Welcome to the first issue of my newsletter "Bran Flakes" - a semi-monthly review of what is going on currently in my life. I will write about many things.  Topics will range from the mundane to the more down-to-earth subjects.

The layout is experimental, and I have not decided if I will keep it in this form yet, so your feedback is appreciative. I purposefully avoided frames for those who abhor them, but I may institute them later. I am also thinking of starting a comments page for feedback or discussions, but I have not decided on that either.

So, please sit back and read these few tidbits with an open mind and a positive attitude.  I look forward to publishing more.

Brandon
 

Depression is a Bitch and She Works at McDonald's

Not only is depression a bitch, but she's a ghetto bitch with long abnormally curled, manicured nails working the all-night drive-thru window at the corner McDonald's. She could fucking care less about you, your order, or the fact that you are allergic to tomatoes. Her fat ass is comfortably rested on a bar stool next the register, with her pre-paid cell phone hanging from her side hip. When you do get your order, you can smell her stank right after she opens the window.  It drifts toward you in a putrid cloud, causing all respiratory organs to temporarily cease. You might attempt to conjure up a "thank you" from her before pressing the gas peddle, but you know deep down her shitty attitude will prevail and you'll be left with a regular soda rather than a diet.

This bitch and I go way back though. Long before her JLo booty was promoted from the fryer to the register, she and I were buddies livin' it up. She owned me. And as my first fag hag, she had all the rights and privileges to manipulate me to do her evil bidding. Whenever she wanted me to sleep all day or cry all night, I was at her beck and call.  If she wanted me to host a pity party, I was all too quick to head to the store to buy the party supplies.  And because her lazy ass hates to work, she oftentimes coerces me to call in "sick" to work.

Even now, she pops by my pad on occasion to mooch off of me. She drinks my soda, finishes off my wine, empties out the cupboards, and leaves nothing unturned. Her wrath leaves my apartment in shambles. Dirty bowls are left piled in the sink, and the toilet seat is brown from urine and shit.

And if I were stronger, I would be able to pick up her dead weight and toss it off the balcony to the courtyard below. Perhaps there, maggots can infest her useless carcass and birds can pick out her rolling eyes. But I am afraid, it's not that simple.

In the near future, I am going to have to face her head on in the boxing ring. And even though we are in different weight classes, it won't undermine the fact that I am going to win this bout.  It may take a few tries, and she'll probably cause me some physical and emotional pain. I'll have to duck when her nails come towards my eyes, or before her weave starts to strangle my throat, but I will prevail and eventually kick her mother-fucking ass back to McDonald's.

My new truck is holding up fabulously...

But I really don't expect less from a 2004 Ford Ranger. As a matter of fact, I am like a kid in a candy store store each time I step in to the cab and breathe in a large whiff of that most mesmerizing of fragrances: new car scent.

I had not planned on buying a new car or truck until later next year, but that plan changed in February when a man rear-ended my 93 Ford Ranger. To me, all he had done was bend down the bumper considerably. No one was hurt, so we exchanged information and went on our merry way. He did mention that he had a cousin that could "take care" of the problem, but I wanted to check things out before becoming the latest victim in the reality version of the Sopranos.

As luck had it, the man's insurance company came and compared their estimates to mine, so they wrote me a check for $1100. With that, I decided to shop around for a new or used vehicle. I looked online and got my truck at a steal. The sticker was $16,000. My trade-in was $1000. I got the X-Plan discount, $1000. And Ford was running a spring special sales event which took off another $4000. The final price: $10,000. I was one happy man.

Submitted Topics...

SUBMISSION: froggyboinc
TOPIC:  "Gay Rights"

RESPONSE: First, I don't believe any group of people should be entitled to more rights than another group of people. However, within certain cultural periods, specific preferences (or laws) *may* need to be initiated to ensure diversity and individual liberties. When referencing marriage, gays should be given the ability to marry just like heterosexual couples. This would not be a "special" right, but access to a privilege all ready afforded by those attracted to the opposite sex. In the end, government should not decide either way who a person decides to marry, thus all laws governing marriages of both homosexuals and heterosexuals would be nullified. In the regards of the same-sex benefits, again I am not asking for a "gay right", but access to a privilege given to others -- equality.
 

SUBMISSION: trestleboy
TOPIC: "a white picket fence"

RESPONSE: When I was a kid, there was a small house in town that had the most adorable white picket fence surrounding it. The house couldn't have been more than 800-sq-ft, but it was large enough for my little child mind to place myself in. I wanted to live there. I wanted to wake up up Saturday mornings and mow the itty-bitty lawn, or play with my dog. The fence symbolized freedom and protection from the world, and independence. For blocks, neighbors would have been able to see my personal statues of liberty perfectly aligned next the sidewalk, a testimony that personal liberation is possible for anyone... even a small child.
 

SUBMISSION: vergence
TOPIC: "hookers""

RESPONSE: Hookers are fun. Even for gay men, they are fabulous! They know how to put up with men's shit, make a dime on sex, and how to give some good head. We could learn a few things from our sisters of the street.

Whenever, I watch COPS, I am like "Hey you men in blue, leave those ladies alone! They're just trying to make ends meet." Sure, they might be addicted to crack or peddling babies on the black market for a hit, but that's NO reason to throw them to ground, causing wigs to fly and press-on nails to break. No no.

I declare -- "HOOKERS UNITE!" No longer should you have to give a hand-job under the freeway for a mere 5-bucks! No longer should you have to resort to flea bag no-tell motels to satisfy your clientele. And no longer should you have to wear short-short skirts when it's 30-below.

Upcoming Issues:

April 15, 2004
- 80s Bingo Photos
May 1, 2004
- Beach Trip (photos and journal)

Fairy Tale Bingo Photos - March 2004

 
Two performers from the Fairy Tale Bingo event in early March (www.gaybingocharlotte.org).

 

Miss Shelita lights up the stage in her evening attire.

Tan in a Bottle
July 11, 2001

Within this premier edition of "Bran Flakes" (and because summer is just around the corner), I wanted to share an experience I had with tanning.  More specifically... the type of tan that comes from a bottle.

I know that reading about my life and how I attribute everyday occurrences to some sort “life lesson” must get a little old at times. Well, brace yourself again. I just stepped out of the bathroom with yet another analogy to grace my self-psychotherapeutic journal. No, it’s doesn’t relate to urinating and how that mirrors one’s own way to rid unhealthy components from life. I am not even going to mention how brushing teeth is similar to the constant friction that must be applied to our characters in order to keep them nice and “clean”. However, I am going to bring up the subject of tans in a bottle. Yes. You heard right. Tans in a bottle. The newest and catchiest instant society product is now sitting my bathroom counter. In self-defense, I just “had” to try it and see if it truly works. Plus, it’s made by a reputable company and is NOT seen on TV every night for a glamorous price of $19.95.

INSERT ANALOGY
So, I went into Target with the sole purpose of buying the Neutrogena Sunless Tanning foam. I know. I live a VERY sad life at times, but I needed an excuse to visit my favorite department store. Anyway, as I was standing in front of the shelved display, I was forced to choose between a foam product, a spray product, and a lotion form of the sunless tanning miracle - all for around $7.99. I was weary. The bottles were orange. I was hoping this was not the color that I was going to turn, similar to the color spray paint cans show on their caps. Blindly, I chose the “Deep” tanning solution. As you can see in my photo galleries, our precious sun has never been kind to my white skin, so I needed a “deep” tan, even if by bottle. I have never had a tan in my life (with exception to when I was three and running nude throughout my town and pooping on neighbors’ lawns. THAT is another story). I even noticed that the bottled advertised a “streak-free” look. What does this really mean? Does that mean my tan won’t look fake? Or does it mean I won’t look like I missed a spot on my back like I usually do when I use suntan lotion? Or does it promise that I’m not going to go running through the neighborhoods nude again once I apply it? Who knows. I bought it anyway.

When I got home, I carefully read the directions. They begin: “blend evenly over freshly cleansed skin.” Yeah. I am a man. We almost never follow directions. So I didn’t clean my skin. Next direction: “Apply sparingly around elbows, knees and ankles.” Um. Ok. Why can’t I put this formula on these body parts? Does this sun tanning lotion really want to discriminate against such valuable areas of my body? I think not. However, I did follow this direction. I wasn’t wanting to look like some circus freak. After all, I was going to turn bright orange anyway. I didn’t need headlights on my knees to guide me when I eventually get to a beach. Then I read the next direction: “Avoid contact with eyes.”  This suggestion caught me off guard. I know I can be stupid at times. And I know that sometimes I need my hand held, but can I say “DUH!” Anything that can change the color of my skin in one hour is not going to be healthy for my eyes. I would like to be able to SEE this sunless tan when it is complete. The directions went on to tell me to avoid contact with clothing and that I should wait one hour before bathing or swimming. Those were reasonable requests.

After reading the directions thoroughly and laughing to myself, I proceeded with the skin-make-over session in my bathroom. I stood there in my shorts and wiped it all over my chest and back. Then I proceeded to my arms and eventually to my face. After all was said and done, I looked back and everything looked the same. I remembered I had to wait an hour, without contacting clothes, and let the “sunless tanning” chemicals work their magic on my lily white skin. In no time, I was a half shade darker, but I really couldn’t tell at first. I went to sleep and discovered a nice outline of my neck on my pillow case the next morning. I guess my sweat during the night had released the tanning chemicals from my pores and I wet the bed with tanning solution. Lucky I bought those light brown sheets at Target as well. Now, I need to write Neutrogena and tell them to add: “Avoid contact with sheets and any other form of fabric for four hours after application.” In addition to my pillow case stain, I found a few splotches of dark skin on my forearms.  This was not pretty. I looked like I had a bad run-in with a brown Crayola marker in a deserted ally, and the marker won! The infamous brown marker also attacked the top of my feet and a small place on my back. Unfortunately for him I was quick to apply more solution to the aggravated areas, hoping to cover up any deformities.

Here I am, three days later with a tan that looks semi-real and semi-fake-n-bake. I do have to say that it is weird to look in the mirror in the morning and see my skin a little darker than usual. Ideally, I would love to get a real suntan, but I will have to settle for man’s mimic in the meantime. What fake product will I buy next? I was thinking about butt cheek implants. But I might have to save up for that. Or until they are on sale at Target for $7.99.

Oh, and for those searching for the moral of the story, or an enlightening analogy, here it is: Things that come in orange bottles don’t always make you orange.