Last night at work one of my girls informed me that her mother was coming in to town and she wanted me to meet her. She told me that she was apprehensive at first about the idea of us meeting, because her mom is of a small town and I am anything but, but she thought it was important for us to go out. I told her that I was the perfect Break-in Gay for the job. With over six years of experience of breaking-in old-school heterosexuals, there was no question her mom and I would get along fantastically.
Yesterday while watching Oprah (and balling my eyes out) I had a complete epiphany. The episode was about food addictions and featured the female author of the recent best-selling book, Women, Food and God. I have not read it yet, but will make a point of picking it up once I get through the rest of the self-help books in my pile. In one segment, the two women discussed the detrimental effects that can result, when a person refers to themselves by their greatest weakness.
I am not going to do a very good job of explaining this, but please bear with me and if you have any further questions, direct your mouse “contact” and click. Basically, if “you” get into the habit of calling yourself “fat,” you will believe that you are “fat,” and therefore be more likely to purge on food because you are “fat” and that is what you do. In this paragraph you can substitute the word “fat” for any number of labels including: drunk, lazy, promiscuous, smoker, dumb, over-achieving, etc.
So what does this have to do with the Fox you ask? Well, after reading over the last entry again, it occurred to me how much I empower myself in prose by my lesser traits. For the amount of times I write about being a train wreck, hot mess, and massive skank, you would think this website was written by Ke$ha. Over the last two years Rugged Fox is not so much fabulous and well-dressed as he is groggy, dehydrated and malnourished.
Case in point… just recently, I went on a couple of dates with this gentleman who I met through baseball. After meeting him at the bar following one of our games, we proceeded to have several more beers before going out for a sushi dinner and retiring to his place. Waking up the next morning without a clue as to what happened on our first date; I made plans to meet him again, but this time sans alcool. Well that lasted all of five minutes on our next date because before I knew it, three pitchers and 20,000 carbs later I woke up at his place, once again, with a headache and sore leg from kicking myself all night long.
Stumbling to find my clothes in his bedroom, I surfaced into the kitchen to find him behind the stove cooking a massive breakfast and making coffee in a French press. It was clear he was looking for a relationship, a mate to wake-up beside and drink fresh java while flipping through the day’s paper. And while I was looking for the same thing, wiping the hangover off my face, it occurred to me that I was by no means ready for it.
Being honest with myself for the first time since I came out, I realized that I have to sober up before I can ever expect to engage in a healthy relationship with another human being. I have always attested to the fact that I am predisposed to fabulousness, but I am generally quieter about the fact that I am also predisposed to drunkenness. With Irish, Scottish, Icelandic and Dutch roots, I descend from generations of forefathers who knew how to have a good time.
Even when I have had more than enough to drink, I cannot refuse another pint because it is not in my genetic make-up to do so.
So what does all this add-up to? Does it mean that the Fox is going to stop drinking? Heck no. The thought of living the rest of my life completely sober bores me to no end. I still have plenty of wine to taste, cheep beer to drink, and jag to shoot back when I have completely lost my mind. There is no question in this life I will be the lush at the table more often than not, except whether I want to be the mess at the breakfast table the morning after is a different story.
We all have different issues, weaknesses, or vulnerabilities that we compete with in this life. We are human after all and the sky is not always blue. I am still learning, but at the end of the day, I think that if we continue to be brutally honest with ourselves, we will actually learn from our mistakes rather then repeat them. I think it’s ironic that I had to move to land of make-believe before I could learn how to be real with myself.
Author’s note: I refrain from writing entries of this nature, because it seems whenever I do, I receive several frantic emails and comments asking if I am o.k. Just incase anyone is unsure, I am better than ever. But if you do wish to comment, and I encourage it, please reply to the post not the author.