Muffins Gone Bad

There are two dozen muffins in our kitchen today. The first dozen have the shape, size and consistency of a hockey puck, taste like a mouthful of chalk with subtle hints of berry & banana. Dogs would think twice about eating them.

The other dozen are gooey mountains of fruity delight. The sort your Grandmother used to make only more fabulous. Muffin Break beware!

Take a wild guess how these polar opposite examples of baking ability came to coexist in our kitchen?

I was in a domestic mood yesterday and decided to watch a cooking show. For some sick, twisted reason I was inspired to bake muffins. I followed a recipe and produced twelve of the worse tasting muffins on the planet. They even stuck to the bottom of the tray and Sean had to dig them out with a butter knife (he wouldn’t let me do it because he was scared I’d scratch the muffin tray).

I’m no stranger to culinary disaster. I told Sean not to eat them, then left the house to meet up with a friend.

I returned a few hours later and the house smelled like God’s bakery. While I was out, Sean had baked twelve beautiful muffins using the same ingredients. I guess I just don’t have the touch.

Dear Sean was kind enough to display our muffins side by side. Sort of like a Monet hanging next to a toddler’s crayon drawing of cow poo.

There are so many ways I could interpret this event. I could say, ‘Wow- what a competitive asshole,’ OR ‘Wow – how sweet of him to fix my disaster.’

I decided to blow it off with a little humour. Best strategy, I reckon. The thing is, Sean likes food and he knows how to prepare anything. So when he saw I was baking muffins I think I teased his appetite. And since there’d be no satisfaction in eating mine (nobody likes broken teeth) he just couldn’t help himself – he HAD to make muffins.

And today? I’ve had this song playing non-stop in my head:



(Sarcasm FULLY intended)

Thanks for the yummy muffins, Sean. But look, mate, I’ve got my dignity. I’m eating mine.

Brent.

Couples I Admire #1

I preview this posting with a disclaimer story:

A year ago, at a friend’s party, I met a gay couple that couldn’t keep their hands off each other. With all their flirting, joking and affectionate glances, I mistook them as ‘newlyweds.’ I was shocked when they told me they’d been together ten years. Their secret? They’d recently broken-up and gotten back together.

My point - You can never really gauge a couple’s level of contentment by how they appear in public.

HOWEVER … there are at least half a dozen gay couples I admire and look up to as ‘relationship role-models.’ And why not look to other couples for inspiration? As much as I like trail-blazing, there’s no point in re-inventing the pink wheel.

So today, I want to showcase Dan Savage and Terry Miller. I've never met them personally, but they used to peruse around my old neighborhood in Vancouver (btw - peruse in the non-cruisy way).

I’ve already shouted Dan Savage’s praise in my posting ‘The Commitment.’ Dan is a writer/sex advise columnist. In his memoirs, he talks a lot about his life with Terry, and their adopted son D.J.

What I know about their relationship comes from what I’ve read in Dan’s books and columns - which is actually quite a bit. Terry on the other hand remains a quiet, private person. He is a potter and stay-at-home dad. He rarely interviews.

Here’s some things I admire about their relationship:

1) They are unapologetic about wanting a long-term commitment and family.
2) Terry and Dan have defined roles in their household that allows things to run relatively smoothly.
3) They are realistic about sex. Dan says they are a monogamous couple (but yes they’ve had a threesome).
4) They share a common goal and were able to realize it – they adopted a child (now a teenager) and continue to provide a comfortable home for him and each other
5) They maintain strong ties with extended family, even though coming-out was difficult for both of them

But one of the main reasons I wanted to discuss them today is because they’ve recently launched a YouTube channel as a couple, to provide support and encouragement for gay teens facing discrimination and bullying at school. The clip below is the first time I've heard Terry speak. He’s absolutely adorable, too … I think you’ll enjoy it.



I like the approach of the clip. By appearing as a gay couple, Dan and Terry are showing gay teens that life doesn’t necessarily have to be a lonely just because your gay. You can still have a spouse and children if you so choose.

So thanks to Dan and Terry for reaching out as a couple to gay youth. As individuals and as a couple, you are an inspiration to me.

Brent

The Mormon Influence

Today a reader, Jeff suggested that my religious upbringing has affected my approach to my relationship. I have no doubt that Mormonism - a faith I removed myself from years ago - has left its imprint on my thinking. Btw, Jeff, great to hear from a fellow ex-Mormon!

The big joke of it all is that Mormonism and homosexuality are mutually exclusive entities (according to Mormons). You can't exactly bring your boyfriend to church and expect to be recognized as an active, faithful, obedient member of the faith. So I find it funny when I catch myself approaching my big gay relationship in a very Mormon way.

W-H-Y ???

The Mormon approach to marriage is pretty simple (I'm referring to non-polygamist 'mainstream' Mormons). It goes like this: You get married. You have children. You don't abuse your spouse or kids, therefore you don't divorce. You stay married.

It's a philosophy that sounds familiar (minus the heterosexual bits). I feel an impending need to make my relationship work even though Sean and I aren't exactly a match made in heaven (tongue in cheek). Giving up feels wrong ... or dare I say sinful?

Certainly there are merits to Mormon approach to marriage. But there's danger in it too. Many Mormon couples I know (including most of my Aunts & Uncles, parents and Grandparents) stay together because God requires it. They put up with each other's shit all their lives because there's a reward at the end.

Struggle. Endure. Be Rewarded. The lessons I was taught all my life. Is that why I often feel like the good is still to come? Is that why I keep thinking Sean and I are going to be happy in the future? It's a cliche, but I'm going to say it - the time to be happy is now. I have to learn how to be happy DURING the struggle - and do it out of love, not because it's the 'right' thing to do.

So thanks, Jeff for making me think about my motivations. It's good to check-in every now and then with the old Mormon psyche ...


Brent.

The Brown Note

Has anyone seen the South Park episode where the boys discover a pitch (played on recorder) that makes people crap their pants? Sean claims the brown note is a real phenomenon. I think he’s full of shit.

Whether it’s true or not, what Sean doesn’t know is that I get the shits (figuratively this time) when he talks loudly. And when he does the high-pitched hyena laugh.
Sean’s friend is visiting and whenever she’s around Sean doesn’t shut-up. He talks at her non-stop at a volume and intensity that drives me nuts. And when they watch t.v. together they do their hyena laugh during the funny bits. It’s a bit too theatrical for me … especially at 11:30 at night when I’m trying to sleep.

All our friends know Sean to be an animated conversationalist. And the more people there are in the room, the louder his voice becomes. But unfortunately I can’t do anything about it. Sean has significant hearing loss. So when the noise level goes up around him, he overcompensates without knowing it.

How can you get angry with someone for a medical problem? You can’t. But no matter how many times I remind myself, I get frazzled and agitated when he gets loud. I’m a soft-spoken guy who loves his peace and quiet.

There isn’t an answer to every relationship grievance. Not always a happy compromise. Sometimes you just have to cope, or shit your pants.

Brent.

Relationship Reset

I’ve been on tour the past few days, performing concerts in decrepit country theatres throughout the region. It’s been a bit exhausting, but I’ve been enjoying the time alone driving through the countryside in my little economy compact vehicle.

I make great company to myself when I’m road trip’n. I know exactly when to change the music, when to be quiet, when to sing, when think, when to pull-over for a piss. Road trips with the partner are never that easy.

For me, getting in the car and going away for few days on my own is the best therapy for my relationship. It’s like pressing a relationship reset button.

Sean doesn’t get the same ich to travel alone. Usually when I tell him I’m going away for a few days he gets a bit pouty … but he soon realizes doing so helps me refresh & recharge. That not only means he gets a happier partner when I return, he also gets a hornier one. So suck it up, baby. When I get home you’ll be happy I went away. How’s that for circular logic?

Brent
On the road again …

Follow-up

A follow up to my post, ‘Two musicians under one roof’

My previous boyfriend believed that work and home life should be separate entities. He’d never entertain a conversation about his job beyond one or two words. When I’d talk about my career (for the better or worse) he’d just nod and grunt. Only once did he entertain a conversation about my job and that was to get angry at me for bitching about it.

Eventually I stopped talking about work and he maintained his code of silence. There were wonderful things about this arrangement. It taught me not to vent about stresses of the job. I even learned to see my job as something I do, not as something I am.

Musicians in general don’t see music as a job. It is something they believe is an essential part of them. So it was a big learning curve for me to start thinking about music as the thing that pays the bills – end of story.

However, a few years into the relationship I woke up one day and realized I had no clue what my partner did for a living, except in a very vague sense - and vice versa. I now believe he was extremely stressed at work and was playing a game of avoidance.

Me: How was your day?’
Him : Fine
Translation: I'm confused, I'm stressed and I need a hug)

After we broke up and I started dating Sean, it was liberating to be able to talk about work again, to be able discuss the realities of our jobs with a common language. It’s clearly been the healthier arrangement for me. I feel like I know Sean so much better than I ever knew my ex, and his one-word answers.

Either way, my next husband is going to be an Olympic swimmer and I, his kept-trophy-husband. Just like Muriel, only better because he’ll actually love me and we won’t get divorced.

(Ignore previous paragraph. It’s late)

Brent.

NAKED!

There are two types of people in this world. Those who like to shed their clothing and run around naked, and those who avoid nudity at all costs (like those guys in the locker room who slip their underwear on and off under a towel).

I’m a big fan of nudity – at home, at work (or not), at play. So when I woke up this morning and smelled spring in the air, I had the urge to sit naked on the deck and sip tea. I didn’t do so because: A. Drinking hot beverages is dangerous in the nude, B. A pair of landscapers disguised as convicted murderers were working nearby, C. I had to head off early for a rehearsal.

Sean isn’t much of an exhibitionist. I get to see him naked for about 30 seconds a day when he steps out of the shower. He doesn’t prance around the house like a horny reindeer the way I do. He’s pretty used to my flashings – in fact, he rarely bats an eye. Nor does he raise an eyebrow when I tell him I’m off to the beach. He knows I love skinny dipping and beach bumming in my birthday suit. He’s never discouraged me from having a nude day, but he hasn’t joined me for one either (and yes, he’s been invited).

But little does Sean know …

This year I’ve got plans to introduce him to the joys of hanging free. I’m going to start small. First, naked drinks (and maybe a round of Scrabble?) in the clothing-free zone – a secluded garden space behind the house sunny enough to bake our buns. Then, a naked dip at the local rock pool on a hot summer night, then … BANG! we’re leathered-up with our dicks hanging out at Folsom San Franisco 2011. Or not.

I’ll give it a go and see how he responds. Nobody should be forced to remove their clothing unless checking into prison, or auditioning for a Chi Chi LaRue production. But I hope through my powers of nudie persuasion I’ll convince him to be a little less clothed this season.

Brent.

Two musicians under one roof

I’ve never really mentioned WHAT I do for a living. I’m a musician and teacher. Piano is my instrument, and for as long as I can remember, playing piano has been part of my daily experience.

Though I love music and spending thankless hours alone in a room with an instrument, the one thing I hate about my profession is dealing with fellow musicians.

Musicians are awful people. Take my word for it – I’ve been around enough of them over the years. We are an egotistical, paranoid, selfish, and self-destructive bunch.

Dating a musician? RUN!!!

I never imagined myself settling down with another musician – yet I ended up marrying one. Sean is also a musician by trade. And he’s a fucking amazing one too.

But because I generally hate musicians – and Sean knows this – we pretend to be anything but in our daily lives. Unlike other musician-couples we know, we DO NOT cuddle up and listen to Beethoven symphonies, we DON’T go to concerts unless we’re performing in them, and we DON’T discuss the music scene unless to make fun of it.

There are a lot of pros and cons to living with another musician. The pros are having the insider’s perspective on your partner’s work, understanding the stresses and anxieties, being able to ‘talk shop’ with all the lingo. Cons? I hate musicians. So when Sean does something very musician-like, I get disproportionately angry. I project all my anger I hold towards my fellow egotistical, paranoid, selfish, and self-destructive musicians onto Sean. The latter has happened a few times recently because I’m stressed about an upcoming tour (one with fellow musicians).

I’m sure I’d be equally stressed about the tour if I’d married a surgeon. So maybe it’s a good thing I live with Sean because he understands why I’m so on edge these days. He gets it. He knows that when I’m angry and pounding the shit out my piano it’s best not to say ‘Is something wrong?’ He knows it’s part of the process and I don’t have to explain it.

And vice versa. Maybe misery just deserves it’s own company?

Until I decide to fulfil my life’s calling as naked maid, I remain faithfully yours, Hubby.

Brent

The road thus far

I just realized I’ve been up to this blogging thing for two months. Fourty-three postings about my life with Sean. I guess this means I’m a convert to blogging. It’s like journaling, only a bit more voyeuristic and interactive. I even have a few readers (thanks for humouring me with the comments, Btw).

The blog has kept me focused on my commitment. There’s been moments where I’ve been tempted to fabricate some bits, but really, what would be the point of bending the truth? It’s my bloody blog.

And the honest to God truth is that the vast majority of the time, I’m happy I choose to stick it out and make things work. The challenge ahead is learning to cope with the things that constantly detract me from the relationship. Or find creative ways around them. I believe the latter is were Sean and I are headed in the near future.

So I’ll keep writing and making the entries as real as possible. As always, I love hearing your thoughts. Be in touch.

Brent.

The Great Wall of Down

I’ve discovered the most comfortable sleeping position. I call it The Great Wall of Down. Placing pillows end to end I create a line down the middle of our mattress separating Sean’s nocturnal territory from mine.

There are two times of the day I enjoy my privacy – during all phases of dozing-off and whilst eating breakfast cereal (I used to make a cubicle out of the cereal boxes as a kid to avoid eye contact with family members).

The Great Wall of Down makes a great spooning partner. Throw an arm or leg over it in the middle of the night and it doesn’t stir or whimper or accuse you of spousal abuse.

I’m starting to love the GWD.

But if I ever take this to the next level and start posting videos of me humping the GWD, please organize an intervention.

Brent.

When your husband sends you email porn

I’m having a shitty go of things at the moment. But there is light at the end of the tunnel (holidays coming up in 12 days). Sean’s been sensitive to my shift in mood and has been increasing my dosage of hugs and backrubs. I’m thankful for that, and will owe him big time when I’ve got a better grip on things.

When I opened my email this afternoon I had a message from Sean, subject: Your type of thing? Attached was a picture of a HOT stud bent-over a bed, spread-eagle, in a jock strap. Nice pic. It reminded me that even when life sucks, there’s always porn and husbands that send it. Do straight couples do that? I doubt it …

So thanks Sean for the afternoon hard-on. You know how to brighten my day.

Brent.

Four

Despite the failure of Nookii Saturday night, we ended up having a great weekend. Friends came for a visit on Sunday – another gay couple we met last year. I booked them in nearly a month ago since our schedules were all so different. Should getting together with friends really require one month’s notice? Craziness!

Anyway, we had a fantastic time. It was only the second time we’ve seen this couple outside of larger social events and parties. We shared a lot of laughs and we got to know them on a more intimate level. The relationship analyst in me enjoyed watching another gay couple interact. They too have regular ups and downs, but I caught several affectionate glances exchanged between them – no doubt they’ll be travelling together a long time.

We’ve already arranged our next double-date. It’ll be a horror movie night at our place in a few weeks time. I’m practically a horror film virgin so everyone is expecting me scream like a girl. I won’t indulge them (if I can help it).
Having another gay couple to do things with is a real nice, or so I’m realizing. Four is a good even number. Four works for me. A bit domestic, but fuck, I’m a domestic guy.

Brent.

The Dangers of Nookii

Dear Friends,

Do not play XXX-rated board games with your significant other. This only leads to disaster.

At that Goddamned sex-party I attended this week, the yobbo sales representative showed us Nookii – a kinky foreplay game. Simple rules: select a card from the stack and perform its instructions on your partner. Cheesy lame instructions like ‘moisten my nipples then, with a gentle pinch, trigger their pertness.’ There’s also a dice and timer involved. Roll a five, for example, and you have to perform that action for five minutes.

Our sales rep didn’t have great things to say about Nookii. He suggested we create our own Nookii game and save ourselves 50 bucks. Since foreplay has been uncreative and often non-existent, I introduced the game to Sean last night. I asked him to write 7 different non-penetration activities he’d like me to perform on him on pieces of paper. I did the same.

Let the disaster begin. Actually, the first few turns went well. But then I read one of his cards that said ‘kiss me like you actually love me.’ I was pissed. I know I often don’t show my love for him in the ways he’d like – but I’m trying! In fact I suggested the game as a way to help us rekindle the intimacy we one shared. I didn’t appreciate the reminder that I haven’t been kissing him passionately enough lately.
But, I swallowed my pride, didn’t say anything and started to kiss him, but he clearly wasn’t feeling the passion and told me to stop. Besides I was giving him whisker burn.

We continued the game, but by the time we finished I was no longer in the mood to even have sex. At the start of the game, I was excited about letting him fuck me at the end. Instead we finished ourselves off. We didn’t say goodnight and both woke up in shitty moods.

Think twice about playing home-made versions of Nookii. It could be an opportunity for your partner to voice his complaints about your love life in a passive aggressive way. It was also lame to put a timer on – sex needs to happen a lot more organically, in my never-to-be-humble opinion.

I’m prepared to take the blame for last night’s horrible sex. It was my idea to play the game. And believe me, we WON’T be playing it again.

Brent

Red Alert?

Day one of my sexual quest didn’t go so well ☹

I went for dinner with a friend I used to make-out with, a guy I still find mouth-watering. If it’s true we’re reincarnated to fulfill unfinished business of a previous life, then the man I’m speaking of will probably be a future partner, or just someone I have amazing sex with …

This friend and I acknowledged the sexual tension in our friendship at dinner. We didn’t make any grandiose conclusions about it, just admitted it.
So needless to say, the evening didn’t put me in the mood to explore sexual things with Sean.

I guess this is where lines and boundaries aren’t clear for me. As a gay guy, I like hanging out with other gay men. With most of my gay friends there is absolutely no sexual tension, but there are a few that make me want to tear off their clothes and eat them up.

But I don’t, now that I’m committed to making my relationship work.

This morning Sean and I had our first grown-up talk about monogamy (clearly triggered from my emotions of the previous night). We didn’t make any big decisions, or declare ourselves open, or monogamous. I guess we just acknowledged the fact that we have to be realistic about the future.

In the meantime, I’m trying not to obsess about this other guy. I’m pretty sure we’ll be able to remain friends despite the fact we want to screw each other. Or, is this a big red alert? Am I’m deluding myself? Playing with fire? The jury’s out.
For now, it’s Friday night and I’m looking forward to the pizza and wine about to be consumed with Sean, the MOST important man in my life.

Brent

The Sex Toy Party

I went to my first sex toy party last night with friends Sam and Abbey. Sam and I were the only males in the room besides the consultant. So for nearly two hours, I had the pleasure (?) of listening to women talk about their vaginas. Ew. The the ‘V’ word! Actually I left the party feeling a little jaded, wishing I too had a vagina. They seem like lots of fun considering the variety of toys available.

For us guys in the room, we were shown one or two cock rings which had vibrators attached to pleasure the female. The consultant – a real bogan who used the word ‘fuck’ and ‘pussy’ more times than I care to remember – clearly didn’t realize the men in the room were gay. He even made a borderline comment about gay people that almost made my claws come out. Loser!

Not a great party for me. Maybe I just went to the wrong one. I’m sure there are sex toy parties for men. If anyone is hosting one, let me know. But here’s the thing that really struck me after the party. All the women in attendance (except one) were middle-aged and either lacking a sex partner, or talked of a partner who didn’t satisfy them.

As we age, is sex destined to become a frustrated masturbatory activity? It appeared that way for the women in the group … and for me too.

My sex life with Sean has definitely entered new phase of boredom. I masturbate more than I have sex with him.

When we were a new couple, sex just happened. Frequently. But over the years, Sean and I got frustrated with each other’s quirks – his reluctance to bottom, or do anything remotely kinky, my reluctance to be romantic and sensual. So for me, the party was a wake-up call. It’s time to explore sex more methodically since it doesn’t happen on its own much anymore.

I’ve started brainstorming for ideas on how Sean and I can enjoy, and even look forward to sex. I’ll be trying out some of these ideas and writing about them over the next few weeks. I hope it’ll be a fun quest.

Brent.

Quickie

A sudden wave of sexual mischievousness came over me as Sean was getting ready for work this morning. He was naked and fixing his hair (the only time Sean wanders shamelessly naked in the house are those five short minutes between showering and leaving the house). I decided to give his wiener an extended good morning kiss. As he started getting hard, he glanced at the clock. I decided it would be best to let him get ready, but as I got up off my knees to leave, he said, ‘Well, now you’re gonna have to finish the job. I’ve got 5 minutes.’

I pushed him onto the bed and gave him the quickest, sloppiest blow job of all time. Then I let him get dressed. Moments later as left the house, he thanked me for the blow-and-go (his words). Strangely, the brief encounter - that involved no reciprocation - was one of our hottest moments in months.

I’ve forgotten how exciting it can be to give Sean a quick blow-job at an inconvenient moment. It was rather satisfying to see him leave the house a little flushed with a big grin on his face.

I’m pretty sure I’m running an orgasm deficit with Sean. He’s gotten me off without reciprocation more times than I’ve done the same for him. But paying back the debt can be fun … as I discovered this morning.

Brent.

Jinxing It

I learned my lesson. You should never jinx a weekend get-away by writing about it first. On Friday I wrote ‘If the weather is warm enough, we might go sit a few hours at the beach, read, and … ‘

The Gods of gay couple-dom had fun with this one. Shortly after we arrived at our friend’s place, the SES issued wind warning. Then we spent the night listening to potted plants flying off balconies, garbage bins toppling down the street, amputated tree limbs hitting the roof. In the morning we had no power, no hot water, no coffee.

There was no reading on the beach. We drove home, dodging wind kill (which included an over-turned caravan).

The upside? Sean and I got to spend lots of time in the car … I’m being sarcastic here. So the best part of the weekend was its tail end. Sunday night we cuddled up and watched movies like the cute domestic - albeit slightly boring - gay couple that we are.

Brent

Escaping with Sean

Work commitments make September my busiest month of 2010. I’ve got a big project on the go that will occupy me seven days a week until October. But before the madness begins, Sean and I are escaping tomorrow for an over-nighter. We’re headed down the coast to visit a friend.

I’m looking forward to a night away with Sean. If the weather is warm enough, we might go sit a few hours at the beach, read, and perhaps cuddle? Since our friend is an older female with low tolerance for perversion, we won’t have loud kinky sex at her place (I’m a polite guest). But hey, quiet sex can be fun sex.

I’m hoping we’ll kick back and enjoy each other’s company over the weekend. We’ve spent the past few weekends at home and I think we’re both looking forward to a change of scene. A lot of my work is done from home, so sometimes the boundaries between work/pleasure get blurred.

A close friend in Vancouver has a similar problem. He works as a building manager and struggles to relax on days off because he lives where he works (isn't that like shitting where you eat?). Last year my friend and his boyfriend bought a small cabin in the woods so that time-off could be more relaxing. One day, if Sean and I can work out the economics, we’d like to either re-locate my studio out of the house, or buy a small weekender. I think it would work wonders. But in the meantime, we’ll have to organize more over-nighters … assuming the coming one meets expectations. I’ll let you know.

Brent

The Enemy in the Kitchen

It arrived a few weeks ago. A gift from Sean’s mom that will either cause divorce or morbid obesity.

It’s a bread-maker. And it’s Sean’s new best friend.

We both have a weakness for carbohydrates. My definition of heaven is being locked in a bakery filled with rolls, loafs, muffins, cakes, cookies, and scrolls. Add Jensen Ackles, naked and sprinkled with icing sugar and you have nirvana.

Sean the mad-baker has declared war on my disappearing six-pack. At present there are two yummy loaves on our bench – one of them still warm.

Damn him!

As I see it, I’ve got the following options:
1) Start sending Sean’s mother hate mail
2) Install a padlock on the pantry
3) Develop self control (Scrap that)
4) Enter Australia’s biggest loser next year
5) Eat the bread and shut up about it.

I know the bread-making madness will stop eventually. Sean gets a new kitchen appliance every now and then and goes crazy. But he’ll eventually tire of it – God, I hope so. In the meantime this porker will be spending more time with his good ol’ pal - the treadmill.

Shit, where’s the butter?

Expanding Horizontally,
Brent