post)

4th of July Weekend

Well, kiddies. It's been a little over 24 hours. All quiet on the parental front. Hopefully they're processing.

Allow me to fill you in on last weekend before this weekend sets upon us.

Well, the weekend was great. It was the Fourth of July (American Independence Day). we were throwing this barbeque at my house. I had been super stressed with work stuff and then my sister needed me to do this logo and brochure for her business and the weekends are generally taken up with Brandon since that is really the only time I get to see him.

So I was super stressed about getting my bedroom clean, as it is the passage way to the back garden and everyone woudl be waking through it. Also, Brandon had yet to see my bedroom. The roomies were busy preparing delicious fruit. We peeked out to see . . .someone else setting up int he back yard!!! Apparently our downstairs neighbors were throwing a themed costume party (blast! why didnt we think of that?) and had even gotten a keg! I guess we forgot to clear our little soiree with all of the neighbors.

It ended up working out great. We melded the two parties. The other party's guests had some great costumes. There was some great food, including a deliciously ironic three bean salad courtesy of Brandon (which reminds me I need to return his tupperware container) and a surprisingly mild gatorpie (avocado-key lime).It was also a great delight to see my painter friend, Claudia. She is one of my dearest friends and I haven't seen her since I moved to SF. She has been off in Pennsylvania. I don't know, learning Dutch or something I guess.

After the bbq, Brandon and I headed to Dolores Park to watch the fog and listen to fireworks (I think we saw a flash in the sky once). On the way to the park, we stopped off to visit Brandon's friend, MJ. I had never met her before and she was really nice. I think Brandon and I will hang out wiht her again sometime soon.

After the police kicked us out of the park because apparently it closes at 10pm, we had this truly delicious sundae at Bi-Rite: chocolate ice cream drizzled in olive oil and sprinkled with sea salt. I know some of you are grossed out right now, but honestly, it is not that revolutionary (or revolting) i mean, howmany of you have eaten chocolate covered pretzels? Anyway, it may well have changed ice cream for me. The other day I was having some mocha fudge ice cream and my hand twitched towards the salt mill. Only the fear of grossing out my roommate, with whom I was having a conversation, stayed my hand.

I digress. Brandon and I had another wonderful hot tub night after a long day and the next morning we had "the talk." It killed me that since we were both BYU alums we referred to it as a DTR. Actually, while I may have brought up the topic, Brandon was the one who labeled it a DTR. Anyway, the outcome of it being . . . Brandon and I are now exclusive boyfriends! Which made me very happy. I think it made me positively happy and giddy for the rest of the day. :) I just think he is great and wonderful and I am really lucky to be with him.

Later that evening we watched a fun, campy movie at this old theatre in the Richmond. I ts part of a series called Midnight Mass, hosted by this surprisingly affable drag queen, Peaches. I had my third run-in with an old painter friend of mine there. I keep promising to call him and I keep forgetting. I need to remember to do that soon. He is supposed to be heading off to Milan soon. HE does some rather interesting work in ink on paper with gender bending figures. One of his frequent subjects has in fact been Peaches herself. While I don't jive with most of his work, it is nonetheless intriguing, and I cannot deny the excellent craft behind it.

The next morning, Brandon and I had brunch at this nice little cafe-ish place right by my apt. We saw Wall-E, which was just great. Sooo cute and even a bit of a tear jerker (Yeah! I cry in movies! So what?!) My friend, Travis, was saying some people have criticized it for being too . . . well, for lack of a better word (it IS 2 am), being too pedantic about environmental issues and politics. I very much disagree. I think it was pretty much just a cute cartoon. Hey, if it got kids thinking a little bit more about waste and consumerism, about lethargy and being out of touch with real life and nature, then hey I think that is a GREAT added bonus. Then again, I am a crazy liberal who used to love watching Captain Planet, went to Eco-Camp, started a school recycling program, and listened to political talk radio . . . in fourth grade.

Anyway, Sunday matinee was followed by another sundae in the Yerba Buena garden downtown. It was beautiful. The sun was a beautiful golden ball of warmth and it just threw all of the cool, jutting sky scrapers into sharp relief. As is often the case in San Francisco, the evening was windy. For some reason, the wind has always been this very palpable reminder to me of God, almost as if the fingers and hands of God are running through my hair and embracing me, sometimes, when the wind is very strong or the moment particularly . . . right, I feel electrified by the wind as if the creative force of the universe has gained momentum on this speck of earth and is also coursing through me, catching me up in part of it, allowing me to be a part of it. It was windy. And golden. A reminder of the forces of nature with all of this breathtaking handiwork of men on display. More than anything, though what was so incredibly beautiful was that just past the reflecting pool and fountain, amidst the blue skyscrapers was the red brick St. Patrick's Church on Mission St. It warmed my heart; this house of worship, dedicated to good works and devotion to God nestled in this busy downtown area. I can't believe how much time I have spent in the downtown area and had no idea about this beautiful sight. It must be viewed from the terrace in the Yerba Buena Gardens.

Anyway, that was pretty much the end of the weekend. A blustering, windy evening with Brandon by my side. I did go to work, but I dont remember much of what happened there. :)

PS-I apologize for any gross spelling grammatical errors. My sleep schedule has been completely thrown off and so I had to resort to chemical means to induce fatigue and sleepiness. Having run out of sleeping pills, my solution was watermelon and Schmirnoff's (with a bit of ginger ale). Ugh. Not my first choice.

Coming Out: the Final Frontier

Well, I have been out to pretty much everyone for awhile now, except for two people: my parents. That just changed. I was a wimp and did it via email. I composed the letter and sent it off just now, while I was at the laundromat. For those of you who think it is fun to write a tear-filled letter finally crushing your parents hopes while an old Asian man waits for your spin cycle to finish so he can lock up and go home . . . well, its not fun at all. And now I have an awful, post-cry headache.

I am not sure how my parents will respond. I trust they will continue to stay in my life and show love to me. I think what really hurts for me is what I feel to be the huge disappointment I am to them. It's all well and good to say we live our own lives for ourselves, but I think its delusional or wildly, inhumanly progressed to say one does not care if one is disappointment, particularly to the two people who have invested the most in you (in terms of time and hopes and dreams (and, yes, finances)) and on whose unconditional love and approval you may have often wanted to turn to as a comfort.

It is done, though. I can finish being the fallen golden child of the family. I can rest comfortably as the black sheep (which really has been my position all along).

Crying headaches suck, but then again so does living a lie to the two people you have loved more than any others.

I will say this. When I was in the laundromat, my heart turned to God in prayer, I saw my reflection in the mirror and I suddenly remembered a young fourteen-year old John, going to the temple for the first time, so full of pure and genuine desires, so full of . . . the Spirit and love of God. I remembered that fourteen-year old boy. And you know what? I am still that fourteen-year old boy.

Redesign

Okay, gentle readers, bear with me for a while until I figure out what exactly I want to do with the look of this sucker. I have already wasted a bit too much time on this, though, so I'm just going to have to come back to it piece-meal.

Still figuring out how to work around template restrictions, and not decided on the header. I know. It's pretty stuffy even for me. It was fun to wax wedding invite for a while, though.

Tommy Boy

Last night I was exposed to the male equivalent of Steel Magnolias that is Tommy Boy.

I have always been pretty turned off by the whole Chris Farley/Jim Carrey/Adam Sandler stupid comedy genre. If I wanted some banal humor, I turned to more estrogen-filled classics such as Legally Blonde and Mean Girls.

I was pretty surprised when I found myself actually really enjoying Tommy Boy. I found Tommy to actually be a pretty affable, endearing, and genuine character. I found myself caring about how he was treated in the movie and hoping he would be able to grow and conquer his challenges.

Was I getting into a dumb guy comedy??? I guess so. Maybe it's because my tastes are broadening as I get older. Or maybe it's because for the last few years I have spent more and more time in the company of dudes (I couldn't even scrounge up a chick posse with which to view the Sex and the City movie!). Or maybe it just took me a while to to grow into my mental male sensibility. Kind of like chest hair. It keeps coming in, long after puberty has punched out.

Who knows? Maybe I am finally ready to sink into a Lazy Boy and enjoy the ultimate neural anesthetic that is American football.

For now, I need to add Tommy Boy to my movie queue to watch it in its entirety. Any other dumb dude comedy recommendations?