Update (mid November) – Marshalling Up Escape: From the Frying-Pan into the Fire


Greetings Readers,

Today I have begun to write about some of the most BIZARRE events that have occurred in our adventures in Salt Lake City (and the entire jaunt around the country). This includes a Run-in and extremely frightening situation with a man who was not only dangerous, but preyed on the discreditably and youth of our society. That being said, while I feel we got even, in some minor respect, I feel very conflicted that this man is still out there doing what he is doing. I have reason to believe that he has been acting like this for some time prior to both Christopher’s and my arrival, and that even former employers of his may be aware of his activities. While I am not going to come out and say who he is right now, it is safe to say that this man was a pedophile who worked in mental health of younger boys and he certainly did victimize them and use all the tricks in the book. I am seriously considering what I should do about who he is and what I have discovered.

I am not exaggerating when I also say that I feared for my safety and well-being but more importantly, I feared for Christopher’s safety and well-being.  This was in-part due to the fact that Christopher is a small guy and has similar qualities to the —shall I say — younger types that our new host found appealing in both boys and men (but more often boys).  My presence however threatening, constant, or boasting could not deter this man from trying a myriad of techniques starting with drugging us both, in order to get what he wanted.  This obviously included Christopher in his control and me out of the way entirely.

I was smart enough to recognize an insincere and strange tension when he was around, I noticed without needing any information about the guy that something was not right.

Not only did this guy play that icky part mentioned above, he was the worst elements of everything in this country I have come to hate: An Idiot who puts politics to play like his own toy-soldiers and utilizes idiotic cliches with rhetoric producing some half-baked political moronic sludge that was incoherent and senseless. It is safe to say this guy is one that I both feared and loathed with everything I could feel at first.  This fear grew more substantial as I put myself to discovering what the foreboding atmosphere was all about. It was NOT easy to play the part that I did for a little under two months.

There was a younger neighbor boy living nearby as well and I will go over his living situation, his mother, and another side of parenting for which I feel very conflicted about. All of this in my next post on “Marshalling Up Escape: From the Frying-Pan into the Fire.” From there we move onto the last section concerning our Salt Lake City travesty concerning, “The Trigger-Full-House. Both Aptly named. I hope my readers look forward to the excitement to come and will learn a bit from it.

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A Word on Misfortune, Expectations, and Fate.

Marvin and I - Feb 2011

Marvin and I – Feb 2011

First a Shout-Out of Thanks to a Reader!  Thanks Marvin!

The above picture was taken in Feb 2011, and since I owe a shout-out to Marvin, the handsome guy next to me in the picture, I will do so through honoring some memories I have of us together.  We became dance buddies after meeting because we both really enjoy dancing, are good at it, so it was only natural that we enjoyed dancing together.  I remember some really fun times that we had at Cobalt and Towne Dancebotique.  But that should not suggest that we didn’t spent plenty of time at Nellie’s socializing before our too few DC dance-capades.

The picture to the lower right is after a particularly cold, but memorable night in either, November or December of 2011. In my infinite misguided-infatuations I force myself to do things a little less than reasonable to feel like I got someone— whom I really did not have.  I knew it, but ignored it. Anyway, looking at the picture you’ll notice that Marvin is sporting a nice rabbit-fur hat, which was passed around to just about every guy in the Gayborhood, getting more action than any single guy that ever lived in said gayborhood— I should have charged to let people wear the damn thing.. Whether it was for the warmth or the fact that that hat looked utterly ridiculous,  no one could resist wanting to at least try it on.  Had i thought of it and charged for the benefit of using such a fashion-forward piece of rat-fur, I would have made out like Heidi Fleiss before she began her birdie binges.

To meet this person for whom i had an infatuation, I traveled all the way out to Charlestown WV after one of the BEST times dancing I can remember at Cobalt (with Marvin) and I had a little too much to drink (although I had sobered up I was extremely tired).  I often wonder what would have become of me if Marvin and I would have just stayed and enjoyed ourselves and I ignored the hold this lad from an adjoining state and I would have appreciated what was close-by?  I feel a tinge of regret and considering my other path ended the way it did I may always wonder.


Anyway, the shout-out:: .

Marvin,  I really appreciate your feedback which, for one, lets me know people are actually reading my blog, and it also serves to provide me direction to better improve my humble efforts. By letting me know me your opinion, I feel confident with regard to the reflections you had on life and living my adventures vicariously though this blog. I genuinely don’t feel as though it is very different from anyone else’s mis-step (be it intentional or not).  I just know my comfort zone and that it’s been flexible of late. Forever clinging to the notion that everyone is equally capable of doing what they want, I desperately do not want to believe  that some people are suited to endure certain things that others would succumb to the same trials..  This is elitism and it justs just as well we believe it to a certain extent because some of us are more capable than others when it comes to anything, be it leading a nation, boxing, interpreting the law, or survival. What are you content with whereas someone else might need luxury,  Probably not, but there are those who will work hard to earn comforts so they no longer have to be capable.

To quote Shakespeare,  “Poor and Content is Rich and Rich Enough.”  There is a lot of truth in those words.  Even when living with someone you can identify where extreme discomfort hrt in a difficult situation emerges and I would hope for myself that someone would coax me into being content with the status-quo.  It’s really a way of surviving.  I am of the firm believe that people can become far too content with too little and perhaps shouldn’t be— but I am not referring to matters of wealth.  Marvin, you paid me a few compliments earlier in the day concerning  you !  More importantly, he flattered me with a line of compliments that was really the most satisfying a person could be paid in reference to the way one lives.  I try to live a satisfying life and, most importantly to experience as much as I can and try not to waste time.  Have I succeeded?  Who knows.  I said earlier in the month that some might find my life someone exciting or even accomplished but I really am not quite satisfied with myself.  I’m naive to whether or not that is a good thing.  Being dissatisfied certainly leads one to be more a person of action, but misfortune also begs the concern for weather it is safer and predictable to simply by stay home.

 A Theory On Living:

I have often tolds myself that bad luck is something that is rather invited into someone’s life.  I have been told this by others too.  These others seem to be supreme optimists— even if it is just idiotically stupid to keep with such a mindset.  At some point one must be realistic over optimistic.  The difficulty is sometimes in knowing when.  Hope drives us to keep going, but it can also drive us to foolish decisions.  There comes a time when if decisions are not made situations can me made exponentially worse.  It was at such a time that Christopher and I left our first place in Salt Lake City.  It was actually significantly outside of Salt Lake in a part of town called Draper.  It was a wonderful tech corridor if I could have broken into a solid position.

Our first three months there really saw the money that we arrived with gone.  Not only that, Christopher and I had been given the primary responsibility of taking care of two boys, ages Seven and Six.  I really loved taking care of them, but had really forgotten that taking care of kids is a full-time job in of itself.  I find it important to mention that the kids were expensive too.  Christopher and I were the primary suppliers of food and daily supplies that keeps any household running.  We were not required to pay rent, but the situation was a bit odd either way.  The house was full of people and a bit too small.  If I was independently wealthy I would have taken care of the boys until they were grown.  I loved cooking for them, introducing them to new foods, teaching them and just participating in their lives.

The boys got both Christopher and I up in the morning because if someone wasnt awake with them there would inevitably be some impending catastrophe without a sane presence.  I remember coaxing them away from the X-Box.  I had bought heavy whipping creme from the store and I asked the older boy, James, if he wanted to whisk the heavy creme for me.  He was not certain of the purpose but obliged as I prepared strawberries, bananas and chocolate.  Whisking heavy creme is actually really tedious when equipped with just a whisk.  But it’s how I always made whipped creme.  I added sugar and had the boys trade off in whisking while I finished, I have Christopher take over the whisking as their little arms get tired and they are questioning me with ever more frequency what is supposed to happen.  When I point out that it is thicker than it once, they found renewed will to whisk.  Either way, I finish it up for them as it gets difficult until there are soft peaks in the creme.  I then have James taste it with his fingers (clean fingers) and his response was:

“I love eating butter!”

“Well…. I guess it needs more sugar!” I generally remark, as Christopher laughs at how honest the boy is.

The minds of these children— and all children– are really wonderfully simple.  The simple notion that the whipped creme tasted like butter was a simple reaction to tasting something similar to what he has tasted before.  Of course, if we had continued to whip that creme it would separate into butter, but it was simply that he had not experienced having whipped creme before and he had tasted butter.  Similar taste without enough sugar.  My mind was worried before that point if I may have already added too much.  The important aspect is that I had an expectation for what it should be and the boys didn’t and I got a really honest reaction for something as simple as whipping creme for strawberries.  I had hope that my expectation was really what it should be, or good enough for the kids.  I got a slight adjustment with the frank “butter response” and couldn’t hope that it was sweet enough at that point.  It makes me think every day if our expectations don’t need to be re-assessed, and often at that.

More on that next time, as the situation becomes serious in Salt Lake.

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(I haven’t survived some of this without a little help)


From DC-topia to Salty Lake City


Living in DC was some of the most fun I had ever had. Unlike most people that live there whom I actually hang out with… aside from my shorter, less-white, name’s sake; I enjoyed going to the museums and visiting the art galleries. I did so often. With that being said, I loved the night-life– I love dancing, music, socializing, etc. But I don’t like people that complain about their government jobs or contracting position, complaining about it over drinks but also squawking about how much they make and where they live what they drive, blah blah. I gladly told people that I was unemployed when the question came “what do you do?” I was unemployed, living in a great spot and LOVE gloating about it (even though secretly I didn’t feel like it was something I should be gloating about). My cultural pursuits in the district may have warranted my being there in of themselves– in simple reference to art galleries collection of art from the last century.

The story of us leaving for Salt Lake City is really a story of hopes for a new beginning. Christopher and I had been living in the Newport west on 14th and Rhode Island Ave NW in the District of Columbia. Those who know the corner know that there is a Caribou coffee right around the corner and a Whole Foods Market behind it. While we were sufficiently comfortable there, I spent a meager allowance that allowed me to live sufficiently and looked for paltry work in the meantime.

First: without getting any deeper into how I was really living, let me say that I look fondly back at this time in the district. I was waking up to Christopher lying next to me, heap fulls of clothes scattered throughout the room, because it just would not do for either one of us to get dressed into an outfit (for an outing that might only last an hour), and be happily satisfied with what we were wearing. From the clothes Christopher might pick from pick from my discontentedly-scattered and tempest-tossed wardrobe while I might pick from the odd shirt that a third party (living temporarily in the next room). I felt justified in doing so because he often picked from my wardrobe too. Those who know this system will label it in some form as the “gay bartering system.” Either way, with so much going for both Christopher and I, we paid these little indiscretions no mind. Although it should go without me mentioning, that we wanted the temporary roommate out. In fact, we wanted him out so badly that we partook in extreme theatrics in order to enact this desire into a reality.

This third party I will call Millhouse. Without being outwardly cruel myself, I will say that one fellow I know described Millhouse as being a real-life Arthur the Aardvark, on account of his particular skin-shade, shape of his head and the glasses he wore. All superficiality aside, we wanted rid of Millhouse because he treated our place of residence as though he were a house-boy, which two guys in their mid-twenties without doubt, do not need. Especially, one looking like Arthur the Aardvark. Just barely touching on what we were go through in order to get rid of this lad, I recall one night Christopher and I entering the apartment, –without the need of any alcohol at all– being caught in some inconsequential argument. However, upon hearing the argument as it was–as Christopher and I bantered and entered the apartment–it could have seemed quite serious. With little more than a phrase whispered between both Christopher, we escalated “the argument” and added references to give it meaning to the common eavesdropper (or unfortunate persons in the neighboring room –or adjacent apartments for that matter). Then push comes to shove, one ventured unto insult and drinking glass goes smashing on the floor accompanied by shouting (my touch). At that moment smiles have crept onto both of our faces and we are trying to keep those smiles from sounding off in the discourse of the “argument.” Performing very well under pressure, broken glass under foot, and real emotion understood to houseboy, we conclude our “argument” and exit the apartment in a dramatic fashion only suiting for such a ridiculous farce–giving us a means to relieve the laughter that has been building up inside of us.

So as you can see, our lives in the District were not completely without merits for staying or going. Pressure was building in my mind about the financial feasibility of our situation and I was of the believe that if something was not done the longevity of Christopher and I might suffer the more for our lack of foresight and action.

However, it seems that fate always has a plan in store, whether or not the parties involved in that plan were ready for it. As it turned out come April, Christopher and I were being evicted in the most clandestine way possible. No notice at the door, our exorbitantly expensive rent was being paid on time, nor any mail from the courts. I had the inkling that my mail was being intercepted when I checked it upon arrival one day, returned it to my mailbox and re-entered the building only to fetch mail that was no longer there. Strange? I agree.

Let me first say that I was renting a sub-leased apartment– on the chance taken that I was certain it would not be allowed and if discovered would only serve to see me kicked out. Well without too many details this saw itself into fruition. Should I mentioned that I was packed and ready to go, with everything in the truck by 3:30 PM, when Federal Marshals bang down your door to see you out of your dwelling-unit? Well both Christopher and I were ready and we had train-tickets to see our personal effects and our persons on the train to Salt Lake City the following day. I hope that the aardvark living there had ample time to get his stuff and get out. I am not a particularly vengeful person, but seeing as he was the primary cause for getting us booted, I thought it quite sporting of me to give him a good four-hour head-start before the marshals were scheduled to arrive.

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(I haven’t survived some of this without a little help)