Met with my cardiologist yesterday. He reviewed the results of my recent series of tests, including a stress test. Good news, I’ll be around a bit longer.
He did confirm that I have an extra heartbeat, sometimes. It went away during my five minutes treadmill stress test. He also said the “other side” of my heart was only pumping at 50% capacity but again not to be too concerned about that. He said that could be because of my age. There we go with the “a man of your age.” Well, I will be 71 years old in a couple weeks.
He told me that I could get a catheterization then I would be “absolutely sure” there was no blockage. He said the chances of complications were one in a thousand and he was “very good” at catheterizations. This procedure would be through my groin. I am very hesitant to undergo such an invasive procedure.
I decided not to get a catheterization. We’ll meet again in January for a followup.
In the meantime I go on with my life, somewhat relieved for a “man my age.”
Have you ever seen a stranger out in public that you were immediately attracted to? Of course you have!
We all have our ideal fantasy man (or woman). Some of are lucky enough to actually meet that person and form a relationship or an affair. I had that happen once in my life but that experience is a subject for another blog posting. What I’m going to post about now is what happened on October 11th, 2009 when I marched in the Gay Equality March in Washington D.C.
A friend and I took a chartered bus from Rehoboth Beach, Delaware to attend and march in the 30th anniversary of the Gay Equality March in Washington, D.C. I had attended the first gay equality march in 1979, thus I looked forward to this trip with great anticipation.
The weather was perfect for our two hour bus ride to Washington. This march was a lot different from the first gay equality march I attended in 1979. On that march my stomach was full of butterflies. Back in the homophobia dark ages of 1979, gays marching was a dangerous event. Our march was lined by D. C. police on motorcycles, to protect us from the many homophobes who lined our route. The march was solemn.
The march in 2009 was the total opposite. There was an air of festivity in the air. Gone were the D.C. motorcycle cops lining our route to protect the marchers from potential violence This time all joined in our march. In fact, I think about half the march were straights who supported our march.
During the march I was a swivel head as I usually am out in public. As I was marching my eyes caught sight of a sign that said “They risk their life in the millitary (sp) anyway. Why should they have to hide? Gay Rights.” I liked the sign, even more I liked WHO WAS HOLDING THE SIGN!
Man oh man! There HE was! MY TYPE! WOW! I rushed up to him to take a photo of his sign. I wanted to talk to him but I didn’t want to lose my place with my friend in the parade. I quickly took my photo and returned to join my friend in the parade. I immediately regretted my decision not to talk to THAT MAN. I LIKED HIM! He looked like he wanted to talk too. WHAT DID I DO? I missed my BIG CHANCE!
So here is my question: DOES ANYONE KNOW WHO THIS MAN IS?
Yes, that is me….blonde hair and all. What was I thinking?
The year was 1981 and I was at the peak of my Wild Years. I thought I was pretty hot in the gay scene. You know, big fish in a small pond (Philadelphia).
Every summer I used to vacation in Provincetown, Mass. Provincetown for those of you who aren’t aware of the gay scene is the or WAS the gay summertime mecca for gay boys and gals. I always enjoyed my vacations in P-town. I loved to work on my tan and just enjoy the freedom of being gay and inhibited. And of course there was always the chance that I would meet SOMEBODY.
So this year, 1981, I thought I would comb a little peroxide in my hair and let the sun bleach it. That I did and my hair bleached an ugly shade of blonde! OMG! What was I going to do now? I DIDN’T LIKE IT!
I went on vacation anyway just to see how I would make out (so to speak) in P-town. Well guess what? I wasn’t mobbed at the P-town airport when I landed with my new blonde hair, I wasn’t sought after at the daily afternoon tea dance at the Boatslip. I wasn’t even noticed when I slithered into the Atlantic House and Backstreet bar at night. So much for the new Blonde Ron. I don’t know whether my reception had to do with my new blonde look or that I was so self-conscious that I turned people off. All I knew was I wanted my normal dark brown hair back.
My father is a blonde as are both of my younger brothers. My Mother has dark brown hair like I do. I guess I wanted to look like my good-looking straight brothers. Well you know the old saying “Be careful what you wish for.”
When I got home I couldn’t wait for my hair to grow out. Of course in the meantime I had to explain to my co-workers at the bank where I worked in Philadelphia as an operations manager, why all of a sudden I had blonde hair. Saying I spent “too much time in the sun” just wasn’t cutting it.
The next year when I went on vacation to Provincetown I returned with my normal, mysterious, alluring DARK brown hair. I was mobbed at the airport (not really), sought out at the tea dance (sort of) and aroused a great deal of interest at the Atlantic House and Back Street bar (with some guys).
So the moral of the story is “Blonde may have more fun but gentlemen really DO prefer brunettes.”
Since 2006 I’ve been blogging with Google’s Blogspot. I’ve been happy with Blogspot. I’m used to it, it’s easy to use, and I have established a following. However, there is a problem. Too many people in my personal life know that I blog. I find that I have to use the “Aunt Barbara” rule when I blog. What is the “Aunt Barbara” rule you say? I got that term from a fellow blogger and friend. He says his Aunt Barbara reads his blog so he has to watch what he writes. Translated, that means he can’t write about anything that is really personal or that he doesn’t want his Aunt Barbara to know. Like how many times he has sex with his partner or other really interesting topics that Enquiring minds want to know.
I’m always taken back a bit when I go to work and one of my co-workers makes a comment to me in person about one of my postings. I immediately think “What did I say? Did I say something about her?” So of course I have to be very careful with what I write about.
Sometimes I want to write about my family and the family dynamics we all have. I have to self censor myself because I think, “What if my brother reads this? He’ll really be pissed”. I have one brother is easily pissed at many of the things I say. Or I could write something about my other brother (I have two younger brothers) and his feelings would get hurt. That brother doesn’t get mad at me, in fact I don’t think he’s ever been mad at me. But I wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings by posting something totally uncensored.
I blog daily, sometimes more. I get much pleasure from blogging. But sometimes I feel restricted. I think I’m ready to move to the next phase and start blogging unplugged so to speak.
So that’s what I’m going to do here in future postings friends. Let’s give this Word Press blog another try.