Why Is It ...

… that I love saying, “Sorry I’m out of it today,” when I know for a fact there hasn’t been a day in the last ten years that I’ve been “in it.”

… that since I don’t think before I speak I am just as shocked as you by what I say.

… that most people don’t realize that, at some point, “I’m too old for this shit,” stops being a complaint and becomes a perfectly reasonable life philosophy.

… that the most expensive thing I own is a body that insists on being “medically interesting” to every specialist I see.

… that when people say I’m boring, I remind them that I spent my youth drinking in fields, partying with strangers, and making decisions that should have had me on a missing person’s list; so I’m not boring, I’m retired.

… that my favorite Fall activity has become not sweating anymore.

… that no one understands that if you don’t terrify people, even a little bit, then what’s the fucking point?

… that no one finds the new dating app I created very funny; I mean, you are matched up with people who are on the same meds as you and I call it “Relationscripts.”

… that I have reached the point where I can only handle one thing a day. Today I met a friend for coffee, that’s it. That’s the day, see you tomorrow.

… that I’ve just noticed that getting older means my arm has to be in just the right position when I go to sleep if I want to use it the next day.

Bobservations

I always like those stories people tell as if it’s the god’s honest truth and then find out they were wrong.

Case in point: in college I was bartending in Sacramento and the girl bartending with me was telling the story of her husband, who worked at a lumber mill in Jackson the day a band saw blade slipped loose and flew at another man’s head.

I said, “Did it decapitate him?”

And she replied, “Nope. Took his head right off.”

As the laughter died down, and it took a while, she said she thought decapitate was from the waist up.

On honey, no … no.

Cut to this week and Carlos and I are discussing Adam and Eve and men and women and the stories people have told.

I said, “Like the idea that Eve was made from Adam’s rib and so men have one less rib.”

He said, “That’s true. Men have one less rib than women which is where the story came from.”

I couldn’t reach my cartoon frying pan and so he went on … he talked ancient times and necropsies—which are autopsies done on animals, which confused me further—while I argued that it cannot be true, and Carlos argued that it was.

An hour later he slunk back into the kitchen to tell me he was wr … he was mista … he misspo …

I smiled and said, “How could you believe that?”

“I don’t know.”

And now I am rethinking everything he’s ever said to me.

This is about art and a cat as art from August 2011 after I’d finished painting the living room:

Finally getting some of the art back on the walls.

The photo--click to really emBIGGERate--is of a window shade that I found at a winery in Amador County, California. The desk is Carlos' from eons past, while the Bible is mine--yes, mine--and is an old family Bible. The statue on the right is called Twisted Kitty and is made of wrought iron. i found her in a furniture store in the Mission District of San Francisco.

This is one of the many pieces of Asian-inspired art we have in the house; there's something about these things that Carlos and I both love. It sits high on the wall in the sunroom, and you can only see it when you enter the room and turn around, so it's kind of a pleasant surprise.

My mother used to do something called Tole painting, which is a type of folk art. She learned to do this from her sister, and my mom spent years painting anything and everything. This is one of the few wall-art pieces of hers that I have and it sits in the kitchen where I can see it, and smile, every day.

And, of course, this is an example of living art, at least until February 2023. The most beautiful cat in the world, Tuxedo.

In South Los Angeles construction has begun a mixed-use development that will combine low-income housing and a new Costco store.

The project calls for the construction of a six-story building that will feature 800 apartments on its upper levels and a Costco on the ground floor; five levels of underground parking would be included in the apartment complex.

Approvals granted by the City of Los Angeles will require 184 of the new apartments to be rented as low-income housing, while the remaining units are to be made available to renters with Section 8 vouchers, including families and seniors in the surrounding community.

Part of the costs for the apartments, rent, etc. will be taken up by taxes on CostCo revenues at that particular store.

Good on Costco for taking part in helping low-income families afford housing.

I told Carlos I was looking for one of those lap desks you can use sitting in a chair, to hold a book while you read and use your laptop. And he was sweet enough to find this one for men.

I may put the cartoon frying pan away.

Apparently Bill and Hillary Clinton have defaulted on paying for their daughter Chelsea’s wedding back in 2014. It seems President Obama allowed the Clinton’s use of the Rose Garden for Chelsea’s big day and the event cost taxpayers $1.7 million that the Clinton’s never paid.

That sickens me until you learn that  … Chelsea Clinton didn’t get married in 2014, but in 2010; and she didn’t get married in the Rose Garden, but in Rhinebeck, New York; and no taxpayer funds offered up by President Obama paid for any part of the wedding.

I guess when you’re supporting the current grifter in the White House you have to lie about other former presidents to take the heat off your Mob Boss In Chief.

This week Mississippi Attorney General Lynn Fitch announced that the police shooting of Kohen Wiley “was justified” but let’s back up for the whole story:

On June 14, 2026, police officers in Senatobia, Mississippi responded to a shoplifting call that Vellesiya Wiley and her friend Latoya Ferrell had stolen a pack of diapers from Walmart. Neither woman has been charged with a crime, police officials have not released any evidence of shoplifting and Walmart hasn’t pressed charges.

But, according to police reports of the shooting, Vellesiya, Latoya and one-year-old Kohen Wiley were leaving the parking lot when officers arrived. The police drew their weapons and Wiley lifted Kohen up to indicate that there was a child in the car and then Sgt Hunter Foster fired into the vehicle and killed Kohen Wiley and wounding Ferrell.

And the state’s Attorney General Lynn Fitch says the shooting of a one-year-old baby was justified.

Justified.

Fabian Arnold is a thirty-year-old German-born model now based in Los Angeles so you don’t have to travel too far so … Would You Hit It?

Shake The Etch-a-Sketch: Our Twelve-and-Twenty-Six Anniversary

Here we are, another trip around the sun and Carlos and I are celebrating Twelve-TwentySix … twelve years legally married and twenty-six years … my how the time flies. So sit back, and let me tell the tale again …

We all do it to an extent; follow a line or path that we set up for ourselves. We plod a course, the straight and narrow some might say, and then walk that line toward a particular destination we've imagined we want. And every so often we twist the knobs on the Etch-a-Sketch of our lives  and a new course is charted, moving in a direction we hadn't thought of before. But it’s a slow curve most of the time, not dangerous and we can still see where we're going and can always go back if we don’t like the choice.

But what about shaking the Etch-a-Sketch? What about saying, screw that line, damn that curve. Let me hold on tight, both hands, and shake things up. See, I was an Etch-a-Sketch person, following the easy line, the one I thought I was meant to follow. I didn't stray too far off the path; who am I kidding, I never strayed off the path. But then it hit me, following the path, that straight line or that gentle curve, and where are you going? Toward another straight line, one more gentle curve? What was that all about?

My first shake was telling my parents I was gay. That was a big shake at the time, although now it seems more of a 'so what.' But I thought it was a big deal because I didn't have a real-life reference point on what it meant to be gay. What were the rules? Was there a uniform? Did I have to pay dues? What was it? In my family there were no 'funny uncles' or 'aunts in plaid' that I could see; that I could say, "Hey, I'm like that, so it must be okay." The only gay men I knew were the limp-wristed types on TV shows and in the movies. They wore ascots and paisley jackets, were sarcastic and alone. Terry-Thomas? No, not me. Uncle Arthur, I was not....at least I didn't think so.

So I shook the Etch-a-Sketch and came out and no one died and no one fainted and my family didn't disown me; my parents’ response was, “We love you.” Now, I lost a few friends, but maybe they weren't really friends to begin with if "I'm gay" causes them to disappear. I'm gay … Poof … you’re gone. It's like a homo David Copperfield.

I was out, and yet the Etch-a-Sketch was still giving me straight lines—I’ll save you the horror of joking about me following a 'straight' line because it’s already been done—and gentle curves. But then in 1999—so last century—I decided to give Etch-a-Sketch another nudge and I got a computer. Yes, I was late to the game, again, but I began looking around the Internet and found AOL and the series of chat rooms they had. I found one called Gay Lifestyles, and it was a fun chatty room where you could be gay, where you could step off the line a bit because no one really knew you.

I met Carlos in that chat room. The Etch-a-Sketch bumped a little and we started chatting online; another turn of the knobs and we took to the phones, and then the mail. He was in Miami, I was in California, but then I took a leap and told him I wanted to meet him . He was thrilled and plans were made for me to fly to Miami in July.

JULY? IN MIAMI? Oy! What was I thinking?

I bought plane tickets and readied myself to take a sharp turn. I realize now that my life had been split into Old Bob and New Bob. See, Old Bob would have bought the tickets to Miami, told everyone he was going, and got on the plane, but when it made a stop in Houston, Old Bob would get off the plane, find a Motel 6, and spend the week there. Then he'd return home and tell everyone that Carlos was 'okay' and the trip was 'fine.' I'd ignore Carlos' phone calls … I think I invented ghosting y’all … and stay off the computer. I'd go back to following that line.

New Bob didn't do that. New Bob flew to Miami, met Carlos, and spent a wonderful week in Florida. New Bob fell in love with Carlos and cried at the airport when he had to go home. New Bob's Etch-a-Sketch was shaking. And it was okay; twists and jogs in the path weren't anything to fear.

A month after I came home, Carlos came to California and met my family. I was so happy to have him there; so happy that my family liked him; my friends, too. But then he was gone, back to his home again and I wondered what would happen next.

It wasn't but a few weeks before I hurled the Etch-a-Sketch across the room and chose to follow the path I chose, not one that was arbitrarily set out for me. Carlos and I made plans for me to move to Miami. I sold a car, some furniture, some knickknacks; I got rid of my apartment and quit my job because I realized that every once in a while, you gotta Shake the Etch-a-Sketch … or toss it out altogether.

So, where does this all lead? It leads to today, twenty-six years after I stepped off another plane in Florida, though this time I was staying for good. We started our life together, all the good times and the bumpy times, and we are still here.

After six years together we moved to South Carolina, of all places, but made a wonderful family out of our circle of friends who celebrated with us when we chose to get married in October of 2014. Marriage equality was happening, even in South Carolina and since we had longed talked about being married, and having our friends and family, coworkers, strangers, the check-out girl at the Food Lion, the waiter who brought me another cocktail, and the world, or at least our corner of the world, know that we weren’t just a couple, we weren’t close friends, we weren’t partners—though those are all good things—we wanted to be Mister and Mister.

On October 17, 2014—fourteen years to the day that I moved to Miami—we were back across the country in Bellingham, Washington, to be married with my father as a witness.

And pause … y’all know that  I lost my Dad in 2024 and we celebrated our first anniversary without a Dad card and phone call wishing us more love and happiness. That was a Shake the Etch-a-Sketch moment I hadn’t thought about. I will be thinking of my Dad today, and my mother who loved Carlos the instant she knew I loved him.

So, we’re back …  I seriously never thought I would see the day that I would ... that I could ... marry Carlos,  but we did just that. I remember as a kid—a not-yet-out-but-knowing-I-was-different kid—telling my mother that I would never get married, but I would have a maid to take care of my kids. I remember that story and realize now that might have been my first shot at coming out—as a six-year-old, I think—because, even then, I never thought I could get married, never thought I’d be allowed to get married and create my own version of family and home.

And so we did it, and while it has been lovely, raucous, and fun, and there have been down times and sad times and bad times, but, as Elaine Stritch would say—and god am I gay … Elaine Stritch!—we’re still here.

And looking forward, always forward, and while I didn’t say this myself—Charlotte said it in one of those Sex and the City movies … again, god I’m gay—I like to say that I am happy every single day with Carlos. Not all day, every day, because that’s life, but every single day for the last twenty-five years, for some small or large part of the day, I have realized how happy I am and how happy he makes me, and that I am still crazy in love with him.

And that’s something to celebrate!

Happy Anniversary, baby. I love you, always, ever.

Bobservations

There’s this thing at our house where I go back to the office to pay bills, work on my blog, do paperwork, or whatever, and Carlos comes back about every few minutes to ask me this or that, or show him this or that. I always joke that if I want Carlos around just get on the computer and he’ll show up.

Last Saturday, he did just that; every four minutes or so … help move a table … fix the new duster he bought … tell him what color that shirt is. The last time he came back, I answered his question and then told Siri to set a five-minute Carlos-Is-Going-To-Annoy-Me timer and she said:

“You five-minute Annoy Me timer is set.”

I.Died.

Carlos.Sulked.

This episode of Cats is from August 2011 and is entitled WTF? It's Monday And I'm As Happy As A Basket Of Cats

Except these two don't look so happy .......

The late greats MaxGoldberg and Tuxedo, BFFs.

One of Cankles lapdogs is of the Homosexual breed and is named Scott Bessent ... why he would work for an anti-LQBTQ+ asshat is amazing to me ... but even more amazing is that this week Bessent actually said that Cankles told him all of Melanie’s female friends—AKA other Slovenian hookers—have asked to be set up with Bessent but are stunned he’s gay.

Uh huh.

Now to scrub my eyes and mind of everything Bessent, howsabout some outdoorsy cakes?

Talk about a foot fetish.

Alexander Skarsgård is well known for his fashion fearlessness, and his latest promotional tour he hit the “Wicker” red carpet in London in an eye-catching all-gold Saint Laurent suit and some freaky footwear.

What say you about the shoes?

For those of you drinking the Amazon Kool-Aid please remember this every Prime Day …

Bezos and Amazon help fuel ICEstapo deportation.

Bezos and Amazon gave $100 million to Cankles’ inauguration,

Bezos and Amazon scrapped plans to display tariff costs after pressure from Cankles.

Bezos and Amazon donated to Cankles’ ballroom and the destruction of the East Wing.

Bezos and Amazon want to reboot The Apprentice with Cankles’ Coke-headed son.

Seriously. Eat the rich.

Kacey Musgraves has zero fucks to give and took a swipe at fired former Homeland Security secretary Kristi Noem, after Noem took slammed Musgraves for having Texas Senate candidate James Talarico at her concert over the weekend by saying:

“I don’t think you have a dog in this fight but if you did you would have shot it.”

Smack! Bam! Pow!

And then … Kacey Musgraves has a mariachi band of teenage brothers detained by the ICEstapo open another one of her concerts in Texas.

That’s the energy we need.

Raphael Diogo is an American model of Brazilian descent, renowned for his undeniable presence in the fashion industry and his background as a Ju-Jitsu world champion so Would You Let Him Hit You or Would You Hit It?

Why Is It ...

… that no one gets my tips on how to handle the South Carolina heat: Number 1] Drink lots of water; and B] Watch how the fuck you talk to me.

… that I cannot decide if people are becoming more annoying or if I’m becoming more angry

… that while I don’t consider myself pessimistic I cannot help but feeling that a stupid civilization using AI can only lead to disaster

… that when I cracked a joke to my therapist and saw her instantly start jotting down something in her notebook my first thought was, “Bitch is trying to steal my joke.”

… that everyone is lucky my bestie and I don’t have a podcast

… that I know it’s not my job to police the internet but when I saw that someone had posted a recipe for cauliflower cookies I reported them for harmful content

… that when I saw a teenager crying on a bench I sat down and assured them that it’s gonna get worse; proof that not all heroes wear capes

… I get branded as odd all the time, yet I’ve never once been called unamusing. Keep that noted.

…  that no one remembers that when you invite me to your house and say, ‘Make yourself at home,’ the first thing I do is kick them out because I don’t like visitors.

… that when people tell me to eat better and drink less because my body is a temple, I remind them that it is actually a bouncy house with a slow leak.

Bobservations

This is a quickie …

Carlos was telling me about one of his dreams of being in his grandmother’s house and looking for her but she wasn’t there. He said he finally found her and then told me:

“She looked so awful. Of course, she has been dead for years.”

The two of us burst out laughing and that will be my catch-phrase for the week.

This Tale of Tuxedo is from May 2011 when I caught him sunbathing on a bathroom windowsill and he said, 

"Oh, I give up!"

Just a thought … Cornell refusing to give the victim of gang rape her tuition back so she could change schools and not be faced with her abusers they refuse to prosecute is another form of assault.

I don’t think I will ever grow tired of seeing these memes floating around the interwebz.

Brock Allen Turner was a Stanford University swimmer who was convicted in 2016 of three felony counts of raping an unconscious woman he found lying next to a dumpster and into whose mouth he shoved dried leaves so she couldn’t scream.

He is the rapist that Judge Aaron Persky sentenced to just six months in county jail and three years’ probation, citing potential severe impact on the life of a rapist who was then released from jail after serving just three months.

Brock Turner  now lives in Ohio and goes by the name Allen Turner.

Never forget.

Remember when billionaire Robert Kraft banned Macklemore for saying “Free Palestine”?

Well this week, Zach Bryan, the biggest country artist in the world wore a “Free Palestine” shirt right in Robert Kraft’s face at the same stadium.

That’s resistance.

Read this and pay attention …

Nolan Wells did not drown.

Stephon Clark only had a cell phone.

Emmett Till didn’t whistle at a white woman.

Philando Castile didn’t reach for a gun.

Trayvon Martin didn’t harass anyone.

Sonya Massey didn’t call the police to die.

Ahmaud Arbery did not trespass.

Sean Bell didn’t make it to the altar.

George Floyd and eric Garner couldn’t breathe.

Rekia Boyd didn’t pose a threat.

Laquan McDonald was walking away.

Kendrick Johnson did not roll himself up in a rug.

Mike Brown was only jaywalking.

Sandra Bland did not commit suicide.

Botham Jean couldn’t enjoy his ice cream.

Tamir Rice didn’t have a gun.

Say their names and stand up for them. Each one senselessly murdered in America.

Oliver Luke Cheshire is a 38-year-old English fashion designer, model and entrepreneur and so one wonders, Would You Hit It?

Why Is It ...

… that a coworker was talking about people’s looks and she announced that she believes everyone has a good side so I told her she was a circle

… that it was only five years ago when people weren’t allowed to get close to me and I miss those days

… that after all these years my boss still doesn’t get me. Last Friday I said to him, “Since it’s the last day of the week do you mind if I take a longer lunch.” He said, “No problem, when will you be back,” and I said, “Sometime next week.”

… that as a white man in South Carolina I am terrified people will think I’m a Republican.

… that some of you come from the “If you stop crying I’ll buy you something” generation  while I come from the “If you don’t stop crying I’ll give you something to cry about” generation. We are not the same

… that people forget that karma can’t do everything; learn to insult people sometimes

… that people don’t realize I am sarchotic … so sarcastic that you can’t tell if I’m joking or psychotic.

… that I giggle when I get an Unknown Caller on my phone; I rarely pick up even when I know the person

… that sometimes you’ll be listening to someone yammer on and on and on and realize that their frontal lobe hasn’t fully marinated yet

… that most days I really don’t feel like crushing it, so I’ll just crinkle it a little

Bobservations

When we had the skylights taken out of the sunroom our contractor couldn’t match the wood on the ceiling so we agreed to just put bead-board up on the whole thing and I would paint it.

Last week Carlos stumbled upon some things we’d had hanging from the ceiling pre-renovation and he wanted to put them back up which started this conversation:

“I’ll just use the hooks we used before.”

“They’re gone.”

“Why are they gone?”

“Craig replaced the ceiling with bead-board so the hooks were taken down and I don’t know where there are.”

“They should still be up there.”

“Underneath the new ceiling?”

I told him I was going to get my cartoon frying pan and he muttered something.

“What that that?”

“I have a cartoon frying pan, too, you know.”

Now I’m sleeping with one eye open.

This Caturday is from May 2011 …

There are places in our house where cats are allowed to be … on the bed … on the couch in the sunroom … on the couch in the living room … on a kitchen table chair. There are not allowed on living room chairs ... or dining room chairs … or kitchen counters.

Tuxedo, however, because he's so delicious, gets away with murder. He is allowed on the bathroom counter, because he enjoys a sip of water from the faucet … he's allowed on one of the living room chairs … if he's in my lap. 

But now, apparently, he has granted himself access to a dining room chair. There he is, peeking at me when I asked if he was hungry.

And here he is, doing his Gargoyle impression from atop a living room chair. He doesn't use his front paws to hold on because he's been declawed … DO NOT DO THAT … so he looks like he's just hanging around. And he just looks so darned cute, that I looked the other way and ignored his infractions.

Luckily for us both, Other Daddy wasn't home.

Harriet Hancock—a Columbia attorney and stalwart advocate for the LGBTQ+ community and our families, and is the namesake of the Harriet Hancock Center, a Columbia institution serving that community—died September 23, just shy of her 90th birthday.

Harriet became a fierce advocate and ally for the LGBTQ+ community when her son Greg came out to her in the early ’80s. As she came to know other LGBTQ+ young people whose families had rejected or struggled to understand them, she realized how desperately South Carolina needed places of acceptance, support and belonging and so she built that place; the Harriet Hancock Center.

I first met her about eleven years ago when Carlos and I joined a group of LGBTQ+ South Carolinians who formed The Will of the People Fund to fight for marriage equality in our state. We achieved that goal in November 2014 following a federal court ruling in the case Condon v. Haley that struck down the state's ban.

Harriet helped establish the Columbia chapter of PFLAG—a national organization dedicated to supporting, educating and advocating for the LGBTQ+ community—in 1982. And she soon became a quite visible and active public spokesperson, combating prejudices and stereotypes on Columbia talk radio, writing letter after letter to state news media responding to the homophobic attitudes then commonplace in public conversations about AIDS and LGBT people.

She was a force of nature and she will be missed.

RIP Harriet, you’ve earned it.

The fact that MacKenzie Scott, Jeff Bezo’s ex-wife and one of the biggest single donors in history, has given out $26,300,000,000 to charity and not run out of money really puts into perspective how the arguments against a wealth tax are bull shiz.

When I saw these cakes the first thing that came to mind was, “Why on Earth would you cover those up?”

On September 24, 2026, Fox “News” hosts spent the day telling their audience that Democrats are Communists  and Communists are evil. And then they went home and put on gowns and tuxedos to run to the White House to attend a state dinner honoring an actual communist.

PS Then Cankles made a commercial about himself using OUR tax dollars in which he says he will take down the communists.

Was that before or after you invited them to the White House for Melanie’s goulash? And by goulash I mean she’s a Slovenian Hooker and goulash is one of her sexy time high priced moves. 

These are the rich white men at Cornell University who decided it would better suit them to protect seven rapists than the one girl who was terrorized by them and the fifty other young men in their text chain. They are as complicit as the seven rapists and their fifty coconspirators who did nothing when they learned of the rape.

Instead of teaching young girls how not to get raped howsabout teaching young boys not to be rapists. Oh, and in the cases of Kavanaugh, RFK Jr, and Cankles teach the old white men, too.

Wouter Peelen is a top international model, boyfriend of Elise Boers and father of their twins; and other than fashion magazines or runways you can find him on Elise's YouTube channel where his funny and loving appearance as a father a key element of the vlog and where you might ask yourself, Would You Hit It?