My mother lives the perfect distance away: 300 miles. When I say perfect, I mean that, if she was ever stricken with a medical emergency, I could be at her Winslow, Arizona home in about 4.5 hours; but she's also far enough away to be rendered incapable of signicantly meddling in my life.
Despite my fondness for this space between us, I consider myself to be an exceptional son. Just last week, for example (during "Mother's Day week"), I:
1.) "Put her up" in my home for four days and three nights.
2.) Escorted her to seven different restaurants.
3.) Took her to see one of her favorite "oldies" bands ("The Platters").
4.) Accompanied her out to three movies (Mission Impossible 3, United 93, and The Sentinel)...and
5.) Enjoyed a wonderful lunch with her at the exquisite Mount Charleston Resort Hotel.
We had an amazing, exhilarating time! We both truly look forward to our ongoing, yearly visits--and we always seem to make the most of our time together. So...how come last week (on the last night of her stay) she decided to ask the question that every bachelor (over, say, above the age of thirty) dreads to be asked:
"Are you EVER going to get married?"
And then she followed up with:
"You DO like girls, don't you?"
During our nights out at the movies, I had an uneasy, sinking feeling she was up to no good when she began asking the most peculiar questions:
("The Sentinel")
Mom: Kiefer Sutherland sure is handsome, don't you think?
Me: What?
Mom: Don't you think Kiefer Sutherland is good-looking?
Me: Umm...sure, I guess. But I kind of have my eyes on Eva Longoria at the moment.
("Mission Impossible 3")
Mom: Do you think Tom Cruise has gotten better looking with age?
Me: Mom, to me he's just the same ol' Tom Cruise from "Top Gun" and "Interview With The Vampire." I don't care about his looks. Plus he just seems WEIRD in so many ways..
I can't be mad at her, though. Over the years, probably hundreds of folks have questioned--whether out loud, or to themselves--my orientation. And it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why:
1.) I 've never been married.
2.) I've never fathered a child (I'm about 97% sure).
3.) I live alone.
4.) For about thirty years, I lived in the most openly-gay region in the United States (San Francisco's Bay Area).
5.) I'm articulate and respectful towards women.
6.) I rarely get serious with women with whom I work--therefore many of them write me off as being "not into girls."
7.) I smile a lot.
8.) I dress well and have a decent sense of style.
9.) I've been "best friends" with people who happen to be gay...and
10.) I love to sing..
And that's about it. Oh ya, at work I recently interacted with a particularly assertive telecom employee swatter (literally, one who swats promotional brochures in your face)--"Aimee"--who angrily proclaimed "I KNOW YOU'RE GAY because of the way you like to chit-chat with the other girls around here!"
Aimee and I don't get along. She represents one wireless corporation and I represent several; and as a result thereof, we often argue. So maybe I do "chit-chat" with my female co-workers every now and then--so what? I attribute that quality to my being comfortable around women.
But the reason why so many others apparently think I'm gay remains a mystery. Could it be that I'm unknowingly doing something that leads people to question my sexuality--something that even my own mother has noticed??
I speak in a fairly deep voice...so that can't be it. I wear original Polo cologne, which is more masculine-smelling than the citrusy scents that are currently in style...so that can't be it either. I walk "normal," albeit somewhat bowlegged. And I sure as heck never stare at men. Yes, there are copies of Men's Health magazines lying around my house--and they all feature "buffed" guys on their covers--but so what? I enjoy their articles.
Now that I'm thinking about it, though, I believe I now know what mom's probing is all about. About three years ago, my blunt-talking, older friend/fellow employee "Tanya" loudly narrowed it down for me, during the heat of a workplace argument:
Tanya: You know what your problem is?
Me: No, I don't, Tonya..and what makes you think I have a problem?! What is YOUR problem?!
Tanya: You act nicer to the guys than you do the girls!
She was right. But I couldn't explain to her that acting somewhat aloof towards women has been my secret to attracting women for years!
Look, we men are in many ways "tameable," and plenty of us seek to be tamed--either consciously or not--by the right woman. Lots of women believe this concept too that "no matter how lost a man may become, the right woman is capable of 'fixing' him." Just open up any romance novel (because they're basically all the same), and see for yourself:
1.) "Bad boy" meets woman.
2.) "Bad boy" falls in love with woman, mends his ways and becomes the "perfect man" because of her....and
3.) "Perfect man" and woman live happily ever after.
Listen up, guys: If you're too kind to a woman from Day #1, she'll almost always write you off as being "nice, but boring." She'll friend zone you. Just think about it: Why are so many women attracted to "bad boy" types such as gang members, alcoholics, drug-addicts, inmates, and those who commit domestic violence? Because they truly believe that (through the power of their feminine charms) they are capable of transforming many of these lost male souls into...the perfect man.
And that's why I tend to act a bit distant towards women to whom I'm attracted. While in their presence, I'm consciously and deliberately tuning down my excitement level.
I've found that this slow but steady approach works well in social situations too. In a bar, for example, beautiful women can be seen being hovered around by interested men. But if, say, someone like me walks into that bar, sits down, and appears to ignore those same beautiful women--then there's a very good chance that one of them will eventually come to me and start a conversation.
The fact that I appeared not to be interested made me a rebel--a real man--and therefore a viable, potential and worthy romantic candidate in her eyes. A "bad boy" of sorts.
So, now I understand mom's suspicions a bit more: During all our recent frolicking about here in Las Vegas, I never once behaved kindly towards any of the beautiful women with whom we encountered (waitresses, hostesses, tourists, etc.)--for the exact reasons stated above. I secretly wanted those beautiful women to wonder "hmmm....I wonder why HE isn't making a fuss over me like most men do?"
But I could never explain all this to my mother. She just wouldn't get it. She's two generations older than me--and, to her, if a man likes a woman, he persists, persists, persists until he either "gets her" or she winds up with someone else.
Things are so much more complex, subtle and implied these days, though. The next time I see mom, maybe I'll just quit trying to convince her otherwise, play into her little game, and pretend I'm gay.
Sunday, April 22, 2018
Sunday, March 18, 2018
A Perfect Night For Stargazing (2006)
I was eagerly awaiting my date with Jasmine last night. Earlier in the week she called and asked me if I wanted to take her out "somewhere far away to look at the stars" using her Bushnell Voyager telescope. I instantly replied, "Ya!"--because how often does a Silicon Valley bred city boy like me get the chance to peruse the heavenly night sky? Come to think of it, I don't think I ever even saw a star until I went on a summer camping trip following my Junior year of high school. And even then, I spent a lot more time gazing at the many scantily-clad teenage camp girls than I did gazing up at the pitch black starlit sky over California's Lake Comanche.
After accepting Jasmine's invitation, I couldn't resist the opportunity to proclaim, "I thought only NERDS had telescopes! What the heck is a beautiful woman like you doing with a piece of equipment like that?" She smiled big for me and proclaimed, "I guess you could say that I've always been kind of a voyeur." I had absolutely no reply to that confession; but the more I thought about this upcoming date (our third, so far) the better it was starting to sound.
There's a local Las Vegas (Nevada) saying that goes something like: "If you can't see the Stratosphere Tower, then you are truly a long way from the 'The Strip.'" And that tower was way out of sight when, last night, Jasmine and I drove off the I-95 and onto an isolated dirt road, about 16 kilometers (10 miles) south of a little town called Indian Springs. As I turned off the engine and released my hands from the steering wheel, I gazed deeply into Jasmine's eyes, to sort of assess whether or not there existed any romantic possibilities. Unfortunately, she was all business, and methodically exited the car into the crystal-clear night and proceeded to open the rear door to reach for her beloved telescope.
Once we were both outside, I held my powerful (but small) Maglite flashlight for her as she seemed to have some difficulty with the telescope assembly. "Do you know what you're doing there, Jaz?'" I taunted, to which she just looked up at me with those ultra-big, piercing brown eyes and smiled, without saying a word. Then I strolled up behind her to give her a hug-from-behind and a kiss on the back of her ticklish neck. "Not now!" she exclaimed, with a raised voice. So I backed off and sat on the hood of my car, playfully blinding her eyes with the radiant beam of my flashlight.
Then I noticed what appeared to be a campfire, far away up the eastern foothills. Being exquisitely bored, I began to flash my Maglite in the direction of the "campers," prompting Jasmine to chide, "YOU are such a NERD!" But I kept right on doing it until a second campfire appeared on the horizon--further down the mountain and closer to us than the first one. Then I realized that both lights were moving down the mountain and towards us.
"Hey Jaz'--look. Those aren't campfires. Those are headlights" She gave me a sideways glance and asked, "Are they coming this way?" "Ya, I think so," I answered. She calmly resumed her telescope assembly, but I started to internally panic because those two vehicles were virtually flying down that hill--and most assuredly in our direction.
I had to take control of this situation: "Jaz,' let's put the telescope away and get the heck out of here." "What?" she laughingly replied. "Are you scared of those two vehicles coming?" "If it was just me out here, I could care less," I sternly answered. "But because you're here with me, we need to go. Now." After a few moments of silence, she got the picture when she saw how fast the vehicles were traveling down the hill--so she helped me grab her now assembled telescope (and tripod), and we literally threw them both into my car's backseat.
We then practically jumped into our seats as I quickly started the car and peeled out out of there and straight onto the I-95--this time heading south, back towards Las Vegas.
After driving about 8 kilometers, our worst fears materialized when two jet-black, siren-equipped SUV's (adorned with U.S. Government license plates) pulled us over onto the side of the interstate freeway. As Jasmine started to loudly weep, two Air Force enlisted men--dressed in "flights," and armed with automatic weapons strapped to their shoulders--ordered us both to exit our vehicle. After thoroughly checking my car for heaven-knows-what and running both my driver's license and vehicle license plates, one of the soldiers turned to me and asked:
"Did you know you were parked on the south range of the Nevada Test Site?" "No sir, I did not," I respectfully replied. "My girlfriend (a lie, of course--as mentioned, this was only our third date) and I were getting ready to do some stargazing. That's why we have the telescope in the back seat.
"Okay, sounds reasonable," the second soldier said, while looking at the first. "Just don't ever cross onto that dirt road again, OK?"
"Yes sir," I dutifully answered. "You have my word on that." I then looked over at Jasmine and gestured that we both get back inside the car.
After that incident, our date didn't exactly progress in the manner that I had hoped--obviously, I suppose. A few kilometers down the road, the panic caused by this surreal situation subsided--but the only words Jasmine spoke where that she wanted me to drive her home. I looked at her and nodded--disappointed, of course--but happy that she moved her quivering hand towards mine, grasped it, and didn't let go until we reached her North Las Vegas apartment complex.
As I pulled into her apartment's lone parking space, she practically leaped out of my car, as I calmly grabbed her telescope and tripod--and walked her up the single flight of stairs that leads to her apartment's door. We neither looked at each other nor said a word, as I handed her equipment and turned around to walk down the stairs and back towards my black sedan.
Just then I noticed a faint shooting star falling towards the western horizon as I thought, "Well that's just great." And then I heard what sounded like a drunken, elderly man laughing loudly in the distance--in the same general direction as the recently perished meteorite. "Well, I guess tonight's going to be a 'do nothing at home' kind of night," I whispered to myself as I then practically stumbled onto the front seat of my car, and then coolly drove off into the night.
There's a local Las Vegas (Nevada) saying that goes something like: "If you can't see the Stratosphere Tower, then you are truly a long way from the 'The Strip.'" And that tower was way out of sight when, last night, Jasmine and I drove off the I-95 and onto an isolated dirt road, about 16 kilometers (10 miles) south of a little town called Indian Springs. As I turned off the engine and released my hands from the steering wheel, I gazed deeply into Jasmine's eyes, to sort of assess whether or not there existed any romantic possibilities. Unfortunately, she was all business, and methodically exited the car into the crystal-clear night and proceeded to open the rear door to reach for her beloved telescope.
Once we were both outside, I held my powerful (but small) Maglite flashlight for her as she seemed to have some difficulty with the telescope assembly. "Do you know what you're doing there, Jaz?'" I taunted, to which she just looked up at me with those ultra-big, piercing brown eyes and smiled, without saying a word. Then I strolled up behind her to give her a hug-from-behind and a kiss on the back of her ticklish neck. "Not now!" she exclaimed, with a raised voice. So I backed off and sat on the hood of my car, playfully blinding her eyes with the radiant beam of my flashlight.
Then I noticed what appeared to be a campfire, far away up the eastern foothills. Being exquisitely bored, I began to flash my Maglite in the direction of the "campers," prompting Jasmine to chide, "YOU are such a NERD!" But I kept right on doing it until a second campfire appeared on the horizon--further down the mountain and closer to us than the first one. Then I realized that both lights were moving down the mountain and towards us.
"Hey Jaz'--look. Those aren't campfires. Those are headlights" She gave me a sideways glance and asked, "Are they coming this way?" "Ya, I think so," I answered. She calmly resumed her telescope assembly, but I started to internally panic because those two vehicles were virtually flying down that hill--and most assuredly in our direction.
I had to take control of this situation: "Jaz,' let's put the telescope away and get the heck out of here." "What?" she laughingly replied. "Are you scared of those two vehicles coming?" "If it was just me out here, I could care less," I sternly answered. "But because you're here with me, we need to go. Now." After a few moments of silence, she got the picture when she saw how fast the vehicles were traveling down the hill--so she helped me grab her now assembled telescope (and tripod), and we literally threw them both into my car's backseat.
We then practically jumped into our seats as I quickly started the car and peeled out out of there and straight onto the I-95--this time heading south, back towards Las Vegas.
After driving about 8 kilometers, our worst fears materialized when two jet-black, siren-equipped SUV's (adorned with U.S. Government license plates) pulled us over onto the side of the interstate freeway. As Jasmine started to loudly weep, two Air Force enlisted men--dressed in "flights," and armed with automatic weapons strapped to their shoulders--ordered us both to exit our vehicle. After thoroughly checking my car for heaven-knows-what and running both my driver's license and vehicle license plates, one of the soldiers turned to me and asked:
"Did you know you were parked on the south range of the Nevada Test Site?" "No sir, I did not," I respectfully replied. "My girlfriend (a lie, of course--as mentioned, this was only our third date) and I were getting ready to do some stargazing. That's why we have the telescope in the back seat.
"Okay, sounds reasonable," the second soldier said, while looking at the first. "Just don't ever cross onto that dirt road again, OK?"
"Yes sir," I dutifully answered. "You have my word on that." I then looked over at Jasmine and gestured that we both get back inside the car.
After that incident, our date didn't exactly progress in the manner that I had hoped--obviously, I suppose. A few kilometers down the road, the panic caused by this surreal situation subsided--but the only words Jasmine spoke where that she wanted me to drive her home. I looked at her and nodded--disappointed, of course--but happy that she moved her quivering hand towards mine, grasped it, and didn't let go until we reached her North Las Vegas apartment complex.
As I pulled into her apartment's lone parking space, she practically leaped out of my car, as I calmly grabbed her telescope and tripod--and walked her up the single flight of stairs that leads to her apartment's door. We neither looked at each other nor said a word, as I handed her equipment and turned around to walk down the stairs and back towards my black sedan.
Just then I noticed a faint shooting star falling towards the western horizon as I thought, "Well that's just great." And then I heard what sounded like a drunken, elderly man laughing loudly in the distance--in the same general direction as the recently perished meteorite. "Well, I guess tonight's going to be a 'do nothing at home' kind of night," I whispered to myself as I then practically stumbled onto the front seat of my car, and then coolly drove off into the night.
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