Posted in Uncategorized on June 21, 2009 by dwynstew
I believe it’s a simple law of physics that if something is causing you constant pain the natural response is to do whatever possible to ease or extract it completely. At the end of this post please let me know if this conclusion is off base.
Sam Cooke definitely knew what he was talking about when he uttered the immortal words, “A change gon come.” Change seems to be the only constant in my life lately. Good and bad.
My apartment flooded for the second time in 6 months, and I decided I had to move out, but I luckily found an amazing two-bedroom apartment in my price range that’s twice as amazing. I had to stop volunteering at Stonewallbecause it conflicted with my work schedule, but then started training at the Kaleidoscope Youth Centerand Columbus AIDS Task Force, which I’m very excited about. My current apartment complex also lost my rent check, my sister and I came to a head and she abruptly moved out and my family is dealing with a pretty serious crisis that’s threatening to tear us apart. I’ve completely failed where my diet is concerned. (Them McDonalds double cheeseburgers are hella tempting! Lol) Lastly, when I think I’m never going to get over my ex, a old flame returns, and it may even work this time. These are just a few examples…from the past month.
Another major change, and the reason for this post, is in the structure of my friendships.
SIDE NOTE: As you know I’ve been on the self help kick. It’s actually been helping quite a bit. Though, I can’t seem to get my eating habits under control, I’ve completely purged my life of toxic dating habits (taking on Ms. Clarkson’s mantra, “I do not hook up”). I’ve restructured my social life, meeting people through volunteer work instead of online and at bars. The body image issues haven’t exactly waned, but it’s no longer an obsession. I’m not exactly fine with the way I look, but I no longer care what others think about the way I look.
Anywho, through the suggestions of the self help books and my own personal revelations I’ve realized that I’m done with keeping toxic influences in my life. Please answer this in the comments below: If a friend treats you like shit, are they really your friend? I recently cut off two people, who I’ve been friends with for quite some time, cold turkey. Cutting off a friend, especially after knowing them for 10 years, is ten times more difficult then any breakup I’ve experienced.
The response from my other friends has actually been supportive, but I can’t seem to not think myself vicious. Mostly because I’m thinking about doing the same to two more friends. I won’t go into too much detail seeing as this post has already been bathed with enough melodrama. Just know I’ve felt slighted by these two for quite some time and have even mentioned it on various occasions to no avail. Which brings me to the question I need most help with, am I surrounded by toxic influences or do the toxins lie within?
Posted in Uncategorized on June 20, 2009 by dwynstew
***NOTE: I wrote this a couple months ago, but was embarrased to put it up, for reasons you’ll understand after reading it. But after looking it over again I realized this wasn’t a bad piece of writing. So, per usual, at my expense…enjoy.
“So, the girl says to her mother, ‘A boy tried to stick his tricycle in my garage so I took his wheels!”
The table of “friends” I’m with bursts into laughter. I fiend a giggle while unnoticeably rolling my eyes. I didn’t understand why Lamar had to tell that same joke to every person he met. I excuse myself and head to the bar for a refill. I’m on my second Long Island iced tea and I’m still not feeling a thing. I can’t believe I’ve built up a tolerance already. I so don’t have the money for this. At the bar I flag down Roxy, my favorite lezbo bartender. She makes my drinks just like I like my men, tall and hard.
“Hey babe,” she yells over the noise with a smile.
“Hey hon,” I say leaning over the bar to give her a peck on the cheek. “It’s crazy in here isn’t it!”
“Tell me about it,” she says with a frown. “I’ll be with you in a minute, you want another Long Island?”
“You know it.”
She sends a wink my way and heads to the other side of the bar to finish another group’s round of shots. I climb atop the barstool leaning next to me. I didn’t mind waiting. Any excuse to steal away from Lamar’s caddy and annoying group of friends was fine with me. I was only tagging along for an excuse to get out of the house anyway, working from home isn’t exactly all it’s cracked up to be.
A few moments later Roxy returns with my drink and I head back out to the patio where the boys are sitting, now starting a discussion about their latest sex-capades. Just as I’m about to sit down I unfortunately notice a familiar face. I try to quickly swing my head down toward the table. Damn it! He saw me. I put on a fake smile as my ex-boyfriend walks over to say hello.
“Hey Dwayne, I didn’t expect to run into you here, how are you doing!?” he says cheerfully drunk while leaning in for a hug.
I lean back and slightly push him away. “Hello J—–,” I say removing all emotion from my tone.
“So, it’s like that.”
“Yes,” this time with a smirk. “It’s like that.”
“Who is this Dwayne?” Lamar chimes in.
“This is J—–.”
“Oh,” Lamar grunts, knowing our history. “You really got the nerve to come over here and speak to us?!”
“Cool it, Lamar,” I say in a loud whisper.
“Look, I just came over here to say hi. It’s been a while and I’ve missed you,” J—– says.
“I’m sure you have,” I reply. “Well, you’ve said hello, now you can leave.”
He starts to turn away, but then whips back around.
“You know what Dwayne?” he says raising his voice slightly.
This could get interesting. “What J—–?” I reply leaning back smugly.
“I don’t know what you’re fucking problem is. You put me on blast on your stank blog and I’m in the wrong for wanting to be nice and say hi? If anything you should be apologizing to me.” The dull roar begins to subside as people start starring at the forming conflict.
I stand up so I’m at his level. “Excuse me? You want me to apologize to you. I do believe you were the one who played me and then dumped me on Valentines Day. I could care less what the fuck you think about my blog.”
Not only has the patio become dead quit at this point, but the bar’s patrons are now backing away into a circle around us, as if we were about to break into dance.
Lamar makes a futile attempt to calm us down. “Guys, maybe you shouldn’t do this here.”
“You were moving way to fast and you know it, don’t blame me because it didn’t work out. I already apologized for all that,” J—– says.
“Oh wow, you apologized, that makes it so much better,” I say. “And how dare you say I was moving too fast. You were the one who said you were in love with me after we had only been together for two weeks!”
“Yeah, because I knew that’s want you wanted to hear. You were the one who kept talking about how much you wanted to be in love.”
“You broke up with me because I wouldn’t say I loved you back! Then two months later I finally tell you that I love you, and you bail!”
At this point we’re pretty much screaming at each other. Out of the corner of my eye I see the patio bartender head inside, probably to get security.
“And don’t give me that bullshit about you choosing the church over me. You went off with that Troy dude from your job,” I say.
“You’re so fucking crazy paranoid dude,” he says mocking the way I said dude.
“Don’t lie to me, I overhead you talking to him on the phone while you were at my house. To which you said I was being paranoid and then got the nerve to get mad at me for being jealous. You, of all people, know that I’m not that stupid. And about the blog, writing is how I handle shit, but you don’t know that because all you think or care about is yourself.
“Whatever Dwayne, you weren’t in love, you just wanted to be in love. You’re a lovesick immature puppy who’s confused.”
“Don’t even get me started on which one of us is confused,” I say scoffing. “You just can’t face you mommy and let her and the rest of your wacked out family know that she raised a faggot.”
He reaches back and slaps me and I stumble to the side. The crowd sends off a collective gasp. As I gain my balance a small stream of blood runs over my lip. I turn to face him, my eyes filling with rage.
“You feel better now! You feel like a fucking man now!” I scream getting in his face and pushing him back with my chest. “Go ahead, hit me again! Make mommy and god proud.”
“I’m sorry.” He hangs his head and steps back. “We didn’t love each other, it was all a fake fairy tale.”
I snap my head back in his direction. “I never lied to you.” I turn my head and violently spit blood on the concrete. The patio bartender and a bouncer break though the crowd.
“I’m gonna have to ask you guys to leave,” he says gesturing toward the exit.
“That’s the best thing I’ve heard all night,” I say taking a couple steps back to our table. I grab the more then half full Long Island and down the rest of it. “Goodbye guys. I’ll call you later Lamar.”
“Bye Dwayne,” he barely whispers in shock at my participation in the scene that just unfolded.
I head toward the exit brushing past J—– in the process. A few steps past him I turn around. “Next time you see me when we’re out, do us both a favor and keep on walking.”
–
I wake up in a cold sweat. The clock reads 5:17. I sit up moaning in mental anguish.
Shit, one fucking Myspace message after two months of not speaking and my dreams run fucking wild.
I drop back into my pillow. Why can’t I get over this loser!? A smile stretches across my face as I head back to sleep. Well, at least I’m 15 pounds lighter.
Posted in Uncategorized on March 21, 2009 by dwynstew
***DISCLAIMER: I’m a bit a tipsy, so please forgive the many grammatical errors that I’m sure will appear below.
I’m beginning to realize that many of my emotional and social shortcomings are in part due to my unflailing devotion to my career. I’ve done nothing since third grade but try to become a journalist and I believe it’s doing a doozey on my psychosis.
For instance, it can somewhat explain my unrealistic expectations concerning love. I’ve gone about my love life much like I’ve gone about my reporting career. It’s highly (and sometimes unrealistically) believed that if you pay your dues in small newspapers doing the daily grind at the bottom you’ll eventually rise to the top. Well, when it comes to love I’ve always thought if you put in the work then you’ll get a big payoff, which for me has always been that elusive perfect life partner. However, as we all know, it doesn’t always work out that way.
Another mitched metaphor, and the reason for this blog, is the belief in never burning bridges. In journalism it’s all about networking, appear nice and cordial and accommodating to everyone you work with because you never know when they’ll be in a position to help you out with a job or referral in the future. And this pretty much works well in the world of mass media. When I meet a journalist for the firs time, I just spend enough time with them and realize that through six degrees of separation it likely we’re someway connected.
However, I’ve mistakenly applied this rule, to the ‘nth degree, to my daily life; completely upending my life and schedule for the appeasement of others, sometime to the determent of myself and my personal beliefs. (Any of my fellow journalist out there, please comment if you’ve experienced any of this or the above.)
I’ve been reading this book, “Mr. Right is Out There: The Gay Man’s Guide to Finding and Maintaining Love,” and, of course, in order to love someone else you must love yourself, so there’s a complete chapter on how to love yourself. Anyway, a part of that chapter says that in order to love yourself you must respect yourself by setting boundaries with the friends you have and refusing to be taken advantage of. Something I haven’t been very good at.
It’s time for some new rules (that some may consider harsh) in hopes to change this pattern.
Each time a favor is asked of me I’ll be going through my memory rolodex to see if that favor (or one of equal inconvenience) has been reciprocated in the past. (Please feel free to provide one if my memory fails me.)
If it infringes on my work time it’s a no. Just because I work from home doesn’t me I’m anyone’s designated chauffer, butler, child care provider, etc.
If you live more then 20 minutes away from my home and though I’ve made the drive an insurmountable amount of times to your place of residence and I can count on my two hands the number of times you’ve come to my place, I’ll be declining the invitation. But will gladly recommend that I host you at my apartment.
If I’ve been nothing but the perfect host to you at my home (and everyone knows I’m freaking Martha Stewart when it comes to hospitality) and you treat me like some red-headed stepchild at your place, I will be declining the invitation.
Sex in my apartment from this point on will be reserved for myself and the person lucky enough to be joining me.
Don’t ask to borrow my car, my insurance doesn’t cover you.
Do not ask me to be DD if you never have or never plan to drag my drunk ass home.
Most importantly, this list isn’t all inclusive and may grow/change at my discretion.
In conclusion, before leaving a comment detailing how rude and ridiculously childish this blog is, try to make a detailed list of at least 10 unsolicited (meaning you didn’t offer I imposed) favors I’ve asked of you. If you can’t then my point has been proven. And don’t tempt me, because details are my life and I will rise to the challenge of doubling your list.
Posted in Uncategorized on February 24, 2009 by dwynstew
Oh, how quickly the tides change...
My life it seems has always transpired along a series of highs and lows. Either is everything going wonderfully or I’m in the midst of some calamity, be it physically, mentally, financially or emotionally. There’s never a middle ground.
Thirty days ago I had a boyfriend, a disposable income, a hoppin’ social life, tons of friends I spent time with on the regular and a job I was increasingly falling in love with. Now I no longer have a boyfriend, I’m facing eviction, an emptied checking account due to a massive decrease in hours at both my jobs, a dwindling list of companions I see every couple of months, the threat of unemployment every week because I happen to be trained in a disappearing craft and I now seem to harbor an overall since of defeat.
You begin to notice the signs of depression when you alone have eaten an entire cheesecake in less then a week.
Though my situation may be bleak I still recognize that it could always be worse. I, at least for the moment, still have a job, unlike many others. (Shout out to Julia. I know you’ll land on your feet soon hon! You’re too brilliant not too.) So, I won’t bore you with the details of the list above, except for the continuing disaster that has become my love life, for which this blog has specifically become a sounding board for.
As many of you know I’ve been dating someone pretty seriously for the past two months. (We’ll simply refer to him as Mr. J.). J. is a 24-year-old recent OSU grad currently working as a telephone receptionist for a major banking conglomerate. He’s a bit of a Jesus freak (attending church every Sunday, and often tried to “lead me back to the alter,” as he’d call it), however, I must admit his conviction was more attractive then annoying, and his sassy attitude and confident demeanor tempered his church boy persona. He’s tall, he’s gorgeous. He was perfect.
We met online, per usual, right before New Year’s and hit it off right away. A few dates later we were cuddling on my couch on the regular and planning vacations to Atlanta’s Pride celebrations this summer, and making reservations for Valentine’s Day. However there was one problem. Though, I was indeed falling for Mr. J., he had already fell for me, and hard, or so he’d say.
Only two weeks after our first in-person date J. had already said those three precious words. I was taken utterly aback. Could you really be in love with someone after a couple weeks? I told him I cared for him deeply but I wasn’t ready to take that next step. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to love him I just didn’t know how to. J. is the 11th guy I’ve dated, but the first person I’ve ever saw myself being with for the long run, more then a man-of-the-moment.
After two more weeks of dating bliss, late nights out, later mornings in, cuddling, passionate kisses and intimate embraces, one night while spooning to a movie that was watching us more then we were watching it, he said those three words again and I hesitated. Next thing I know the he turns cold and we end up sleeping in different rooms. The next morning I was accused of “playing with his feelings” and he decided that it be better off if we ended things. Just as I was falling for him, I was dumped.
So, I did what any (wo)man scorned would do, I cried into the shoulders of my best friends and went on a weekend drinking spree (one of the most fun weekends of my life, btw, lol). Anywho, the next day J. came to his senses and begged me to come back, claiming he knew he’d made a mistake the minute he got out of the car. And against my better judgment I took him back, but warned him that he was on probation.
So, a few more weeks pass and we become closer then ever, I start to believe that this is it, it’s finally happening, I’ve found him. Stupid me.
The night before Valentine’s Day he brings me a huge homemade cheesecake he’s made himself, a stuffed animal and chocolates, and for my gift I’m planning to take him to Brio, his favorite restaurant, the next day. I’ve made reservations and everything. This is also the night were I finally get up the nerve to say those three words. And I actually meant them. I had fallen, even harder then he had, now that I think about it. We then spend all night in each others embrace. (I’ll spare you the details.) Though picturesque, my fairytale came crashing to a burning halt less then 24 hours later.
The next day J. calls and cancels dinner, saying he’s too tired from our all-night romp and wanted to just catch a late movie and do another night in, which I’m actually totally cool with. It was my first time having a boyfriend on Valentine’s Day, we could’ve spent it with my parents, at church and I would’ve been thrilled. Anywho, J. never shows. No call. Nothing. I begin blowing up his phone, hysterical, thinking he’s dead. A week goes by, he still hasn’t even as much as Myspaced me. I’ve become resigned to fact that my heart has been broken, but still need some sort of closure. What did I do wrong for him to disappear on me? So, I get up the nerve to call him. The conversation has been dictated below:
“Ring”
“Hello,” he says.
“Hello?” I reply in a bit of shock.
Long pause. I panic. I wasn’t expecting him to answer. I had my speech written out and everything. Yes, it’s pathetic, I know.
“You there?” He asked.
“Yeah, I just wasn’t expecting you to answer.”
Longer, more awkward pause.
“So, do you want to explain why I haven’t heard from you in a week, and why you stood me up on Valentine’s Day?”
“I don’t know. I don’t really have an explanation, no one deserves to have that happen to them,” he says in a complete deadpanned tone, with the TV droning in the background. “I knew what I did was awful and I was scared to call you the next day and then after a while realized you’d probably not want to be with me anymore anyway so…” He trails off.
“I see,” is all I can muster. This conversation isn’t going at all liked I planned. “You do realize that I can no longer be with someone who is capable of doing what you did.”
“Yeah, I know, I wouldn’t want to be with me either.”
“So, I guess this is goodbye then.” I stutter. “I guess all there’s left to say is that I’m sorry it’s ending this way. I thought we really had something special.”
“It’s a lot deeper then you think.”
“Okay? Well, you said you didn’t want to explain, so I really don’t have much to go off of. What does ‘a lot deeper’ mean?”
“It has a lot to do with the way we were each raised,” he begins. “We just come from very different backgrounds.”
“What does that mean? You mean our church backgrounds?”
“Yeah.”
“So, you stopped talking to me because I don’t go to church?” My voice raises a bit as I finally find my backbone.
“No, it’s has nothing to do with you, it’s all me,” he counters.
“Oh I see, you stopped talking to me because you were in a gay relationship while in the church.”
“Yeah.”
Another pause. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. This dude is breaking up with me because he thinks he isn’t gay!? Bullshit! (If you met him you’d agree)
“So, are you saying you really didn’t love me?”
“You didn’t really love me either.”
This answer pushes me over the edge.
“Uh, yes I did,” I said raising my voice.
“No, you didn’t.”
“I’m not going to argue with you J,” I practically yell. “I loved you. Very much, I might add. But if it makes you sleep better at night, please, be my guest and believe that lie.”
“Whatever.”
“‘Whatever,’” I say holding back tears. “After all this, all I get is a ‘whatever.’ That’s fine. Well, like I said, this is goodbye. Goodbye J.”
He begins to stutter a response but I hang up the phone.
Once again I find myself in emotional ruin over a guy I’ve only been with a few months. Eleven strike outs in three years is a bit much. It’s time something changed. It’s time everything changed. It’s time I stop trying to find fulfillment in men and start finding fulfillment within myself, in every aspect of my life. It’s time I stop eating like I’m 12 and dating like I’m 16. It’s time I grew up.
Instead of spending another weekend crying I decided to enact these changes right away. I called up the local LGBT center, Stonewall Columbus, and submitted a volunteer application. They are responsible for the enormous Pride Festival here every summer and are offer a ton of AIDS awareness and youth mentoring programs. Surrounding myself in a more positive and selfless LGBT atmosphere sounded like a good first step.
I’m also changing my diet and…wait for it…staring to work out. Ahh! Lol. As many of you know my fridge is usually filled with frozen pizzas, bologna and microwavable buffalo wings. I started this low-fat diet thingy, ordered some cookbooks off Amazon.com, and bought some Tae Bo DVDs. Though every muscle in my body is aching, they’re actually pretty fun.
I’ve also jumped on the self-help band wagon (I know, I know). I purchased a few gay-specific self-help books. Maybe some new-fangled psychiatrist will have a better approach to the gay love life. (You’re also welcome to supply your own psychiatric evaluations in the comments section below, lol.)
Yes, I know this all sounds a bit over-ambitious, but I’m going for it. Maybe if it works I can be on one of those Tae Bo infomercials with my “before” and “after” photos or get a book deal and start a spinoff franchise called “Dude, He’s Just Not That Into You,” with LGBT-speciftic diet and love advice. The possibilities are endless! Lol. (Please note the sarcasm in that last statement.) I’ll be sure to keep you all posted on my progress. I’m sure you’ll be dying to see those sexy “after” photos, lol.
Anywho, here’s to a life changed for the better. Hopefully.
Posted in Uncategorized on January 11, 2009 by dwynstew
DISCLAIMER: This is a TRUE story. The names have not been changed.
“Cristyn!” I screamed as I hit the concrete floor.
A black cloth glove around the first punch barely registered but the second sent a shockwave from my chin to my temple. I fell to the floor where one tries to kick me in the stomach but fails, his foot landing on my cushioned thigh. The other succeeds where his delinquent comrade fails planting one right in the ribs. I moan in agony.
“Give me your keys, bitch! Give me your keys!”
“Okay, okay. Just don’t hurt me.” I pulled the keys out of my coat pocket. As they headed for the car I headed for the door.
I banged on the front door, realized it was unlocked, pushed through, slammed the door and locked it behind me. My aunt, Caroline, is sitting in a cushioned chair watching TV.
“Dwayne, what’s going on!?! What’s wrong!?”
“I was just mugged and they stole my car,” was all I could mutter.
“Here! Here! Take the phone! Call the police!”
I stumbled to dial the three numbers. It took three tries. “I don’t think this is working.” I pause take a deep breath. This time turning the phone on before dialing. All the while chaos ensuing behind me as Cristyn and her brother, Josiah are clued in to what’s going on.
“911, What’s your emergency?”
“I was just mugged and my car was stolen.”
“Where are you located sir.”
“I’m at 674…um…apartment ‘B’…um” I turned to Caroline. “What’s the address here?”
“674 Morrill…”
The dispatcher plows ahead before she can relate the full address. “Tell me what happened. What did they look like?”
“They…” My mind had gone blank. The shock has finally caught up with me and erased my memory, like some sick Freudian defense mechanism. My mind had become a jumbled mess.
“There were two no four .Two guys beat me up and they took my keys and ran off. I don’t remember what they looked like they were wearing black hoodies.”
“You don’t know what they look like,” said the dispatcher with a hint of sarcasm.
“No, not really. There were four guys.”
“I thought you said there were only two.”
“There was four at the beginning, two left and the other two beat me up,” I stammered, my hands shaking. “They took my keys.”
“Did they take your car?”
“I’m not sure, I didn’t stop to watch them take my car. I ran into the house. But I’m assuming since they have my keys, they have my car.” The dispatcher was beginning to test my nerves.
“So you don’t know if they took your car or not?”
“They took my car!”
“Sir, please calm down. I’m trying to help you.”
“I need a police officer. Did you get the address?”
“Yes, you’re on the landline so we got you at 674 Morrill Dr. Apt. B.”
“Yes.”
“We’ll have someone dispatched over right away.”
“Thank you.”
I hung up the phone still in a bit of a daze and all of a sudden remembered that I’d been punched earlier. A delayed panic set in.
“Oh shit, I forgot I was bleeding. I need to go to the restroom.”
In the bathroom I mended the puffy lip. The sting in my ribs had subsided signifying no permanent damage. I looked in the mirror and notice the damage. Suddenly I felt a thousand pounds heavier as the weight of the situation set in. I sat atop the toilet seat starring out into space, overhearing Cristyn as she relayed the night’s events to our cousin David.
The night whirled through my head like a distorted Merry-Go-Round in a Stephen King novel. A knock at the back door brought things back into focus as the officers walked me through the evening once again. They scribbled the details into their notebooks and headed out the door.
Fifteen minutes later, while “crashing” from the night’s events, a wave of fear and disgust came over me. All you had to do was roll up your window and keep on driving. As my head lay between my legs wondering if my insurance would even blink at covering this monstrosity of an evening, one of the officers returned.
“We think we may have found your car.”
My heart skipped a beat.
I followed him around to “the scene of the crime” and stuffed myself into the back of their cop car. A three second drive around the corner and my car is diagonally parked on the curb with keys still sitting in the ignition. The contents of the glove compartment were strewn about the seat and floor. The officer assured me they were just quickly looking for money before noticing cop lights up ahead and ditching the car. I couldn’t help but wonder if they hadn’t taken a letter baring my address and were headed there at the very moment to lie in wait for my return to finish the job.
After the cop handed over my keys I sped out of the complex and straight back to my apartment. By this time it was 4 a.m. and sleeping became impossible as an irrational paranoia set it. Each nightmare was the same. Two of the guys are standing outside my bedroom window while the other two come at me from inside the house.
After a sleepless night I headed to work at 9 a.m. after which I headed to my parents cushy suburban household, a place where I knew I could sleep without fear.
Though I may have lost my phone at least I still have my car. Why it took this harlding and painful experience for me to realize that talking to strangers in a questionable neighborhood after midnight isn’t a good idea, I’ll never know. Maybe tragic is just how I operate.
Posted in Uncategorized on January 10, 2009 by dwynstew
DISCLAIMER: This is a TRUE story. The names have not been changed.
Gotta get down the details before I forget….
Was there three?
No four.
Hoodies.
They were wearing hoodies.
One with red print.
I remember the red print.
Their faces.
What did their faces look like?
Kids.
Wait, they were kids.
No, older then Josiah.
You were dropping off your cousin Cristyn.
They’ll want to known that.
Stop, what happened first?
You gotta get it together.
What happened first?
My lip hurts.
Bleeding.
Why is it bleeding?
They hit me.
Twice.
The first one.
Then the second.
The first didn’t hurt as much.
The second sent me to the ground.
Third and fourth disappeared with my phone.
Think.
Go back to the beginning.
Why did I roll down my window?
They were just kids.
Just kids wanting to know the time.
Shouldn’t have rolled down the window.
Shouldn’t have talked to them.
Shouldn’t have…
Shouldn’t have…
Just start at the beginning…
–
“I’ll see you in February,” I said.
“Alright, Dwayne. I love you ‘little brother’ (her nickname for me thou I’m older and biologically her cousin).” Cristyn said as she closed the door.
I slowly pull out of the small parking lot and watch as she walks to toward the door. As she disappears into the house I notice four teenagers in black hoodies, one with red dragon print, motion toward my car. Without thinking, I crack the window.
“What’s up?” I said.
“Hey man, do you know what time it is?” said the shorter one with the dragon sweater. He does most of the talking.
“Yeah, it’s 1:34.”
“Can we use your phone so my boy can call his mother?” He motions to the slightly taller rougher looking compadre next to him.
“No, my phone is about die,” I said stuttering slightly. Dragon sweater smiles wickedly sensing the fear behind my eyes.
“Your phone is dead?” He said laughing.
“Yeah, It’s dying the battery light is flashing and I’ve got to go.”
“Let me see, you’re lying.” The others are laughing now.
“I bet you he can make the phone call before it dies.” Another one said immediately following.
He come closer to the car I flinch, forgetting my window is still cracked. He reaches his tiny hand into the car and grabs the phone out of my hand.
“Come one dude, give me my phone back.”
The others, seeming to take care in my plight join in.
“Come on man give him is phone back,” the new talker flashes me a smile that lingers against his darker skin. Dragon sweater is already on the other side of the apartment complex. Being followed by the guy originally in need of the phone.
“We’ll get your phone back for you. Come on around I’ll show you were he lives.”
I turn left into an alley way and follow the two who are left. All the while believing they’re just teenagers having a little fun with the soft-spoken suburbanite, because they’ve had a little too much to drink, or are possibly just high.
They stop near a row of apartments. “He’s in apartment ‘I’”
“1745 I?” I replied.
“Yeah,” he said. “Are you gay?”
“What!? Why? Is that a problem?”
“No, you just sound gay.”
“Whatever, I just want my phone.”
The dragon sweater returned
“Give this man back his phone so he can leave and be one his way.”
“Where’s my phone?” I say a little more forcefully.
“My brother’s got it. He’s charging it.”
“Yeah man his mother’s house it right over there go ahead and knock on the door and she’ll make him give it to.”
“I’m not getting out of my car.”
“Why’d y’all tell him where I lived!?”
“If I don’t get my phone back now I’m going to my cousin’s house and calling the police.”
They started laughing so I drive off. As I was leaving I heard one of them say. “See man, now you’re making me mad. Just go inside and talk to his mother.”
I drove around the corner and parked back at Cristyns’ mom’s house. Two of the guys were waiting by an old black truck next to my car. One threw a snowball at my car. The other opened the car door to the truck and threw something else. They paused. I cracked a different window.
“Are you ready to give me back my phone?” I asked annoyed.
“Yeah, man we’ll give you your phone.”
I got out of the car and noticed a piece of a ladder on top of my car.
“Where’s my phone?”
“My dude’s still got it.”
“I’m calling the police.”
I headed towards Cristyn’s. They began to follow me. One’s on either side. I noticed the one on my left had a large pair of pliers in his hand. It’s then I realize these weren’t “just kids.” I panicked and ended up passing Cristyn’s door.
“Do you know where you are?” The one on my left said menacingly
“Yeah, I’m at my cousins house,” I said without knowing what he meant.
“You’re in Linkin’ Park bitch.”
He punched me. A bit in shock, I realized it didn’t really hurt. Maybe these are just kids, I thought. I changed directions and made a beeline for Cristyn’s door. The other one catches up and punches me 10 times harder in the jaw. I buckle and fall to my knees.
TO BE CONTINUED…
(Sorry guys I’m falling asleep, lol. Also, sorry about the many grammar errors. Wanted to get most of this up before I forget the details.)
Posted in Uncategorized on December 29, 2008 by dwynstew
My very first bottle of Grey Goose. Ain’t she precious! lol
Question of the Day: Is it okay to have sex at a friend’s house? Or more importantly in their bed?
Observation of the Day: Why the hell was I the only one who didn’t get laid at my own party Saturday night!?
DISCLAIMER: If you haven’t figured it out by now this post is going be a bit on the raunchy side, so bail now if your “uncomfortability meter” is starting to spike upward.
I know I promised a blog post chronicling my online adversity conquering triumph that is Metromix.com, but more pressing matters are at hand. Well, sort of.
This past weekend, as many of you know, I threw an after-Christmas shindig for some of my friends and family. However it is my foggy memories of the “after-party” that are giving me pause. Eight people (who shall remain nameless) decided, at some point during the party (which actually lasted til six in the morning) that they needed some sexual healing.
I’ve started to become more known for the “out-of-control factor” at my parties then anything else these days, and I’m not too sure how I feel about that just yet. I do know that my house is becoming more like a brothel with each passing soirée. A place where caution is thrown to the wind, where fantasies come to life and where the meek do indeed inherit the earth.
My own Moulin Rouge so to speak.
I guess that would make me Harold Zidler, which is actually pretty accurate, as, like myself, Monsieur Zidler is an overweight, control freak with self esteem and submission issues, who is never seen partaking in a love affair as they play out in droves all around him.
(Yes, this analogy may be on the side of overly theatric, but, really, would you expect anything less?)
Like I said I’m not sure how I feel about all this. Though, I do think that straight sex is gross (it so is, don’t kid yourself), I am a very sexual being and would never want to get in the way of anyone else’s sexual fulfillment. So if a couple of tipsy bedfellows discretely sneak away to my bathroom or bedroom to fulfill a desire during a crowded affair it shouldn’t be a big deal, right?
However, like I said, straight sex is gross, and it seems a bit rude for you to be sweating and gyrating about on someone else’s property. But then there’s also the fact that I myself have partaken in such behavior, so creating a “No Sex in the Dante Room” rule of thumb may be a bit on the hypocritical side.
So you tell me. Is sex at a friend’s house a no, no? Or simply excusable?
Posted in Uncategorized on November 12, 2008 by dwynstew
I’m officially a VJ (visual journalist). Five years ago (hell, one year ago) whodda thunk I’d be using html, taking pictures, creating photo galleries, managing and editing a Web site? Definitely not I!
Metromix Columbus is an entertainment news Web site geared toward 21- to 34-year olds, without kids. And I’m the Associate Producer! (Plese lift the dropped jaw, lol). Please go to my new Web site at the link below and let me know what you think!
Posted in Uncategorized on October 27, 2008 by dwynstew
Because I’ve been insanely busy, and a bit lazy, this one’s gonna be a two-parter. So, if you’re also too busy, pick your poison: boys or politics? The latter is the focus of the rambling below.
American’s are stupid. It’s pretty simple actually. It begins with the old adage “a person is smart, people are stupid.” As evidenced by the video above. (Let’s not forget the responsible, well-informed voters featured in the clip are Ohioans. Still wonder why I’m on the fast track out of this godforsaken state?)
Over the past few months I’ve heard people on both sides of the aisle saying some of the most ignorant things for the reason they’re voting for Arizona Senator John McCain or Illinois Senator Barack Obama. Some of them being my own family and friends. As a journalist I felt the record needed to be set straight on some things. So here it goes…
Idiots Against Obama
This should be the bumper sticker for about 70 percent of McCain’s supporters. I’ve been approached by many of them claiming, “One of the reasons I’m voting for McCain is because Obama doesn’t put his hand over his heart during the Pledge of Allegiance.” And also, “I’m not voting for him because he’s a Muslim.” And yet another, “I’m not voting for Obama because he’s for abortion.”
First of all, I can’t believe people still believe this ridiculousness about his hand over his heart and him being a Muslim after it was disputed by the main stream media (including Fox News) nearly a year ago, as evidenced by this article.
Also this talk about abortion is out of control. I’d like to begin this argument by saying, who cares!? We are in the midst of the deepest financial recession since the great depression and are involved in two wars, about to be three. Whether some 16-year-old whore is saving herself from a life of misery shouldn’t be our main concern.
Now many of you would think I’m being harsh. And maybe I am. So, I’ll put it this way. Whether you’re pro life or pro choice one thing is clear. Teenagers and people who have no means with which to raise their offspring should not be having children. It’s that simple.
Roe v. Wade (the famous court case which legalized abortion in 1973) was initially instituted mainly because of teenage mothers who were using coat hangers to perform self abortions or simply leaving their newborns in trashcans. There was also the rise of “underground abortion clinics” where unqualified individuals would perform abortions for a quick buck, ultimately resulting in the patients being mutilated beyond repair. The common saying was, we might as well make it legal so women would go to professionals and decrease the tragedies from cases where women disposed of the fetus at any cost.
If Roe v. Wade is reversed this underground abortion society is sure to crop back up, but no one seems to be worried about that angle of the story. Also, teen pregnancy is on the rise. Females are becoming pregnant at much younger ages. Kids are horny. They’re going to have sex. It’s that simple. Programs like Planned Parenthood and Safe Sex Education (as opposed to its ridiculously naive counterpart, Abstinence Only Sex Education) are keeping pregnant teens in school so they can still achieve their education and provide a better life for their child. If you believe that passing condoms out to 14-year-olds is somehow indecent then you need to adjust your mindset from 1948 to 2008, because sex is rampant is American junior high schools and the only way to stop it is safe sex. They’re doing it, whether you want to believe it or not.
Okay I know abortion is a bit of a tangent, but I had to get that off my chest. Now on to this whole William Ayers insanity. (Don’t worry I’ll get to McCain. Sad thing is, I actually like the dude, but we’ll get to that later.)
For those unawares, William Ayers, now a 63-year-old college professor, was apart of radical anti-war group called Weather Underground that bombed public buildings in the 1960s and 1970s (when Obama was around eight years old by the way).
McCain’s running mate, Sarah Palin (oh, don’t worry, we’ll so come to her later) said in one of her speeches that Barack Obama “pals around with terrorists” because he and Ayes served on a school board sponsored committee and Ayes hosted a fundraiser for the senator. It became a huge controversy and has been the main issue the McCain camp has been using as an attack on Obama. The main stream media once again has proven this inaccurate, as evidenced by this article.
My take on the whole thing: Obama is ahead in the polls and McCain is getting desperate. End of story.
McCain Misnomers
Moving on to McCain.
It may shock many of you, but I used to be a supporter of John McCain. It wasn’t during this election, but it was back during the late ‘90s (yes I was a dorky kid who liked politics) when Clinton was in office. McCain wasn’t vey popular amongst his own party, he was very good friends of Bill and Hillary, and was known for stepping out of party lines and going with what he thought was right on many major Senate decisions. It was because of him that many of Clinton’s policies made it through a, at the time, Republican-run Congress.
Many of you may not know this, but in 2000 McCain ran against President Bush in the primaries for the Republican nomination. He surrounded himself with a staff that was full of democrats, republicans and independents and planned, as he says now, “to bring truth and change to Washington.”
However, during the campaign Bush’s camp went on the attack leaking rumors that the black child he and his wife had adopted was from an affair and that his wife, Cindy, was strung out on drugs. Subsequently McCain lost his bid to run in the election. This is also the basis for the Bush/McCain “strained” relationship that you hear so much about in the press.
In 2004, McCain was even thinking about switching over to the Democratic Party, even talking with Ted Kennedy, at one point about officially making the conversion of his senate seat. He backed out at the last minute and joined forces to help get Bush reelected, ultimately seeing the potential for his present run at the White House.
Okay, I say all that to say this. McCain sold out. He did an about face and completely aligned himself with a party who pretty much hated him eight years ago. But in a sense he had to, or he wouldn’t be running for president today.
On to McCain’s age, which has been a major factor for those aligning themselves with Obama. And subsequently has been the butt of every Late Night Talk Show hosts’ jokes.
For the record he just turned 72 in August, and according to his doctors he has a “clean bill of health.” And though he graduated at the bottom of his class during his military training and doesn’t have a college degree (Obama has a degree from Harvard), McCain has a very brilliant political mind. I will give him that. But, seeing that McCain has made it his goal to hammer home Obama’s William Ayers association I have to bring up The Keating Five scandal he was involved in, which I’m surprised Obama hasn’t used as his offensive during the Ayers attacks.
Again a little background, The Keating Five was a group of five senators that were accused of some major political corruption in the late ‘80s and early ‘90s. Basically these five men (of which McCain was apart) was accused of intervening on behalf of a famous banker by the name of Charles Keating. He was involved in some pretty insane money laundering scheme and he allegedly paid off these five senators to get him out of it. Three of the senators dropped out of politics after their terms finished because of it. McCain was cleared legally of all chargers but was still reprimanded by the government.
Vamping For A VP
Both of the candidates’ choices for running mates were complete and total political publicity stunts. There I said it. I must say, however, that McCain’s choice was a bit more so then Obama’s, here’s why.
Obama’s running mate, Delaware Senator Joe Biden, in my opinion, was chosen because Obama was getting roasted in the press for being too young and having little political experience. So he chose someone who was old and had lots of experience. Biden appeals to the white, working class demographic that Obama has been having trouble reeling in. However, despite these politicking sins, Obama picked someone who could help him make political decisions where his experience lacks. He killed two birds with one stone so to speak, he made a choice that worked for the public and for himself.
McCain completely gave in to a rash impulse decision simply to gain Hilary’s voters with his VP pick. I’ve been having trouble finding the right words for what she does to America, so I’m calling in the assistance of this article from Rolling Stone by the prolific Matt Taibbi. He says:
“…Here’s the thing about Americans. You can send their kids off by the thousands to get their balls blown off in foreign lands for no reason at all, saddle them with billions in debt year after congressional year while they spend their winters cheerfully watching game shows and football, pull the rug out from under their mortgages, and leave them living off their credit cards and their Wal-Mart salaries while you move their jobs to China and Bangalore.
And none of it matters, so long as you remember a few months before Election Day to offer them a two-bit caricature culled from some cutting-room-floor episode of Roseanne as part of your presidential ticket. And if she’s a good enough likeness of a loudmouthed Middle American archetype, as Sarah Palin is, John Q. Public will drop his giant-size bag of Doritos in gratitude, wipe the Sizzlin’ Picante dust from his lips and rush to the booth to vote for her. Not because it makes sense, or because it has a chance of improving his life or anyone else’s, but simply because it appeals to the low-humming narcissism that substitutes for his personality, because the image on TV reminds him of the mean, brainless slob he sees in the mirror every morning.
Sarah Palin is a symbol of everything that is wrong with the modern United States…”
That pretty much says it all. (You must check out the rest of the article. Taibbi is simply brilliant.)
The main argument of Palin supporters is that she’s a regular hockey mom from a small town, she’s a good ol’ regular American, she’s one of “us.” I don’t mean to a traitor to my fellow “regular folks” out there, but I don’t want a “regular American” running the country. Like I said at the start of this post, Americans are stupid. They’re the “mob,” they follow any fad you throw at them. I love my mother and all, but I don’t want her running the country.
Palin is a joke and the fact that someone as smart as McCain actually agreed to add her to the ticket was the final straw when it comes to my respect for him.
The Bottom Line
I know this blog has been long and boring but the point was not to endorse one candidate over another. Anyone who’s ever spoken to me knows that’s I’m voting for Obama. That’s not the issue. The issue is that you must have valid and factual reasons for why you’re backing said candidate. Vote for McCain, vote for Ralph Nader even, just please, please, please know why and what you are voting for. Especially my fellow black brothers and sisters. Too many people died so you could have the right to vote. Please use this right wisely.
To reinforce my support of voting in general. Check out the below video:
Why am I voting for Obama you may ask?
In the simplest of terms the Republican Party has systematically destroyed the country over the past eight years. For the first time in history we are in the midst of a major economic crisis while simultaneously being raped for resources by two wars overseas. I no longer trust the Republican Party to run the country. When Clinton was in office we had a surplus and were at peace (except Bosnia, but does that really count?). It’s time to change hands again. Though I have some reservations about Obama, I believe he’s an extremely educated man who has surrounded himself with political geniuses that represent the change we need (to steal a cliché lol). It’s that simple.
(If you are in any way an acquaintance of mine and I ask you why you’re voting for whomever you’re voting for I want a similarly educated and informed answer! There’s only a week left people, get it together! P.S. Isn’t anybody else as scared as I am that Ohio’s going to fuck up the election again because of this new fangled early voting?)
Okay I’m off my soap box.
Until next time…
~D.A. Steward
For those wondering why I haven’t mentioned a single word about my job (which has kept me hella busy and is the reason why I haven’t written in so long) in these past two posts, it is because there will be an entire blog on Nov. 12 dedicated to the culmination of my hard work: Metromix Columbus’ debut! And if you know me you will be using it! You have no choice.
