Corn-fed Fabulous

It's not a marathon...it's a sprint.

My God...

It's been officially one year since I started doctoral study. Life changes so quickly even if it seems you're in slow motion - what seems stagnant now seems so fleeting later on. So, school started. Work continued. Relationship evolved.

I am half-way through my doctoral education now. Once again, I'm waiting for another week-long orientation, research intensive, where I meet-and-greet faculty and this time, I meet the new students, the "me's" from a year ago. I'm old hat now. This time next year, I'll be qualifying to proceed to my dissertation work...God willing.

I've never read this much in my life. Right now, I find myself reading through tons of psychology literature, motivation and self-efficacy, and intermingling those concepts with the likes of health literacy, self-care, affective support and mechanical circulatory support devices. Then, all that's left after qualifying is to find some hospital organization with a flourishing mechanical heart support program and get access to their patients and hope to God they feel like filling out my survey... THEN compile, analyze, report, write, defend... my dissertation and receive my PhD posthumously...

This is insane. Who in their right mind would want to do this shit?

I made a personal promise to myself, in 1996, when I was finishing my first RN degree. Having to work full time, it seemed so difficult, getting through that associate degree program on 3-4 hours of sleep at night, staying up for 48 hours straight on clinical days. I promised myself I would see this through, no matter how long it took, and I'd take this as far as I could go. Now, balancing full time work and full time school is easy; leave that to the professionals, baby.

I remember last year, our first "meet and greet" mixer, and I was the newbie. A faculty member, who turned out to be the Dean, of all people, said hello to B. Leaning towards him, she said, "Be gentle with Brian. This journey he's taking, it's a marathon, it's not a sprint..."

B. looked at me, made a wide eyed stare, and smiled as we got drink refills.

I'm ashamed to say that I read my research literature during my vacation in Miami, while B. read some soft-core porn memoir of an ex-marine turned male escort.  B. has been so patient through all this; he ignores my fits and just takes a deep breath whenever I mention the beginning of a new semester. Maybe this year, I'll be able to be better to everyone, to him and to myself.  

And now I'm getting gray hair. Fortunately, gray hair is en vogue, what with the gay rage over Anderson Cooper and all...

Looking back on the last year, it wasn't all bad. There has been a lot of growth and change and I'm that much closer to getting to where I need to be, and where I've always dreamed of being. I can look back on this all one day and remember when I worked two jobs to pay for community college just to finish my basic RN degree, when I'd photocopy portions of my classmates' books when I was at work, since I couldn't afford to buy them. I'm really almost there.

Finish line, see you soon...

Turning the page...

It's official - my year of working on the Nashville Pride board has come to a much anticipated end. Although I enjoyed getting to know most people I encountered, I can honestly say that this prison sentence was most definitely one of the more miserable life choices and all-around bad decisions I've ever made, and at least I can take comfort in knowing I never have to take that road again. I have deleted all stock photos, all passwords, all paper trails, all e-mail distribution lists and am considering a cleansing ritual for my computer.

An enlightening learning experience -- what does not kill us only makes us stronger.

Consider me Herculean.

It's still not much of a life...

My God...

It's been almost one year since I put down this blog. Well, the second incarnation of a blog. I remember religiously posting one to two times, maybe more, a day, and reading/catching up with so many friends I'd made from reading their thoughts and sharing mine.

Then school started. Work continued. Relationship evolved.

I am half-way through my doctoral education. Once again, I'm waiting for another week-long orientation, research intensive, where I meet-and-greet faculty and this time, I meet the new students, the "me's" from a year ago. I'm old hat now. This time next year, I'll be qualifying...God willing. Right now, I find myself reading through tons of psychology literature, motivation and self-efficacy, and intermingling those concepts with the likes of health literacy, self-care, affective support and mechanical circulatory support devices.

I'm ashamed to say that I read my research literature during my vacation in Miami, while B. read some soft-core porn memoir of an ex-marine turned male escort.  Perhaps I'll be able to talk more this year, and show up on the blog a little more regularly than an annual account of life.

See you soon.

It wasn't much of a life anyway

You would think that as long as I'd been gone from writing that I'd have some sort of life or something exciting to share.

Not so much, really.

This Wednesday I start the PhD program. I'm off until the 31st, basically because Vandy wants to let me experience a week-worth of orientation and meet-and-greet every one associated with my doctoral studies.  At least I went to Miami this summer, and had a great vacation and got lots of sleep.  I imagine I won't know what that's like for a long time to come.

My trainer has decided that I've come to the point in my physical fitness regimen to lead our workouts, in a sort of "train the trainer" format. This means that whatever I come up with, whatever makes me sore, nauseated, or lightheaded is nothing that I can complain about, because I picked the routine.

Very sneaky.

Anyway, next week also starts my inaugural stint on the Nashville Gay Pride board.  Hopefully I'll meet lots of beautiful people and make lots of beautiful friends and just be all gay and involved and happy.

Uh huh.  I'll meet a bunch of bitchy faggots and dykes that want nothing to do with the year's worth of coordination and work only to be the first ones to complain about next year's festival. Aaah, big gay Nashville.  Hell, big gay anywhere.

So, the best part of my week was when one of the trainers referred to me as "fit", and one of the musclebunnies in my gym told me, "Man you've got great legs."

I thought to myself, "Um, not half as great as what's between them!"  Down, damn it! I have a husband. I had to recite my grocery list to myself throughout the rest of my workout in order to avoid thinking of every cliche Falcon video pac meets Titan media jock-strap locker room gang bang scene I've ever jerked off to seen advertised.

Since you been goooooone...

Since I've been gone...

1. Gone to a medical conference and got buck-wild in downtown Atlanta

2. Turned the big 30. Started seeing laugh lines and random gray hairs (only on my face, thank Christ).

3. Moved into a new apartment and left my old hard wood flooring vaulted ceiling open floorplan overpriced apartment  for the new, carpeted, painted, covered balcony, generous storage space, better use of square footage apartment that I'll be living in throughout my PhD program.

4. Got a nice raise, bringing me to the salary I'd initially asked for when I moved to Nashville 2 years ago.

5. Went back to the riverfront and stood amongst a sea of sweaty, fragrant, tattooed Nashvillians carrying sno-cones, turkey legs and beers, while watching the annual Independence Day fireworks display.

6. Took a part-time teaching assignment in the graduate school of my alma mater, and had a miserable time trying to keep track of the students and what I was supposed to do, all with very little guidance from the course director.  I will make a note to die first before ever doing that again.

7. Went to Miami with the bf, stayed a week amongst absolutely no one that spoke English, senior citizens in speedos and halter tops, while getting sunburned, totally  intoxicated and relaxed, and occasionally watching strippers flirt with my bf while we were out at the local South Beach gay clubs. 

8. Scattered about trying to prepare myself and my life for another onslaught of full time work and full time school.

It's been a busy summer.

Bananas and the mentally ill...

Contemplating the connection between fresh produce and the functional mentally ill after a chance encounter such as this, I'm a little amused and floored by the interaction I had at Publix not more than a week ago.  I was doing my usual trek for whole food and diet coke. Making my way quickly through the front of the store, I waded through a sea of afternoon customers, into the produce section of the building.

I usually enjoy a banana with breakfast, so it's a given that I have to grab some each week. I find the display with the usual spread of Dole and Chiquita. There's an elderly lady to my immediate right, perusing the right side of the offering. I notice she is picking up every cluster of bananas on the display, looking at all angles, smelling them, feeling them, even talking to them. She's eccentric, I guess. I figure there's enough room at this display for both of us to look through what's laid out.

I figured wrong.  I reach to grab some bananas that aren't too green, but not too yellow, and immediately, Grandmother decides to howl at decibel level at my violation of her property.

"I was just about to get those!" she screams, scaring the absolute shit out of me. I drop the bananas in the floor, and look directly at her. I bend over, pick them up, place them back on the display. She scowls, and replies,"Well I don't want those disgusting things now, you can just keep them!"

I decide to step away from the display, turn to grab a couple of granny smith apples, and leave my new best friend to her banana ball.

"Hon, don't worry about her, she's been standing there for over an hour," one of the bakery workers said, across the counter. "She'll head over to the tomatoes in a few minutes and do the same thing, then you can grab what you want.  We've called the police to come attend to her."

It was rather sad now that I think about it. That's someone's mother, or grandmother.  I can only hope when I'm that age that I keep most of my faculties, and if not, maybe someone dear to me will keep me from stalking the produce section of my local grocery store. 

Doesn't take much to make me happy...

But apparently it takes only 4 drinks to provoke a kareoke rendition of "Best of My Love" at tenor range in front of about 100 strangers I hope to never see in public again.

I'm just saying...

I should stop drinking any alcohol, period.

iPod

In heavy rotation on the iPod lately, the list is skewed by the fast-paced songs I've listened to during cardio sessions.

 

Even my television is gay...

...because I can't seem to keep the damn thing off of Bravo TV!  I swear to God -- I cannot get away from marathon reality-tv drama-contest shows!  Who can pass up machismo lesbian weightlifters? Or uber-nellie hairdressers?  And I find myself stuck in reruns of Project Runway, seasons 1 and 2!

I find myself fascinated by this shit. I get some thrill from watching Jacklyn Smith force a queen to cut some dysmorphic model's hair with garden shears!

Maybe there's a 12-step program somewhere? 

Is this thing still on?

  Please excuse me while I try to get this site up and running. After a brief absence from weblogging, I have learned a few very important details for this next go-around:

1. Never delete all your old shit.

2. Never start off with a host you know nothing about.

3. Kiss your previous blog's name goodbye.

So here I am again, ready to use the Typepad system again for another fun-filled, action-packed, season of southern queer nonsense and random ignunce.

Just give me a brief moment to get my shit together.  Thanks ever so!