Like this one:

The “No” Vote is like the cutest thing I’ve seen in the longest time. Philosophically speaking and physically speaking. I mean look at “No” Vote’s smile. Dang. I’d marry the “NO” vote in a second. I’d totally say “Yes” to “No” Vote alllllll the time.

So there’s this old man that lives on the corner of my intersecting streets who sits in his wheel chair wearing an old man hat that stares off in to space. He doesn’t stare off to space in the sad “I’m not all here” way. He does it in a “I’m thinking a lot” kind of way. He looks like an older Bill Cosby, which is why I have dubbed him Cliff( Pop culture time! Cliff was Bill Cosby’s name on the Cosby show. Just so you know, F.Y.I.)
Anyway, in the year that I’ve lived in my neighborhood I’ve seen him almost daily. He sits all proper with his hands in his lap dressed like he is going to go to church. When people walk by, especially the ladies, he will nod and smile. When dogs go by he will bark and laugh because, well, that scares the shit out of dogs. And when I walk by, I swear to God, he always winks.
We’ve evolved. I used to just swoop by him on my way home and not say anything with an ipod blasting in my ears, a grocery bag or a coffee in had, or something distracting me. Just another guy in the neighborhood I would always think to myself. Unlike Wisconsin, people don’t really chat with the neighbors they see outside. Then one day I nodded when I tried to slip around his wheel that was blocking the sidewalk.
“Hello.” He said laughing in a way old men laugh when they think anything is funny just because at that age everything probably is funny.
After that it was always a mutual “Hello” and a smile. Within weeks it was a wave without a hello and then after that it was just a wink. On his part. When he winks, I always smile so I know he knows I know he’s winking.
Then the other day, I was walking home with a newly purchased books in hand. It was a sunny day and he was under a tree with leaves turning that orange burnt color. As I walked by I looked him through my aviators just expecting the wink when: Nothing.
He didn’t do a thing. He looked at me and looked away and that was it.
As I steered around the corner and headed to my apartment I couldn’t help but think: Did I piss him off!??!?!?!! No wink? Eye contact with no wink?!
As I sat in my apartment trying to work on this freelance piece, I kept thinking about Cliff and what I could have done to not get that wink. Did I ignore him one day? Did he think it was time to evolve in to not knowing each other again?
Yes, I know this is crazy. The man has to be in his 80′s. He has to see tons of people a day. Am I really that insecure to dwell on the fact that an old man who I dubbed a faux character name didn’t wink at me? But it wasn’t about that. It’s about those little things that people do that just make you realize you’re there. You know, the way the girl at my coffee place always says: “Hey boo, you having the same thing today?” That reminds me that she pays attention. Or the Whole Foods girl that looks like my friend Gina who always tells me that my smile makes her smile. It’s those things, you know? When you live in a city with tons of people, you want to be reminded that some people still see you.
I haven’t seen Cliff for, like, six days since the “no-winking” incident of 2008. I’m sure he’s on some sort of old man vacation or barking at dogs somewhere else. But I’m determined to get that wink back.

I was twenty. I was in art school. I was a broke little college kid with no money and naive to the city life and having a blast just scraping by on cheese sandwiches while living a dream I had always thought would be hard to get. A city life.
Then I was outed.
It was an accident. I know this now. Won’t go in to too many details. But in the summer of 2001, I had to make a phone call to my mom that to this day will still give me the Willys (you know, a mixture of stomach drop/hair standing on the neck/chills/cold sweats/the shakes) when I think about it. She, um, wasn’t too thrilled with the idea and actually either was my Pop. But when I finally came out and confirmed and said: “Yes, mom, I’m gay.” It was like getting that burp out that has been stuck and making all your insides compress and gurgle and build pressure. I know, pretty metaphor!
Today is National Coming Out Day. I don’t know all of you who read this(Funny story about that. Hey dude that bumped in to me on the street and said: “You’re that Check Please guy with a blog… I read it all the time!” Hope your dog’s vet bill got fixed! Thanks for reading!), but I know you all come from way way wayyyyy different backgrounds and I know that you are either gay or straight or your both(Which I’m totally jealous of) and for a second I just really want you to just realize it. Whether you’re out. Whether you have a best friend that is out. Whether you terrified to come out because you don’t want to disappoint the people in your life that really won’t be disappointed if they truly loved you because they would be smart enough and patient enough and intelligent enough to know that you deserve to be happy. And if those people aren’t in your life right now, then Yo, you need to start looking for them. Seriously. Like NOW. Like, why are you still reading this. Go find someone that will hug you when you tell them. Or GEEZ! Tell me. I’m pretty cool like that. I listen. Well, I’ll read it. Just tell someone. Or just know it will be OK when it does happen.
I would hate to see where I would be if I was still in the closet. I would hate to think the things I have had in my life wouldn’t even exist because I was too afraid to get what I wanted. Like my past love or even the past opportunities that came from me being exactly who I am. A gay guy with an obsession for his Netflix Que.
Ahem, I’ll step off of this soapbox now.

This morning I woke up with this dog spooning me on my left and that cat sprawled between my legs. I’m house sitting while this couple is out of town.
Josh is a couple now. Actually, he’s engaged. And last night while I was sprawled on his couch watching episodes of Sex and the City on my laptop, I looked around his and Drea’s apartment. It was funny, seeing scenes of Season Three (episode six!) of single Carrie strutting the city of NYC on the screen of my laptop while all around me was a happy twosome sharing an adorable loft space with awesome paint colors, shelves of shared books framed photos, and two adorable pets that I swear to GOD look at you with eyes that seem like they will open their mouths and say something all “Look Who’s Talking, Now”-esque.
And just when Carrie is about to type something wise and profound on her single girl laptop about why her and Big weren’t working in season three, I realized Josh did “it”.
Without going to in to Josh’s personal past(because, um, he’s not like me where he spills the beans on everything to you people) he wasn’t much of a “I’m going to get married and have pets kind of guy.” Actually, a year ago he was quite the opposite. Actually, a year ago I was him now and he was me now. Does that make sense? Are you picking up what I’m putting down?
Anyway, here we are in switched places. His cupboards filled with spices and pots and pans and things to cook with. Mine filled with take-out menus, some sweaters, and a few cook books I pretended I was going to use when I was in a relationship that never really got the past the whole page one thing. He’s got a patio with two chairs that I imagine he and Drea drinking wine on. I don’t have a patio. He’s got a washer and dryer in unit. FOLKS! He has a washer and dryer in HIS UNIT! Well, I don’t. He’s got the girl. A great girl. Man, you need to meet this girl. This is a power couple. He did “it”.
I bet you think you know where this is going. This the moment where Byron has an epiphany, right? You know, this is where Byron would say something along the lines of: And that’s when I realized that…” and I would go in to this whole deep thing that would blow your mind and you would fall asleep tonight with deep insight and a changed perspective on life.
Well, it’s Friday and I don’t feel like it. Because, when I woke up this morning with a cute dog and cat snuggling in to me all I did realize was, DANG, Josh is lucky and Josh deserves it all and damn their bed is comfortable.
OK. So. I lied. I did have an epiphany. Just like the juxtaposition of Sex and the City single woo-is-me scenes playing within a perfectly happy twosome loft and my single self vacaying in a non-single house, sometimes we are in places in our lives where it feels like it doesn’t make sense. It seems awkward and uncomfortable and weird and unplanned and humorous. But somehow… it just works, you just need to figure out how it works.
And that’s the trick. Make the juxtapositions in your life make sense. That, and finding a place that has a washer and dryer in unit. A WASHER AND DRYER IN UNIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You’re kinda a new hero of mine because of this.
Which then lead to how great that this website is.

Man, thank you. Thank you so. SO. Much.

I’m not just saying “Love Jews like a like I love a good P&J sandwich.” I’m saying BA-BOOM, BA-BOOM(that’s my heart, you know, in case you wondering).

So I was carrying my dry cleaning down the street a few afternoons ago. See when you live in the city, everything tends to involve foot. Taking a cab for the littlest things adds up. Public transportation is as dependable as Amy Winehouse’s sobriety and sometimes it’s just easier to carry things to places for the view. Unlike growing up in Wisconsin where a mile could feel like “Please God just shoot me in cornfield hell” a mile in the city involves plenty of store window shopping, exercise, and of course, the ever wonderment of people watching.
Anyway, my hands are full, right? I mean, I’ve got ten shirts to get cleaned and a pair of these really nice pinstriped slacks that I was aiming to wear to a wedding and a few fall sweaters to get pressed. I’m double fisting. I’m on a mission. I’ve got places to be! My fingers are about to fall off because, um, dude… sweaters are heavy.
I turn the corner and leaning against a brick wall of the neighborhood’s best sushi joint is an older homeless guy with a crumpled cardboard sign that reads: “Please, hungry.” in black permanent marker. The man’s handwriting is beautiful. Seriously. Like he once was a sharp student in middle school with penmanship that always got compliments from teachers. But as everyone whizzed by this guy would say: “Could you spare some change?” and even if people ignored him, he would still say: “Peace.” and place his index finger and middle finger in the air to make the famous rabbit ear symbol.
At that exact same time, a little girl(totally seven or eight years old) stops in the front of the man giving the peace sign and says: “What’s that?” to her father who is distracted by the grocery bags in his hands.
“Bridgette, come over here!” He races to his daughter who is now starring at the homeless man’s hands.
As the father grabs his bags and zips in front of me down the sidewalk with his daughter’s hand in his other, I hear the girl start asking questions.
“Dad… what was he doing with his fingers?” As she asks she stares at her fingers trying to make the same rabbit ear peace sign as the homeless guy.
“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about?” Her dad says annoyed.
“He was doing this!” She says with her little fingers trying to separate just enough to mimic the man’s gesture.
“Oh… that means ‘peace’.”
As I continue to walk behind with my hands full of all these shirts and sweaters I started to remember the first time I learned what that symbol meant. It was in third grade. We were told to use it when we didn’t want to fight. It was about the same time as the Gulf War. I remember watching the news at night, right before dinner, where anti-war protesters marched with giant signs and some with ‘peace fingers’.
“What does peace mean?” She asks still trying to get her fingers to look right.
“It means… no fighting…”
“Oh! I don’t like fighting… right? I hate fighting!” The girl shakes her brown haired head wildly back and forth.
I smile and watch as the dad looks down at his daughter and smiles.
“That’s right. You don’t like fighting.” As the dad says this he takes his hand out of hers and makes a peace sign with his hand.
“Show me how to do that with my fingers!” The little girl begs holding her hand up in front of her face.”
In that moment, the dad puts down his grocery bags and stopps his hurried walk in the middle of the sidewalk. As I pass around them, I turn and see the little girl’s hand in the shape of a peace sign and a smile on her face. The dad then picks up his bags as the girl walks down the street with her little fingers in a peace sign.
It seems like our hands are always full. Whether it’s with the physical stuff like grocery bags and dry cleaning or it’s with the bigger stuff, like the responsibility of taking a second and stopping in a crazy fast paced world to teach a little someone a big something that maybe we as adults too often forget can even still exist.

Get ANOTHER ride home on a motorcycle with a hot straight guy while watching a perfect fall sunset fade behind skyscrapers. Say something like: “This is why I live here.” Then smile. A really really big smile.