New Years Eve, 2006, Port Columbus International Airport, Columbus, Ohio, Mulligan’s Bar and Grill Airport Bar: I am stranded. Before I started writing this I thought I would explain exactly what happened to me, the “Aww Schucks” Mother Fella behind the American Airlines counter who kept telling me to calm down, the $150 cologne that I had to throw away because of terrorists, the missed connection flight in Columbus and the slight possibility that, maybe just maybe, I’ll be able to get on a flight to New York tonight, but then I thought why in the world would I work myself up like this on the last day of such a wonderful year. No matter where I am I will celebrate the greatness that is New Year’s Eve.

Saying goodbye this morning was very difficult. I can keep a straight face with everybody, very few people can bring me to tears but the moment my mother starts to leak the tears in my own eyes pour like a fountain. I’m 24 years old, have my own life in New York City, wonderful friends, a fabulous job, but no matter what there’s that little voice inside me that just wants to be with my mommy. Does this ever change? Probably, but I hope no time soon.

Sitting at the table in front of me is a bratty child, I’m assuming she’s an only child because there aren’t any others around her, complaining that she needs Splenda. She can’t be any more than 8 years old, ordered chicken tenders and a grilled cheese sandwich fro lunch (I can’t even eat that anymore, I fear I’d have a heart attack on the spot), and is at this very moment yelling at her mother to get off the phone. I’m not an advocate of physically disciplining kids but my principals are put into question whenever I encounter monsters like the Splenda bitch. Why can’t children be like cats, if things just don’t work out with a particular car you get rid of it, give it to somebody else and lie through your teeth coming up with some excuse why you just can’t keep the cat (when in reality it’s because it pisses in your shoes). It could work.

The new year is right around the corner and I couldn’t be happier. Life is good, I’m happy, I have goals, 2007 here I come!

My extended vacation is coming to an end. On Sunday morning I will return to New York, prepare to start work again and get back to the general daily grind of life. This past month and a half has been wonderfully relaxing, exactly what I needed to clear my head, gets some things in order and prepare to start the new year right. I couldn’t have asked for a more better end to 2006, the year which will forever be known as the one of improvement. I lost weight, quit smoking and all in all cleared out some excess baggage- it was a wonderful year.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what my New Year’s resolution will be. I’ve commented before that for the first time in my life I no longer have to use “Lose weight and quit smoking.” Is a resolution really that important? Ellen DeGeneres has a life list, a list of things that she wants to accomplish. I thought about that last night and a couple of the things that I would want to include on that list.
1- Continued health and fitness
2- Run one mile everyday
3- Run in races
4- Continue comedy
5- Take a tap dancing class
6- Go to church more often
7- Get involved in the community more
8- Join a campaign and get active with it
9- Donate to a cause that matters to you
10- Better your work ethic
That’s good so far. I was going to put “get a monkey,” I’ve always wanted a monkey but it’s probably not easy to get one. Maybe I should change it to “play with a monkey.” That’s feasible!

FYI: Dreamgirls = A-motha fuckin-mazing! ‘Nough said.

Let me start by saying I’m not a pedophile. With that said, allow me to explain myself.

I enjoy the color black, always have. In fifth grade I started wearing all black in response to the onslaught of perspiration under the arms. The black concealed the wet circles perpetually placed underneath my arms. Children are not nice about sweaty pits, believe you me! After a while I claimed control over my sweat glands and incorporated color into my wardrobe, probably the worst mistake I ever made as a child. For years I struggled through brightly colors clothes from various retailers, all the time looking ridiculous in pink Oxford shirts and bright striped pull-overs from Structure (now Express Men). Looking back at photos from that time I cringe, how could I have been so blind? Since then I’ve once again found the greatness of black. My soul led me to it once before but my brain told me different, I suppose this should serve as a lesson to all: listen to your soul or you too could end up in wide striped blue and yellow shirts that NOBODY should wear.

Every day I take an hour hike around my neighborhood. I call it my “Gettin the Blood Goin Walk,” it’s very important to remain active (at least that’s what the back of the Special K box says). Yesterday on my hike I passed by a grade school just as the children were being let out. SUV’s lined the streets as mother crowded together chatting in those last few moments before their children ran towards them requesting a juice box or a box of raisins or a subscription to People magazine (my personal weekly request as a child). As I was walking by the mother’s grabbed their children by the hands, other children looked up at me from a distance and one child walking a couple of feet ahead of me started to run just as she noticed me walking behind her. I couldn’t understand why I was being treated like this, could this be some anti-gay discrimination taking place in my community? I felt horrible.

It was only after I had passed the school when Johnny Cash’s “Ring of Fire” started to play on my iPod. I looked down at myself and realized I was dressed like Johnny Cash, all in black with a cute pair of black Aviator glasses on to really add the cherry to the top! I thought to myself, “Isn’t this ironic!” A moment later my mind started adding it all up - mother’s grabbing their kids, children running away from me, THEY THOUGHT I WAS CREEPY PEDOPHILE GUY.

It’s true, I don’t belong in the suburbs. I’m a man about town, a city fella, one to hang with the urban hipsters; it’s in my soul. I guess my soul was trying to tell me something in fifth grade. I should have become a child genius and moved to the city immediately. This should serve as a lesson to all - listen to your soul people, LISTEN TO IT.

****
Off to the dentist, please pray for me.

I wish you could see me tonight, I look super cute!

With each passing month I seem to be getting up earlier and earlier. It started out that it was no problem for me to be up at 7, then eventually I’d naturally wake up at 6:45 (that damn internal alarm clock). Since I was getting up early anyway I figured I would start running in the morning, which meant I had to get up at 6, no problem at all. Now it seems that my body wants to wake up at 5:00 in the morning. For the past few days I seem to be waking up before the sun but bright and early with the mall walkers. I’m turning into an old man, at least mentally. Could I possibly be suffering from the same illness Robin Williams did in the poorly timed film “Jack,” directed by Francis Ford Coppola? In the film his character ages at a very fast rate, causing strain on his family and sadness for the typically perky Robin Williams. If I am the victim of said illness (well, I didn’t really say what the illness is, to be honest I don’t know what the illness is), then at least I hope I could cash in on some of the financial benefits that come with being a senior citizen. I’m all about seeing “Casino Royal” for $6.00, people holding doors open for me and being allowed to pass gas whenever I want. Oh the perks of growing old!
***
Since I woke up early this morning I accompanied my mother to Sams, the Wal-Mart sister store where you can purchase a 48 oz. thing of Italian dressing. I am not a fan of Wal-Mart, but with that being said I must admit that I’m truly excited over my 24 case of canned pears, 5LB thing of black beans and enough shampoo to last me until I’m 42. One perk I did notice about Sams is how cheap their DVDs are. “Gilmore Girls” seasons 1, 2 and 3 came to $16.88 each, classic, Best Picture winning films for $6.00, “The West Wing” complete series boxed set for $160 instead of the normal $300. Browsing through the DVD’s I thought to myself, “If Sams sold porn they’d be millionaires.” Then of course I realized that they already were millionaires, felt stupid and immediately went to the free sample station for some sausage biscuits and coffee (yum yum yum!)
***
Today I’m not running, a sad reality in my work out routine. I realize that my body needs to rest but my mind just wants to burn off that fat-free yogurt. So instead of running I try to find alternatives. I still do my daily work out routine (sit ups, push ups, cock blocks), but I like to throw in some fun cardio to balance it out. Today’s fun cardio: a night of dancing to 80’s classics in a St. Louis version of a hipster bar. Hello black rimmed glasses, goodbye chunky ass!

I don’t know what it is about pizza that sets off the sort of reaction within me that one typically only sees from a hyena attacking his prey. It’s not just any pizza either, but St. Louis’s own Imo’s Pizza. Set a pizza box in front of me and I guarantee that half of it will be gone within the first 15 minutes. I can eat healthy in every other area of my life except when it comes to pizza. It’s as if Imo’s puts something special in their sauce the entices my senses to the point of insanity. Similar to Starbucks coffee, possibly Imo’s injects a bit of crack into their tomatoes. Whatever they do it’s by far the best god damn pizza ever, EVER, and I will gladly overdose on it when it’s presented to me (however I will personally never seek it out myself, I must possess some self control).

***
Speaking of food I have finally created my very own cookie, the Scookie! The plans for this cookie were set in motion over a year ago but laziness, lack of paying the gas bill and a shrinking waist size got in the way of it ever coming to fruition. Well the day has come friends, the Scookie has arrived!

You’re probably asking yourself, “I wonder what a Scookie is?” It’s pretty simple actually, it’s two chocolate chip cookies (minus the chocolate chips) sandwiching a fudge brownie with sweet icing used as the paste keeping the browning between the two cookies. It comes from my love of cookie dough, fudge brownies and sandwiches. Yes, it’s death on a plate, incredibly sweet and possibly could stunt your growth, but it’s one mighty fine treat!

I’m hoping that I’ll have enough made in time that I can send a couple to some friends back in New York and elsewhere, I’m just concerned with how they’ll ship. Wish me luck!

***
Trident White Gum, try it, you’ll like it!

Reba McEntire is becoming a very important figure in my life. It seems that in this past year she has somehow snuck her way in, slowly but surely growing in importance as time passed.

For one reason or another I happened to be home most Friday nights at 8:00 for a good part of this past year. That’s not to say I didn’t go out, it just usually occurred after the 8:00 hour (at least that’s what I’m saying now so I don’t seem like a loser, end of story). When the WB network existed “Reba” would come on at 8:00 and I would enjoy my dinner and have a little red headed happiness for dessert. “Reba” was my guilty pleasure, something that I would never admit to my friends.

After a couple months of enjoying “Reba” on TV I turned to my iTunes store and did a little research on her music career. Sadly I was not familiar with her music, I had a vague memory of my mother owning one of her albums but that was it. Immediately I downloaded the theme song to her TV show, “I’m a Survivor.”

It is now December of 2006, the end of the year, and I find myself planning my runs between the 5:00 and 6:00 because Lifetime: Television for Women airs “Reba” then. Trecking along on the treadmill as Reba and that wacky Barbara Jean (the modern day version of Lucy and Ethel) encounter all sorts of wacky situations. If I happen to be running outdoors I will make sure that I listen to “I’m a Survivor” at least once during the run. During the song my arms naturally rise to the air, I make a fist and say to myself, “Yes Scott, you’re a survivor.”

This love for Reba has reached such a point that I no longer can keep it a secret. I LOVE REBA! Her show is not high in quality, but what it lacks in quality it more than makes up for in the goodness department (and by goodness I mean the sappy, fuzzy feeling you get inside when you’re watching something and it just feels right, like warm buttered cornbread, it just feels right).

I still feel a wee bit shameful, but being a gay man from the Midwest I’m used to shame. Thank God the new CW Network brought “Reba” back, I’m ever so grateful. In fact I think I will write a nice letter of thanks, asking for continued support for the wonderful, crazy, beautiful and sinfully delicious Reba McEntire.

I woke up this morning to a winter wonderland. It’s not as if I wasn’t expecting it to be white, the TV news coverage yesterday was all about the snow storm Armageddon. Just like when I was in high school I went into the kitchen, over ate and watched to see if my school was going to be called off. “Kirkwood never calls off,” I said to my mother. Unlike in high school my attendance is not required, I’m just volunteering, but the excitement over a possible cancellation is still just as strong. Five minutes later I see ‘Kirkwood’ pop up on the screen, to which I celebrated with another cake doughnut and a refill of my mother’s special blend holiday coffee. I love snow days!
***
In the past year I have lost nearly 100 pounds, inches around my waste have shed away and I can actually see my manhood without having to shift my stomach to the side, however it seems to not have made a difference in the man department. Yes, I know that I lost all this weight for me and not to attract guys, but isn’t the prospect of possible attention from guys supposed to be a perk of losing weight?

I’ve always gotten plenty of attention (it’s my bubbly personality - or could it be the date rape drugs I keep readily available?), but the problem is the type of guys who seem to be offering the attention. There are three types of guys who tag me as their type of fella, 1) Guys who are either closeted or uncomfortable being gay; 2) Older guys who bare a striking resemblance of my father; and 3) The “Glass is half empty” fellas. All of these guys are fine and I’m sure are meant for somebody out there but just aren’t my type.

I want to meet a nice guy who isn’t a negative nelly and maybe has some of his shit together (but not all). A man who is proud of being gay but doesn’t wear it on his sleeve. Somebody who is within ten years of my age (but not ten years younger, that’d be a felony) and who maybe wouldn’t freak out at the prospect of commitment. When in the gay community did we become so scared of commitment?

I look good, I feel good, it’s now time for something more. It will come (see how the “Glass is half empty” guys would annoy me?), I just hate waiting. A year ago I would have turned to food to help my troubles, now I go running and eat Special K. What a difference a year makes!