Last night after dinner, my mother and I walked out of the restaurant and towards my car. Two gay guys, one of which I recognize from the kickball community, watched my mother and I from within the restaurant as we reached our car. I didn't notice until I got into the driver's seat that the two guys were pointing at and laughing at my obese mother: struggling with her cane to walk and then struggling to get into the car. I brushed it off and looked away, but as my mother tried to slowly shift her more than 300lbs weight and step down into my tiny Smart Car, I could see the guys really hooping, hollering, pointing, and getting a kick out of very blatantly laughing and making fun of my mother: a fat person struggling to shove herself into my minuscule clown car. 

This experience broke my heart. Maybe because I didn't do anything or say anything. Maybe because I felt too weak to just go in and beat the fuck out of them for disgracing my mama lioness. But probably more so that people can just be so very cruel. 

My mom never even noticed. Not the guys making fun of her or her son silently crying to himself on the way home. At this point, she still doesn't know that she was just made a public mockery by two guys at Swingers. I thought horrible thoughts on the drive home questioning myself as to what I could have done differently to have avoided this situation: if I drove a bigger car, maybe they wouldn't have noticed. If I would have been there more for my mom versus galavanting all over the world in the past,  maybe she wouldn't have been so depressed to have digressed to this state of her health. But neither were actually the case...

I know the two aren't correlated and--unlike Paris in which I lived and still have friends and family there--I really have no personal connection to the atrocities in Belgium (other than the heartbreak and sorrow I feel for those involved)...but I did get a very sick feeling in my stomach that yesterday the world was mourning over another senseless act of violence while these two jackass, assholes worlds away also lacked compassion or human connection so much that they didn't see anything wrong with not trying to be better people yesterday.

I moved my mother out to Cali because I want to help her live better. I want to see her get healthier and live the longest life she can possibly live. And I want to see her happier. So far, I believe it's working. And a woman who was so set in her ways and comfortable has stepped off of the proverbial cliff and into an abyss of change that is Los Angeles. Am I proud of my mom? Yes. At 64, change isn't easy. Neither is heartache. But this is a person trying to change her life and trying to live better. So shouldn't that be applauded versus ridiculed? Then again, as I say in my first book: "you never really know someone until you've walked a kilometer in their stilettos..."

Obviously this whole situation of the guys mocking my mum is still bothering me or I wouldn't put it out there publicly, but I want to turn this situation into a good one. I get that my mom is overweight and morbidly obese. I get that she did this to herself. But does this make her ugly or something so less of a person that she should be treated with nothing but ridicule? Aren't we as human beings better than this shit?

I would never say that I am innocent of mocking people and joking around with people. I too have been called a mean girl. But I don't ever want to be like that again. The reality is people point at and make fun of the weaknesses of other people that they see in themselves. And until it happens to you, it is difficult to see just how awfully put downs and words/actions of negativity hurt. In a day and age where reckless hate and killing has become so rampant, isn't it so much easier to stop the h8 and spread some love? Maybe I'm just a softy. Maybe I'm just a dreamer. But I can't be the only one.

Call your mom today. Tell her you love her. Call the people near and dear to you today. Reach out. Find joy in small things and experiences and trumpet them verses bringing yourself and people around you down. I'm going to do the same. A little love can go a very long way in changing the world. And remember that this life is so fucking short. So do it today: it might be your last. 

ALL MY LUV!

A lot happened while I was away in Europe. I conquered the capitals of three nations and they also conquered me. The trip of a lifetime was exactly what I needed: culture, adventure, a little relaxation, and a lot of amazing memories.

One of my least favourite moments turned into one of my favourite experiences of the trip and I thought I would share it here:

Flash back to Mykonos a few days ago. Everyone said that my friends and I MUST go see the sunset drag show at the Elisium hotel.

For two days we missed seeing this spectacle, so come the third day, we were hell bound in making an appearance. My friends left early and I arrived right when it started. Immediately I could tell that this drag queen was dealing with a stiff audience and dragging the bottom of the barrel to get any of us to laugh or seem into her show.

It began slowly and cautiously, but then this drag queen really started in on basing all of her jokes on put-downs for people. We half giggled under our breath for support, but then when she made a "black people" joke whilst I was sitting next to my brother from another mother who happens to be African American, I had had enough. Especially in the wake of the worst racial tensions going on back home in America since the 1960s.

I looked over at my friend to see that he was keeping his composure, as usual, and simply rolled his eyes at her and her racial insensitivity--this was all too familiar rhetoric that he had heard before. But it wasn't until the queen asked our group where we were from that I just lost it. She made us repeat several times at full voice that we were Angelenos and then several more times that we were from West Hollywood. Then tragedy really struck: that bitch ordered her actually-talented co-host to drag my friend and I onto the stage.

When she realized my friend's skin tone, she immediately began making jokes about his penis size while simultaneously making jokes about me being a hobbit and too small to be "of service."

"No one cares about you Frodo." She said several times, obviously more concerned with what she again racially insensitively assumed was my friend's package size, while all the while berating me. Finally, the bitchy American Angeleno kicked in and I lost it. I grabbed the microphone from the drag queen and told the audience:

"I don't even know why we are up here."

She was not having that. She gave us a tequila shot and pretty much threw both of us off of her stage, irritated that we weren't willing to play along with her insults. When I walked away, I did feel a ping of regret: I love drag queens. Several friends of mine have done drag throughout the years, so I know the hours and hours of extreme dedication and work that it takes to not only make yourself up into a woman, but also have the courage and the tenacity to put on a show and perform in front of a group of strangers. (I too have been a performer of and on throughout different stages of my life.)

And what I thought was going to be a funny little session at the "library" getting "read" by a true New York drag queen, we were instead the subject of her mockery as she fished for any way to salvage her sinking ship of a show. I walked away from that stage feeling over it, annoyed, and kind of pissed at myself that I reared the ugly head of my inner bitchy American in front of an audience of potential future sexual conquests. (What? This was Mykonos!)

Hours later at the club, I nearly had forgotten the verbal persecution my friend and I had encountered earlier by this man in a dress. That is until this nice Irish fellow stopped me outside the Loo and said to me:

"You're the American at the drag show."

"Oh jeez," I replied. "I'm really not normally that much of a cunt. I'm actually a pretty nice guy. I just couldn't take her insults over and over again and lost it when she made that black joke against my friend."

"It's ok," he said. "I would have done the same too. We were all wondering why she had dragged you, pun intended, onto that stage in the first place."

"Well," I said, "I doubt you would have been as bitchy as I was, and I am embarrassed that everyone had to see me like that, to be honest. Again I'm a really nice guy for the most part. I just could not take her calling me Frodo Baggins anymore. It's like she didn't give a shit about me the second she saw how short I am and I already deal with enough stigma as it is from within the gay community for my height."

The Irishman just shook his head and smiled at me. I could tell he was a little tipsy, but he smiled and looked at me dead in the eyes. Then he pointed his pointer finger and tapped it into my sternum.

"You know what? You are Frodo Baggins."

I brushed his hand away from me and rolled my eyes.

"No, I'm serious," he continued. "You might be a small guy, but you are Frodo Baggins. You are going to change the world. I can tell."

I just kept shaking my head.

"Man, I'm really serious. Just by looking at you, I can tell. The world would have been destroyed without Frodo Baggins. He might have been small, but he changed the fucking world, man. Saved everyone, man. You are Frodo Baggins. You really ARE going to change the world. I can't wait to see it happen."

Then he walked away. I yelled to him that he was sweet, but I don't think he heard me. I turned to look into the mirror above the sink. I saw my own reflection--really saw it-- for the first time in a long time that night.

Whether it was the fact that I too was tipsy or just moved by his compliments, either way; I started to cry a bit. I have always wanted to be something bigger than myself, pun intended, and maybe this Irishman was right. Maybe I am Frodo Baggins. Sometimes the smallest person can change the course of the further. I put my hands on the sink's edge and leaned in to look at the mirror and really size myself up.

"Maybe I am Frodo Baggins," I said aloud. Then I laughed and wiped the tears from my eyes. I took a deep breath and had one of the most sincere moments of clarity of my life. Luckily for me, I've known for a while what my self-proposed purpose is on this planet: I am a writer and I want to share my words and my experiences with the world.

But I am also an activist. I have never been able to lay down and just take the terrible injustices of the world. I have never been able to just sit complacent while the world passed me by. I want to leave this world a better place than how I found it.

Suddenly it occurred to me that the Irishman was and is right: I am Frodo Baggins. I am going to change the world. I know, I know--this sounds crazy coming from a gay, 5'6" man with no previous experience at being Superman. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to try.

We have a lot of problems in this world: injustices, murders, terrorism, poverty, starvation, and wars. But there is also a lot of light. At a time when I didn't realize I needed it, that Irishman saw the light inside of me and helped me rekindle it. Reminded me of who I am and what I came here for.

I'll never run for president nor probably elected official, but I will always have a voice. I'll always have my trusted steed at my side of a pen that will beat the sword any day. I have compassion and a hope for this planet. And I have a love in me greater than the depths of the Grand Canyon. None of these make me any more or any less special than anyone else. But they do give me strength to stand against the hated of this world, rise above, and continue to try to make it a better place.

I will always remember that drag show and the Irishman who showed this hobbit that we all are here for a reason. We all have a purpose. And all of us, in our own way, can and will change the world.

It's time this Frodo Baggins began.

(THIS WAS NOT THE DRAG QUEEN IN THE STORY, FYI)

I've had this thought and question in my head for years, but now I'm wanting to hear opinions from all of my gays out there in TV land:

Let's say, when in regards to sex, that you distinctly prefer one sexual position in the bedroom-- i.e. bottoming versus topping. But then you meet someone, like the man of your dreams, who happens to also prefer the sexual role that you do...what do you do?

In the world of gay sex, we actually have the most amount of options available to the human race as anyone: we can be submissive, we can be assertive. We can be the receptive role or the subjector. The masculine or the feminine. However: don't most gay men have a preference? Isn't it true that one act "gets us off" more so than others?

I live in West Hollywood. It is often said of Los Angeles that we live in a city swimming with bottoms. In some instances, I believe this to be true. Underneath all the sunkissed, glistened muscle that predominates this metropolis, there are a lot of "nelly" bottoms running around. There are also a lot of masculine, ripped, machismo bottoms. As a versatile man, my options for getting leid certainly increase within the City of Angels if I take on the more dominate, "top daddy" role as I like to call it. Yet, I remain perplexed as to why this is the situation and stigma specifically attached to LA. It's no question of a doubt that the G spot is in the rectum, so obviously one can understand why men enjoy its stimulation. Meanwhile, the tip and crown of the penis provide just as much sensation for me as something inserted inside me, so I have an often difficult time distinguishing between which one feels better and which role I particularly prefer. I tend to gravitate towards men who are also versatile because I am turned on by serving in both roles and love men that can take on both the submissive and dominate roles.

So, in my way of thinking, I can't understand why more gay men aren't versatile. As the sex-obsessed beings that we can often be, one would think being "open" to all possibilities when it comes to anal sex would just increase our likeliness of getting it, correct? Which brings me back to my original thought: if the man of your dreams walks through the door, are you going to turn him away because he only likes to bottom? Or top?

In the end what I am realizing is the reason why so many of my gay friends who are currently in relationships have open ones: maybe there is just no way for gay men to be completely sexually fulfilled. Maybe the man of your dreams does exist, but the men who are able to fulfill all of your sexual needs are outside of your relationship? And if we do decide to be in open relationships, is there any underlining emotion or connection to those that we are hooking up with to fill a sexual need? Is it unreasonable to think that someone that can sexually stimulate us might also provide us with a connection deeper than a thrusting penis? Maybe the truth in relationships is you can love someone with all your heart and love everything about them, but still mightn't be entirely sexually fulfilled. This idea opens up a whole new Pandora's box of questions, mostly this one: is anyone in a relationship actually 100% sexually satisfied?

I've concluded that I'm just going to keep cooking, booking, being myself and am going to go back to doing what I did before: not thinking about what everyone else does in the bedroom.

That little Greta b$&@# convinced me to get rid of my car in September and go carless in the city. And I haven’t looked back. While I’m partially joking, I take the threat of climate change very seriously. I was inspired by Greta Thornberg to do something more in my own world to help fight climate change for our planet and have taken some action steps to be successful.  Like reducing my wastefulness and selling my car to end up being carless in the city for the last 8 months.

Truth be told, I don’t like driving.

I’ve never really appreciated cars as anything more than pretty-at-times pieces of machinery that get us one place to another. While I had sentimentality toward my cars because I bought them and paid them each off outright, and there was the pride of making my first adult purchases and the follow through to make them officially mine, but I’ve never been too attached.

And I’ve been careless in the city ever since.

The old adage: nobody walks in LA is very rampant here. My friends can put in 40 on the treadmill, but when it comes to walking 5-6 blocks? Forget about it! No one is more lazy that the fitness-obsessed angeleno asked to walk versus Ubering. But this was before the coronavirus. I’ve walked all over this city and now I’m seeing others finally follow suit. It’s crazy how beautiful our city is when you’re on foot and able to actually take it all in. I’ll always be a little New Yorker at heart.

The biggest advantage to being carless in the city is the freedom.

I leave a lot earlier than I used to in order to hop on a bus or walk the distance. But now I’m not a slave to traffic. I hated commuting because it is so mind numbing being stuck in traffic. Now, I read or write and get work done on the bus or in the back of Lyfts. My stress levels are lower because I’m not fixated on weaving in and out of traffic to make it to work or a meeting. The time I have in the back seat or bus seat allows me to clear my head, focus on my goals and what is in front of me.

The figures are still out yet on how much money I’ve saved, but at this point, it’s safe to say

I’ve saved hundreds of dollars in the last 8 months.

I’m not paying the $120 a month in insurance. $15 a month to register the vehicle. $20-$35 in gas per month in my little SmartCar. And the $60 twice a year for oil changes. While I’ve taking a bunch of Uber’s, it’s not like I’ve really gone anywhere in the last few months due to the coronavirus pandemic. My car would be currently sitting in my garage collecting dust.

Yes I miss the freedom of being able to just jump in my car and head to the grocery store. I’ve had to invent new ways of lugging healthy groceries 10 blocks home. It can be annoying how long it actually takes to get from one end of LA to another via public transport.

But knowing I’ve taken one more car off the road, knowing I don’t have to worry about the stress involved with car ownership, and knowing I’m doing my small little part to save the world is worth it to me. Will I be carless in the city forever? That remains to be seen. I said goodbye to my little Star Wars Storm Trooper helmet; however, I’ve always wanted a convertible Smart Car.  But in the meantime, I’m happy using my own personal mode of transportation: my own two feet.