Tolerating Me

July 13th, 2026

Back to the States after my year in da Nederlands I had the mama of all breakdowns. Amsterdam split with sister Rotterdam, the country known for lacking judgy-ness, a quote heard by friend of a friend Dusty, a Chicago attorney last I knew "The only thing we won't tolerate is INTOLERANCE" from a Dutch citizen. Hettie, the cabbie wife of Ruel, my English-deprived coworker took me all over the City of Sin. She witnessed my captivation at "Homomonument", a metal monolith crafted simply to say " thanks, queers". Not dead ones nor them what built structures of note, not even philanthropists, just gays generally for being groovy. "They must know some I haven't hung with yet" me in 1998 thought.

Hitting the States a year later I came unglued. Mayhap it was Mayday, a strain of weed I'd swear was laced with PCP because twice after a joint my psyche turnt Teflon, not grasping any positive thoughts. Everything I tried to see beauty in were ugly undercurrents instead. Primarily my inner parasite. Not a genuine relationship, moment, or act from nigh three decades on Earth. A year to learn and grow, instead I had lived like a red-light district window object. Starting strong, I'd gravitated to lowest common denominators.

Transferring to Rotterdam I met a hot skater coworker, gave up my little flat for uncomfortable cohabitation and by my exit was watching Cartoon Network nightly mixed with a pound of store-bought weed. My job had moments of excellence but a superior worried over my tight relationship to her big-boss husband curtailed my ability to move creatively. Being 100% straight with myself and anybody else I had no intention of stepping on that marriage. Jealousy undue, ixnaying us being friends when a leveling female presence could've helped greatly equals a crying shame.

Back home I hit Paducah, the Atomic-River City. Boss boyfran Jeroen deGroot, literally "Jerry the Great" joined me a week after my arrival, and had the World Cup 2026 experience, agog at the air-conditioned Super Wal-Mart extravaganza. Hanging with the fam, Mom ranted how cool her siblings were for accepting my relationship. Considering the berth of bad behavior I'd tolerated from the Pierces, this attitude riled me. Supposing I'm to be ecstatic my relations aren't wanting to lynch us cross over obvious-since-'72 nonsense.

Fifteen years I'd developed dignity being out, not outrageous. Making sexuality the fifth thing most learned about me, so if they hated me or treated me like a joke it wasn't a gay one. Changing minds and making new allies I felt like they should thank ME.

Going to Toronto for a new management gig was the plan. My heart was in training and consulting but my sour superior who humped a sofa over a year instead of taking provided Berlitz Dutch classes I'd kill for crapped on that. Unable to maneuver simple packing, planning, or fundamental communication I bowed out, heading back to the comfy, cloying arms of Lexington and the store I'd begun in to dodge the wrath of a mover and shaker who'd landed me that Canada gig.

Drift-less for decades, I went to Lexington Healing Arts. I became a Massage Therapist, and the sciences involved and helping those trusting me was amazingly reaffirming and rewarding. What was not? Incessant sexual advances typically by married men, not generally respectful gay ones. Constantly having people wanting my education and acumen to build a better whore taxed my mind. Separated and stoic most times, I shattered badly in 2012. Smashed again by the sex beast.

Prison has been once more a house I needed.

Six years doped up on Risperdal, I returned to the sexual dimension inside this gay porn fantasy. Crazy-deep I dove, and a rep formed. Four years later with my degree about here becoming to many an authority on numerous subjects and situations respected for my knowledge, skills, and know-how, still comments linger reducing me to that number.

Difference is, I'm not. My obsessions, interests, and perspectives are formed by a list for learning and treasuring the higher mind. Should I get with anybody forward in here, the predominate factor will be domesticity - cooking and eating, sharing books, watching TV and movies, AKA legit partnership. Other factors draw trouble every time. Making myself into the best consultant possible for diversity in media, writing criminals, cops, queers, interracial situations, religious differences, asking a prominent figure here who don't blow sunshine told me I am overqualified. Improving the content we watch and read while learning journalism to educate thirsty inmates are 2.0 goals.

I can make enough to snatch up a bad mother/faded reality TV star off Temptation or Love Island to ride shirtless bitch in my Karmann Ghia - banana yellow, natch, plus Spring in Amsterdam for tulips and Vondelpark sightseeing. No worries - we're lugging our higher minds, too!