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Year: 2010

Wearin’ O’ the Green

The Phyllises threatened to pinch me for not wearing green.

Luckily for me and for them, they were just playing.

I guess I should have been honoring the Scots-Irish side of my heritage on St. Patrick’s Day, but I hardly ever wear green.  I can’t even think of any green clothing I have off the top of my head.  Everything that comes to mind is mostly blue1 with maybe a green accent.

Green just is not a good color for me.

I don’t like when I’m wearing it.

Literally and figuratively.

Over the weekend, The Attorney and I went to a bar.  It’s not something we do very often.  Ironically, a bar is where we met for the very first time.

Anyway, we were there, hanging on the sidelines, drinking beer and people watching.  At one point when I was getting us another round, a guy took an opportunity to introduce himself to The Attorney.

Now, this wasn’t much of a surprise to me.  The Attorney, in my opinion anyway, is a stud.  No doubt he turns a lot of fellas’ heads.

And there was really nothing for me to concern myself with because by the time I had returned, the Attorney had pointed me out as his partner.  Still, the sight of another guy sniffing around him got my hackles up a bit.  I was starting to wear a bit of green.

As much as I try to be a good guy, and as much as I feel like I generally succeed, if I have one flaw, I have to admit that I can have a bit of a possessive/jealous streak.

It’s not something I am proud of, but it’s something that I will own.

The guy asked us to dance.  First individually.  Then after we had both declined, he asked us to dance together with him.  He said that he thought it would be hot to dance between two men as tall as we are.

I got the sense he was talking about more than dancing on the floor. Like dancing between the sheets.

Later, on the way home, I asked the Attorney if he got the same vibe.

“Maybe a little,” he said.

So, I asked him if the opportunity ever came up, would he want to do something like that?

He thought for a moment.  “Only if you were into it.  Would you?”



And then the car fell silent.

Here’s the thing with me and three-ways:  I could handle it if I was not partnered with anyone else in the triangle. But if I have pissed in one of the other corners, I can’t stand the thought of another dog in there.

Part of it is my feelings about monogamy.  Even though both partners are involved in the play, it doesn’t feel truly monogamous to me.

And I believe in the idea of monogamy.

I realize it’s sort of irrational2 to hold a non-traditional relationship like banging boner-to-boner to a traditional standard, but I want to give and get that level of commitment out of someone.

But my main struggle with dancing three-to-the-beat is my jealousy.  Even though I would be there for every moment of it, and ground rules were laid out, I just don’t think I could commit to approval.  If I saw a man with his hands on The Attorney, about the only thing I could definitely commit is murder.

OK. I exaggerate.  But you get my point.

I feel completely confident that he would not go off on his own with someone else.  And he even said that the three-way is only of interest to him if it was something I wanted.

Rationally, I know that it’s all about my insecurities.  But, who is always rational?

Apparently The Attorney is.  I guess it’s part of being an attorney.

Still, part of me wants him to be a just a little bit irrational and jealous like I am.

It would both ease my insecurities and put a little dent in his can of peaches.

But then, I hate him in green.

{ fin }

  1. which I wear a lot of []
  2. and to some degree unrealistic []

Pic(k) Me

I always thought they were called “avatars,”1 but apparently that has something to do with blue people and metaphors on colonization. So, I just call them thumbnails.

I’m talking about the little square thumbnails that sit next to many people’s comments and/or online profiles and accounts.

Because I have signed up for different accounts or IDs over time, I don’t seem to have a consistent thumbnail. I have one for this blog, I have one for my WordPress account, my Blogger account, my Google account, my Twitter account, etc.

Depending on the haunt, I have one of the six below representing me. I’ve decided to change them all to the same picture so that I am consistent across the board. But I couldn’t decide which one is the most “me.”

So, I decided to let you folks decide. Cast a vote for the one you think is straight up “Tony.”

And if you want to leave a comment, I’d be curious to know why you picked the one you did.

[poll id=”4″]

  1. I wonder how much traffic THAT’S gonna send my way. []

Strappin’ Man

The groundhog is not going to keep me from buying new underpants.

Despite the fact that yesterday morning’s snow flurries backed up his prediction last month of six more weeks of winter, it was 72 degrees on Saturday, the daffodils have started blooming, and Sunday was the 21st.

As far as I am concerned, it is officially Spring.  My favorite season of the year.

The land bursting with colors, the air filled with sweet scents, and I get the hornies1 in a major way.

Spring is also when I usually buy new underwear.

For a long time, I always bought my Hanes late in the summer.  I guess it was a hold-over from my Momma or Granny getting a few fresh pairs as part of my school clothes.

But Spring is the time for all things fresh and new.  So, somewhere along the way, I shifted my ritual.  It’s sort of like spring-cleaning in my britches.

I didn’t always do it on a yearly basis.  Time was that I would let my skivvies ride.   There’s that point where they have reached about 75-80% of their life span when they feel perfect.  It’s like they know you and know how you are made, and know where and where not to hold on to you.  Then one wash too many and it’s over.  Kind of like those goldfish you won at the carnival as a kid.  Everything is fine and then one day you wake up and they’re just dead.

I’ve been more mindful of doing an annual rotation since I have been keeping company with The Attorney.  Partially because it seems to matter more when you’re not the only one seeing what’s under your jeans, but also because, like all his clothes, his underwear is always impeccable.  I don’t want to embarrass myself.

Almost 98% of the time, I wear Hanes boxer briefs.  I like boxer briefs because they offer the support of briefs but the roominess of boxers.  And Hanes hold their shape over time better than FOTL or BVD.2  I keep telling myself that next time I’m going to branch out and get some underwear that’s a little less vanilla.  Especially since I have somebody now to look at me in them.

But, I’m not really the adventurous type.  I tend to stick with something until it fails me.  Plus, I never saw much point in paying a lot for underwear.  I don’t want to risk designer prices on something that might not feel comfortable or fit right.  I’ll wear shoes that are too tight, or sleeves that are too short.  But when it comes to the equipment, I want everything to feel perfectly at home.3

But I have figured out a way to branch out a little this Spring but stay in my comfort zone and not spend a fortune:

Jock straps.

I was reading a blog post somewhere where a guy was talking about wearing jocks on a daily basis instead of underwear.

They’re perfect.  I can’t believe it didn’t dawn on me sooner.  I’ve worn them playing sports, so I know I’m good with the feel.  The pouch expands enough to hold everything in, but still gently cradles it, too.  And the weave of the pouch let’s your junk breathe.

Plus, even though I don’t exactly have the ass to really a strap, I do feel sort of sexy when I wear one.  Maybe because I know that The Attorney has a bit of a fetish for them.  I know that if I was to be at his house and he reached into my britches to expecting the feel of Hanes, but got a big handful of mesh and meat instead, his brain would explode.

Nothing like a no-brainer.

P.S. Think of the effect it would have on him when I get my kilt and pair it up with a strap.  I know kilts are about going commando, but sometimes you have to do some things to keep the fires burning.

{ fin }

  1. Which provides its own form of bursting and scents []
  2. If anyone from Hanes is reading, I will gladly accept free undies for my endorsement.  White or black. []
  3. Which is why I can’t wear someone else’s underpants. []

Bridesmaid Revisited

It was another one of those games that made my stomach hurt.

I’ve talked before, mostly about football, about how really close games that come down to the last second tie my stomach in knots.   I’d almost rather have my team lose in a big way rather than almost win.

Basketball games are often won or lost by a couple of points.  It’s just the nature of the scoring method of the sport.  Even still, Tennessee’s one-point loss to Michigan State in the NCAA tournament today was gut-wrenching.

Maybe because it was a tight game almost the entire way.  It looked like either team could win the whole time.  I think the broadest point spread at any given time was 5 points.  Two and a half hours of pins and needles.  That amount of constant high emotion will make you queasy.

The last ten seconds were the worst.  Basketball is such a fast moving sport that a lot can happen in the blink of an eye.  The score was tied at ten seconds.  Michigan State had possession and heading down court.  It wasn’t likely we’d get possession back in time to score1 so if we just kept them from scoring, the game would go into overtime. Prolonging the agony, I know.  But Tennessee has performed well in overtime.

So, Michigan State goes up to score.  Tennessee blocks…and fouls.2  For those of you who do not know basketball, that means Michigan State goes to the free-throw line for two unobstructed shots.  They only need to hit one to take the lead.  The 1.8 seconds left on the clock starts rolling again after the second free-throw.

The Michigan State player hits the first, misses the second, clock rolls, Tennessee calls time out in order to set up a play to allow a half-court shot.3  It’s the only option of winning in what is now 1.6 seconds left.

As you can tell by the third paragraph, we didn’t make the last second (and a half) shot, and Michigan State wins by one point.

So close.

To add to my fandigestion, that left Tennessee two points from going to being one of the Final Four teams in the tournament.  So close.  And closer than Tennessee has ever been to a National Championship.  In fact, this is the first time they have made it this far in the tournament and play as as part of the Elite Eight4  So,close.

So, even though there is a lot to feel good about, it’s bittersweet.  It seems like so often Tennessee comes just within the grasp of taking it.  Always the bridesmaid.  Looking pretty and walking down the aisle.  But the big ceremony always seems to belong to someone else.  When do we get our toaster oven?

Now I know why marriage is referred to as “tying the knot.”  It’s not about joining two pieces, it’s about the bride tying the bridemaid’s stomach in knots by beating her out once again.

A reader wrote the other day asking why I had not mentioned the Vols in the tournament.  One reason was that I know you all don’t like reading my sports posts, and the other reason was that I was afraid I’d jinx it.  But when we made the Elite Eight, I told myself that if we make the Final Four I will scream it from the mountain tops.


I try to live life as a glass-half full person.  So, by the time most of you read this, I will be over the sadness and focused on the good.

Plus, by that time The Attorney will be back home from St. Louis. 5  When I focus on him, it’s always good.

{ fin }

  1. the game isn’t THAT fast. []
  2. and yanks those knots even tighter. []
  3. shooting the ball from the halfway point on the court.  Sort of the Hail-Mary of basketball, only the goal doesn’t move to help you out on the toss. []
  4. final eight teams out of a 65 team field. []
  5. He went to see the tournament live. I hate that I can’t travel with him for things like this. []

Wee Hours

It is extremely rare for me to sleep entirely through the night.

It’s nothing new.  I have been sort of an insomniac for more than twenty years.  Since I was a teenager.

That’s why a lot of my posts have time stamps in the middle of the night.  Writing is often a good way to pass the awake time.  Plus, there isn’t much on TV other than infomercials and you can only beat off so many times before your pecker tells you that it’s gonna get some sleep even if you aren’t.

When I was young, Granny thought it had something to do with how I was handling my mother’s death.

There was a period, when my momma was alive, that she was working two of jobs.  The second one would have her coming home in the middle of the night somewhere between 2 and 4 am.  As a kid, I basically willed myself to wake up over and over throughout the night and wouldn’t really sleep until I knew she was home.

Granny felt like I was psychologically holding on to that as a way to hold on to my momma.

She also thought that I might need to see a doctor if it didn’t clear up.  So, I started pretending that I slept just fine.  To this day, Granny doesn’t know I still have trouble.

There are times here and there that she has asked what I was doing walking around at night. But I just toss it back at her and ask why she was awake to hear it.  Then she comes back with something like, “If you weren’t stomping around I might have been able to get some sleep.”

Well played, old lady.

She might have been right about my sleeplessness in regard to my momma.  I had a powerful attachment to her.  And that may have set a pattern that I just never broke: waking up every few hours and not falling back to sleep for some time.  A peaceful, quiet sort of sleeplessness.

Over time that has become the norm.  That’s become how I sleep.

In the last few days my peaceful insomnia has given itself over to a restless tossing and turning.And I think it’s because of The Attorney, who I also have a powerful attachment to.

He’s been out of town1 for four days and I’ve had four terrible nights.

You’d think him being away would not effect me like this because it’s not like I’m used to having him laying next to me and suddenly he’s not there.  We sleep an hour and a half apart night after night.  What’s another time zone when you think about it?

A friend of mine chalked it up to my obsessive-compulsive nature:  I have trouble with things being out of place.  The Attorney is not in his normal place and it’s driving me crazy.

Just like I wouldn’t rest until my momma was in place.

I think he might be right as right as Granny.  It doesn’t make me any less crazy, but at least it makes sense.

The Attorney gets back today.  We’ll see how I sleep tonight.

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  1. He went to St. Louis for the NCAA basketball tournament. []

They Just Don’t Make Them Like That Anymore

I smacked the sides of the tube pan as I turned it in my hands.

I was baking Granny’s birthday pound cake1  last night and as I distributed the fine dusting of flour along its well-greased interior, I started wondering just how old that old pan is.

I’ll bet it’s been in this house longer than I have.  I definitely remember it from my childhood.  And I don’t remember it ever look new.

If it was ever a perfect pan, it no longer is:  well-used.  Dents along the sides.  Knife-scrapes along the bottom.  The diameter isn’t perfectly round anymore.  But you can still count on it to make a good cake.  Between family birthdays and those of friends and neighbors,  Lord only knows how many it has.

Lord only knows how many it has left.

I don’t even think they make that type of tube pan anymore.  It separates into two pieces when you turn it upside down to release the cake.  No need for non-stick coating or “space-age” materials.

It’s one of the several items in the house that represents Granny to me.  It’s her pan. From her kitchen.  I’m pretty sure the birthday tradition is something she started, probably right after marrying my grandaddy.  And she is the one who taught me how to make a pound cake.

So,when I consider how much the pan has left,  it also makes me consider how much she has left.

Not cakes.


Lord only knows.

Today marks her 93rd birthday, and as happy as occasion that is, it only emphasizes that time is precious.

She’s a lot like that old pan.  She’s a bit worn out, showing her age, and not exactly perfect anymore, you can still count on her for goodness.

Granny often jokes that she has worn out her usefulness.

Maybe that tube pan is feeling the same way.  What with only three birthdays a year now2, it doesn’t get used as frequently as it used to.

I hope the old pan knows how valuable it has been to so many and how much it is cherished and loved.

But, that’s my job to make sure of.

Because whether it’s the perfect pan or the perfect Granny, they just don’t make them like that anymore.

Happy Birthday to my best girl.

{ fin }

  1. It’s family tradition to get a pound cake on your birthday. []
  2. Granny, The Attorney, and me []

Floating Anniversary

Last Friday was our floating anniversary.

The Attorney and me.

The anniversary of the day we met.

It was five years ago.  On Good Friday.

Neither of us ever remembers the actual date of our meeting without looking at a 2005 calendar.  But we know it was on Good Friday.

That’s why we call it our floating anniversary.  Good Friday floats around on the calendar, so we float the anniversary with it.  And that is when we celebrate.

Well, not celebrate as much as acknowledge.

It’s a pretty minor anniversary after all, the day you meet. We probably wouldn’t even remember at all if it wasn’t connected to a holiday.

Ironically we spent our floating anniversary on a boat.

We have been having beautiful weather in East Tennessee, so the Attorney borrowed a friend’s boat and we spent the evening on the lake.

Just the two of us.

The water is still too cold to swim. So, instead we just kicked back, watched the sun go down, and floated.

I asked him what did he think he’d be doing at that very moment if we had never met in 2005.

“I’d be right here on this boat with you.”

“Not if we never met,” I replied.

Then he reminded me that even though I did not make use of his phone number.1 after that first meeting, our paths crossed again a year and a half later in a Walgreen’s.

“So, if it had not happened then, it would have eventually,” he explained.

I tried countering back.  “What if “eventually” hadn’t happened yet?”

“The fact is, it has.  That’s all that matters. It was meant to be.”

If you ever want to be right, don’t date an Attorney.  They will justify anything.

“In matters which are obvious there is no room for conjecture,” he said kissing me square on the mouth. “Remember that.”

I asked him to repeat it.

So, he did.

Then he did it in Latin.

Or so he said.  He could have been speaking pigeon Martian for all I knew.

Then he reached over and did that thing he does with his hand.

He’s got really long fingers and he does this thing where he entwines them with mine, weaving them over and under like he’s making a pot holder in church camp.2

He can do it in a split second. It hurts my knuckles like hell and I can’t break free.

But, then, I’d be foolish to try.

{ fin }

  1. I didn’t give him mine. []
  2. Thought it was going to be something dirty, didn’t you, pervs? []

Don’t Rain On My Wheaties

Why is it some people can’t stand to see other people happy?

Is it because they are unhappy themselves?

Take gay marriage.

The argument against it might be less about morality and more about happiness.

If somebody was to take a poll of people who are against marriage equality, and they were to tell the truth, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to find out a that a large portion of them are unhappy in their own marriages. I’d almost bet my left nut on it.

Now, this is not to say that I think there are no happy straight marriages.  There’s tons of them.  No doubt.

But marriage is as easy for them as driving down to the courthouse or booking a church and licking 200 envelopes.  Without any serious obstacles other than whether the caterer will offer a vegetarian entree, I’m sure many jump into marriage without fully thinking through who they are jumping with.  Then a few years down the road, they realize that maybe they should have gone a different direction.

Gay folks, on the other hand, are jumping through hoops and fighting to get married.  Odds are, with all that effort, you going to be pretty damned happy together.  Otherwise you would give up a lot sooner and move on.

And there’s nothing unhappy people hate more than happy people.

Okay, so I know my logic is flawed, but I don’t think I’m entirely off base, either.  Mostly I am trying to illustrate a point.

I get a handful of e-mails now and then from the Unhappys.

Not e-mails about gay marriage. I imagine most, if not all, of them are gay themselves.  I get e-mails about my relationship with The Attorney.

I think anybody who reads this blog can tell that The Attorney and I have a happy relationship.  Not perfect.  But we get along fairly well, are kind to each other, and love each other.  And some folks just don’t want to hear about it.

Those would be The Unhappys.

They want me to write about something else.  Something other than my “sappy romance.”1  I sometimes also get similar correspondence in regards to my posts about Granny.

Most likely these are the same people who would prefer that I go on and on about the thunder in my britches.  But the trouble is that makes me happy, too.  Not as happy as having The Attorney or Granny.  But I’m pretty happy about it.

So, would they then be unhappy about that?

That some people don’t want to read about, or want me to write about, how happy my life with The Attorney is, is really is not an issue for me.  I’ll bring an umbrella to my parade.  A golf-sized one.  And I’m still going to march.

But, it does make me wonder what it is for some folks, that they just have to piss on your Wheaties.

Whether it’s the far right stamping out marriage equality or bitter people hating on something as unimportant as my little blog posts.

I know these people, these Unhappys, deep down want to be happy.  Who strives for unhappiness?

So why deny someone the happiness that you also want for yourself?  Why not embrace their happiness and share in it?

I think you’ll be much happier for it.

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  1. Their words, not mine. []